#((but now in possession of a non-functional leg))

[nyalternatehellkitten]

((Have you ever heard the tragedy of Darth Real Grade Zaku the broken?))

[sunandflame]

NSFW Alphabet - Rob Lucci

Warnings: nsfw

Word Count: 1184

Pairing: Rob Lucci x Reader

crossposted on AO3

A = Aftercare Afterward, he’s not one for soft words or coddling. His aftercare is more about maintaining his presence—his weight beside you, the feeling of his hand on your skin. He’ll run a finger over the marks he’s left, as if to remind you that you’re his. He might clean you up, but it's efficient, calculated. He checks you, makes sure you’re taken care of, but his focus never wavers. If you need something more, he'll provide it—silent, controlled, but always there.

B = Body Part (favourite) Your neck. It’s instinctual—primal. The scent, the softness, the sound of your pulse under his tongue... it awakens something in him that he doesn’t fully understand, nor tries to. He lingers there more than anywhere else: breathing you in, nipping, teasing, pressing his lips against the artery just to feel the thrum beneath. When he’s buried inside you, you can feel him lean in closer, licking or mouthing at the spot just to hear your breathing hitch. And when he feels vulnerable—rare, but real—he hides his face in the crook of your neck, like a beast curling into its den. It’s the place he claims first and most often. Not for show. For instinct.

C = Cum Possessive. He doesn’t care where—on your stomach, chest, or dripping out of you—but you’ll be marked. Inside is his preference. He likes seeing the proof of himself in you.

D = Dirty Talk Low, growling filth. He doesn’t speak often, but when he does? It's devastating. “Say my name,” “Look at me when I ruin you,” or even just a commanding “Now.”

E = Experience Very experienced. He’s had partners—usually casual, sometimes transactional—but few ever get past the physical. If you do, that’s a rare privilege.

F = Favorite Position He enjoys you beneath him in the mating press, your legs pinned, his weight pressing down on you, eyes locked as he claims you completely. He likes seeing the way your face twists with every movement, his hand either on your neck or your hip, controlling the pace. But just as often, he prefers you on all fours—from behind. The view of you like that drives him wild, where he can hold you in place, control every thrust, every gasp. It’s about the power he has over you, the unspoken claim that only deepens with every moment.

G = Goofy Not at all. Lucci is intense and focused. If you laugh, he’ll raise a brow and smirk faintly, but only to throw you off before flipping you over.

H = Hair Groomed. Chest hair is non-existent. Below the belt, he trims but doesn’t shave. He doesn’t care for vanity—function over form.

I = Intimacy Rare, but when it appears, it’s wordless. A hand to the small of your back, a steady gaze as he finishes inside you, the way he lets his guard down just enough to hold you after.

J = Jack-Off He does, but not often—he has a soldier’s discipline. If he’s thinking of you, though, it’s intense and quiet, a hand over his mouth, jaw clenched.

K = Kinks Control. Every part of him is rooted in dominance—he doesn’t just want to fuck you, he wants to own you. D/s dynamics are at his core, and he thrives when you're obedient because you want to be.

Breeding kink. It’s biological, raw. The idea of filling you, knotting you to him with something that lasts—leaves him breathless in ways he won’t say aloud. Seeing you fucked full and trembling? It satisfies something ancient.

Predator/prey play. He loves the chase—your startled gasp, the way you run, knowing you want to be caught. It brings out his inner beast, makes the eventual capture all the more intoxicating.

Obsessive protector vibes. Not a kink in the usual sense, but once you're his, he watches everything: who you talk to, what you wear, even the shift in your tone when someone else says your name. You may never catch him saying it outright, but the possessiveness coils around your spine like smoke. And if you play with that—test the limits, tease the line? That’s when the beast bares its teeth, and you’re in for it.

L = Location Prefers private places—hotel rooms, his quarters, somewhere he can fully own you. But if he gets impatient? Somewhere dark and semi-public, where he can muffle your sounds.

M = Motivation Control, lust, and tension. He gets turned on by seeing your obedience or how easily you fall apart under him. The more composed you usually are, the more he craves your ruin.

N = No He’s not into degrading humiliation (unless you ask for it), sharing, or anything too chaotic. Lucci needs control—not mess.

O = Oral (Receiving/Giving) Receiving: He’s silent, watching you like prey. No praise—just the weight of his hand on your head, the quiet threat of him holding you there. He finishes without warning. It’s not affection. It’s a claim.

Giving: He doesn’t do it to be kind. He does it because he’s starving. Buries himself between your thighs like a beast at a kill, obsessed with your taste, your scent, the way your body jerks. If you beg him to stop, he doesn’t—not until the trembling starts. And if his Zoan tongue comes into play? You won’t be speaking when he’s done. It’s not just about making you come. It’s about satisfying the beast—and that takes time.

P = Pace Calculated. He starts slow to torment you, but when he breaks, it’s punishing—deep, hard thrusts that make you forget everything but him.

Q = Quickies Yes, especially when he’s on a mission. He’ll pull you aside, lift you like you weigh nothing, and take what he needs. Fast, filthy, and dominant.

R = Risk Measured risk turns him on. Semi-public, silent-in-a-meeting-room type encounters, or letting you tease him in a dangerous setting… he gets off on restraint.

S = Stamina Inhuman. He can go for multiple rounds, barely winded. His Zoan abilities give him a beast’s endurance—and appetite.

T = Toys He prefers using his hands and body, but if he does use toys, they’re precision tools—like remote-controlled vibrators or restraints. You will be his experiment.

U = Unfair Cruelly. Teases you to tears and won’t let you come until he decides. He enjoys making you beg, especially if you’re normally independent or mouthy.

V = Volume Quiet. He growls, grunts, whispers sharp orders. The occasional deep moan if you do something unexpected that shatters his control.

W = Wild Card In Zoan form, his instincts intensify. He tries to stay restrained, but if he lets go? Expect dominance, biting, and total physical overwhelm. It's not often—but unforgettable.

X = X-Ray Thick, veined, and long—more than average. He knows how to use it. And he will use it to stretch you just to see your reaction.

Y = Yearning Silently intense. He won’t voice it, but if he wants you, you’ll feel it in every lingering stare, every gloved touch, every unreadable silence in a locked room.

Z = Zzz (Sleep) Sleeps light, usually facing the door. But if you’ve just spent the night together? He’ll allow you to sleep on his chest. Just don’t expect cuddles every time.

My babygurl @auryborealis reminded me (luckily!) that today is Rob Lucci's birthday! So Happy Birthday my evil hot pigeon boy!

[rin-and-jade]

Welcome to the World! : A Starting Guide for Alters

This guide's purpose is to help either new formed/split, or those recently risen from dormancy, or the unregistered/unrecognized alters to get one step closer to functioning at the outside world!

It'll be one long rundown, click below to start right away, see you on the flip side.

From here on, what will be mentioned are things to assess some potential problems, questions, and self-discovery prompts. It is recommended to follow the flow of the guide, but if you necessarily need to skim to a certain section, this table of contents will help you:

table of contents

The beginning - Introduction

Things to look out for - potential problems to assess - Mobility - Gender & Species unalignment - World confusion

Starters - self discovery questions

How a system works - lite educative version

Closing - last notes + extra materials

The beginning

Nice to see you here, in the flip side! Now i know you have lots of questions on hand right now, and why you might be reading this as first thing's first; it's because i am here to help prepare yourself in many different aspects that cannot be learnt/figured out in such a short amount of time unless it is assisted with an experienced person.

If you haven't know what's going on up to this point, along with the kind of situation you're in, first off, you're a system.

Yes, thats right, system is a word for a collection of many parts within one body and you are also a part of it. This can mean you'll hear other kinds of accent inside head, and feeling + liking fully different things, as well as possessing different levels of certain skills and memory. More or less, this belongs to the qualities of a Complex Dissociative Disorder,, where there are types like DID, OSDD, Polyfragmented, etc.

This happens because of how dissociation can wall up barriers between other facets of yourself that stops some level of communication or complete it's integration when bad things happen in early years, leaving them mainly separated and self-autonomous; they're known as 'alters' but i personally love calling them as 'parts' or some might go with words like 'headmates' or 'facets' or even 'members'.

This isn't enough to explain the disorder itself, but i hope it suffices in explaining your situation! Feel free to check some extra system details if your gang has one, let's get to the next section.

Things to look out for

Just a quick warning and a reminder, if you are rather new or have not been actively out,, there is a high chance of having issues with limb coordination, control, and balancing. Other than that, the off-putting sensations you feel such as wrong type of species, height, gender, or even the world being foreign from how you perceive it can make things scary and overwhelming.

Fear not, as i also have the solutions for all these:

Handling poor mobility: First off, take a good moment to recognize your length of the arms, legs, learn the shape of your palm and fingers, and to every corners of your body. Start holding some simple objects like mugs or pens, remember how it feels to grab something with your fingers and gauge your grip strength, experimenting when you squeeze or loosen it. Then start interacting with the objects with both your hands, attempt to twirl it, or hold it in different positions and turns. You can also go for a test walk and sway all your joints to get a better picture of your movement range, practice makes perfect in easing your balance and momentum, it is normal to stub or be wobbly or clumsy at first, so take it easy okay?

To manage unalignment: It is hard to feel comfy if it is not the right height, especially for non-human aligned parts, so using props or any equipment or accessories can give you some sense of comfort (you can even walk on toes if you do need to feel a bit more tall, but don't over do this). Since fully eradicating this is impossible, doing anything in your power to lessen the discomfort is the best thing you can do,, there are also phantom limbs which basically means the extra body parts you identify with does not exist. This can be remedied by applying some gentle pressure to think that it is attached to your main body or use your imagination to satisfy that missing limb. for those not being aligned with the gender, if the body is feminine but you are masculine; try investing or search for a binder. If a binder is out of reach, wearing oversized, or baggy clothes, or hoodies will do the trick. And a boyish clothing style and short hair style if possible too. If its masculine in a feminine instead, using more girly oriented clothing style and do your nails, or any activities that affirms feminine aligned gender. I am very sure there are silicon chest pads but not in terms of where it is being sold at, so try to find them if it's available in your area. When neither and is androgynous instead, try searching for gender neutral clothes that are also neutral colored like grey/black/brown. There are many inspirations of this type of fashion so use the internet to gain inspirations on making your own androgyny look, you could even use make up to contour your shape of face. Now, for the ones who walk in hind-legs, get some platform heels/shoes/sandals/boots. You can find a flat one or the slanted one to match your needs. The idea is the slanted part of the shoe and the thick base gives an impression of canine/feline foot balance and for those who have hooves, respectively. (honestly, paw printed socks will do too, i hope) And to manage claws, or fangs, try using fake nail art of your color, or attach a fake vampire teeth guard, respectively. For symbolic means, you can even consume foods that are juicy and red, like meat cooked in medium,, or if you want the more vegan option: watermelons, or gummy that represents meat or grubs or just by being red to represent blood. Lastly, for the avians who have a pair of flaps--multiple wings, or in unusual spots (arm, face) can be eased by applying constant pressure points (any adhesive and items like tape, cotton, band aids, tissue, or plastic wrap) or a cloak/mantle/loose jacket or vest can give you that comfortable enshrouded sensation that comes with wings. Making flap sounds from cloth or any fabric will also give you a stable sense of input for having a 'functional' one, although phantom.

Getting used to the world Start learning how technology works--phone, laptop, kitchen tools, vehicle if any, and anything else that are often used. Make sure you practice enough to easily operate them, and learn how to use the internet and helpful plural apps or websites such as Lighthouse or start using Simply Plural. Try many foods to enhance culinary awareness, identify lots of other objects and the geography of your area to navigate and understand better. Touch many kinds of materials to train your sensory processes. You could also invest in watching shows and try a variety amount of activities to deepen your understanding of life. Explore different kinds of subject that you are particularly interested on, and lastly, never be afraid to do and try new things! This will guarantee you to seamlessly function with anything the world has to offer.

For starters - Self Discovery

Do you have a name?

do you what's your age?

What's your gender?

What are your pronouns?

Do you remember anything, and how much?

Do you seem to retain some past knowledge?

Can you describe what you look like? (Includes species)

Do you find the outside world familiar or foreign?

Can you state your bio name, family, or any important info?

Is it possible to describe yourself identity/vibe wise? (crucial part to tell apart fragments from splits and from holders that do not embody a personality)

What role could you fit as? (a host, protector, etc. Search for alter roles)

Do you like the outside world? Will you have a chance of being out more often? (to gauge how often one will front)

Have any likes and dislikes or preferences/hobbies?

For the bullet points you couldn't answer, take this as a sign to start searching! It will take some time, but you can ask help from anyone and even me when needed.

How a system works

A system works in communication (be it internal or external) and switches that also often have a specific trigger to call out someone else. Sometimes, though not a must, will have an innerworld that facilitates as a place for everyone to meet and interact.

These things are crucial for cooperation, because you'll definitely need that in order to navigate the world and adapt accordingly.

Communication

There are many kinds of communication styles, sometimes a mix of some or have all of the above,, whatever style you have, make sure to use it to the maximum. There are: via images, via abstract vibes, via emotions, or via direct (verbal) internal thoughts. Some do not have any internal communication, so external ones would be things such as keeping notes or write in a diary or any app for text editing.

Keep in mind that the clarity of communication fluctuates due to various factors, stress as one of them. So it is important to know that it will not work in a constant 100% at all times, use this awareness to strategize if, somehow, you have lost contact with the others.

Trigger & Switches

It is something that elicits a feeling that belongs to a part, which in return, can 'wake' or call one to co-con or front. There are negative and positive charged triggers, and i suggest you to explore what are your potential triggers.

The relationship with trigger and switches is, depending on how strong it is, can cause a switch to happen, where you will be swapped out by another one who got 'called' upon. This mechanism is for adapting to different kinds of situations, and these certain triggers are the key to ensuring the right part handle it's respective job as needed.

Switches can be very subtle, or slow, or obvious, or in a snap. This fully depends on how your system is made to handle problems on hand or when in stress, as sometimes it can cause rapid-switching, or the opposite, being stuck or locked in front. Sometimes, they also cause physical symptoms.

System terms - Basics

Fronting - the alter who has full control of the body, and performing tasks. Co-front - the alter, who have awareness between the outside and inside world, as well as able to control the body though not as complete as the fronter. Co-conscious - the alter who have awareness of the outside world, and spectates, and does not have any direct control of the body. Passive influence - when an alter's specific traits or likes/dislikes leaked to others and/or at front, that changes the initial reaction to be more blended with the other one. E.g. A like fries, B is there and likes spicy sauces. So now, A is craving to eat the fries with something spicy, even if A has no interest when it comes to spiciness or sauce.

For closing

Practice makes perfect, this is everything you need to know to hone your knowledge before finally stepping outside with complete freedom, where you can start anywhere you'd like, and to resume your collective's path to functionality and well-being. It's okay if things didn't go well at first try, and remember to reach out to people who you could trust as it'll help you progress faster!

I am aware that this guide still have a lot of room for improvement, so any requests or feedback will be added here for future viewers! This guide will be subjected to constant updates with even more sections being discussed on, or added touch of details. I will also add on my own posts here to serve as additional knowledge that is related to this topic:

Types of amnesia

Are you a Shard, Fragment, or Alter

Types of subsystems

Front-stuck, and how to deal with it

Physical switches

Comorbidity

Being blurry

Starters to system foundations

How comorbidity affects plurals (ADHD & Autism)

Dealing with the sense of faking

The person who needs to give their back a break, - j

[mxchineherald]

viktor's neurodivergence

In Zaun, there are terms for those with neurodivergence, such as 'Spirit Touched'. They are (typically) openly accepted and supported by their communities, as opposed to the all too common 'closed door' policy of Piltover.

Viktor's ND was subtle in its presentation, but he was still noticed as autistic by his community by the time he was about four. Accommodations were made where they could be, but ultimately, growing up in a world that didn't/couldn't understand his mind or needs led to him developing unhealthy coping mechanisms and anxiety. He was bullied by the factory children, who led much harder lives than he did, and typically stuck to a solitary existence to stay safe.

As he got older, he taught himself methods to manage his symptoms and traits, as he was relatively low-needs compared to most cases of autism he saw. Of course, his methods were not perfect, and sometimes unhealthy, but he made significant progress through his teen years with the help of his support net (his parents, Benzo, Babette, and Jericho).

Below is a list of symptoms and traits Viktor experiences as an autistic person with anxiety.

missing social cues

Viktor very commonly does not know when he is being rude, over-explanatory, or condescending. He will miss cues telling him to stop a line of conversation, or to continue one. Often times, if he is bored by something, he will look outwardly miserable, and otherwise has a hard time hiding his genuine reactions to something, be they positive or negative. Due to this, several NT nobles and officials prefer to avoid him, and vice versa.

hyperfixation

It is possible for Viktor to become so focused on something that he forgoes drinking, eating, moving, or sleeping. This can, and has, led to him spending days in the lab before being sent home to rest and bathe by Jayce or Sky. He's better about it now than when he was a teenager. He can become so engrossed in a subject that it is literally all he will talk about for weeks at a time, and will take any chance to discuss it with others, even if they're sick of it.

shutdowns

Something Viktor has struggled with since childhood, shutdowns cause him to close the world out and go silent. He will often times escape from the situation causing the shutdown, be that a social interaction, a loud party, a crowded shop, etc, and hide somewhere dark and quiet to go non-responsive. Jayce once found him in a bathroom at a Council function, unable to speak or move, crying. Only space, quiet, and deep pressure therapy seem to help with these episodes.

fidgetting/stimming

Viktor always needs to keep his hands busy, be it with his work or with a fidget of some kind. He will twirl his hair, flip pencils in his fingers, tap his digits on surfaces, or simply rub his hands together. When he speaks, one hand is usually occupied by his cane/crutch, while the other swings around at his side to impress his statements. Sky gave him a small, rotating puzzle to help him with his stimming, and it's one of his most prized possessions.

social anxiety

Viktor experiences mild to severe anxiety when speaking to people he doesn't know personally. This can lead to more social cues being missed than usual, giving most a somewhat awkward first impression of him. He also hates small talk because of this. No matter what he tries, he experiences severe stage fright, and suffers trembling, nausea, and headaches when addressing crowds. (This becomes very lessened in his augmented form)

big emotions

Viktor experiences emotions viscerally and physically. Anger burns his insides, sadness chills his bones, happiness fills him with static energy, and anxiety leaves his skin prickling. Emotions might cause him to fall into repetitive motions like rattling his head, rubbing his leg, shimmying his shoulders, or wagging his hands. Emotions can physically exhaust him, even leading to flares of his Miner's Disease or Arcane Fatigue.

sensory issues

Many senses of Viktor's are far more raw than others. Touch and smell are his two most acute senses, requiring accommodation in some cases. He wears softer fabrics and avoids silk or satin directly against his skin. This leads to Viktor having favorite outfits, which he will repeatedly wear. As for scents, Viktor likes consistency, and will always wear the same oils. He specifically dislikes the smell of menthol, because it's too strong.

digestive issues

Depending on his stress level, Viktor will have a harder time processing and digesting foods. Sometimes, even with no stress, his body will simply decide it does not like something, and make it his problem. He has safe foods, like eggs, congee, balovi, anchovies in gravy, and sweetmilk, which he will never turn down unless he is too ill to eat food in general. He experiences gastritis often due to his digestive issues, and is very shy about it.

[kidcanines]

"What do I do?? I'm terrified."

x - x - x

--DNI NSFW--

HEADS UP: tw for depictions of panic attacks and graphic descriptions of what it feels like to be triggered + stern parenting

It's only in the night that it attacks me. When I’m not distracted and alone, on my own. Like a predator waiting in the dark of night, covered by its shadows. It hurts.

A quiet cloying feeling underneath the skin and bone and ichor of my sternum. Bright and burning and heavy, all consuming, non-relenting. Crawls up my throat, into my arms, down my back and into my legs and feet. Makes me immobile and shaky-a terrible feeling. 

It can wake me up out of my sleep. Make me feel dirty after I step foot out of the shower- infested and unclean. Creeps up my shoulders and burrows claws into the cap of my skull. Unsteady. Relentless.

It loves my suffering. The way I starve, the way I give up and succumb. Gets in my ears with wordless mantras that I understand all the same. Blocks out those voices, muffles my eardrums so skillfully, like a wad of tissue stuck inside of them. Makes me curve my spine in on myself, attempt to resist it’s every attempt to take me to places I have no desire to be in. 

Bodily reactions were never my favorite thing, especially not ones like this. That when I look down I see my hands shaking, feel my body caught up in a full body shiver that wont quit because my brain is attacking itself.

The unspoken shows up and I’m down for the count, pieces so carefully put together shattered into something smaller, something more fragile than the first, last, tenth, second time I’ve done this careful waltz of squeezing my eyes shut and hoping and praying that the unspoken will stay far, far, far away from me for the rest of my life.

I keep thinking it won’t affect me, that seeing it will do nothing and I will remain apathetic to its significant presence.

But no.

That doesn’t happen. It never does.

And I’m not sure if it ever will. 

So. I think it’s okay when my feet pad into the living room. Eyes fearful, cortisol pumping.

It is painful, the way I force each foot in front of another. Every thought leads back to the unspoken dragging its claws through my entire body.

But he is in the kitchen. The pots and pans in the kitchen clinking against each other hits my sensory harder than I thought it would, and that hurts too. 

Every nerve inside of myself that I possess is on the edge of a cliff. I am dually over and under stimulated no matter what I do and every time I move I place myself too deep or too shallow into either.

It is mind boggling and only serves to further my pain and confusion. Still I walk, breaths shallow. I know if I push the tears back now they’ll disappear forever, so I let the sniffling continue, allow the thoughts to grow on me like invasive ivy up an old brick building and creeping charlie through a sidewalk.

After a while the tears slip down silently, my neck feels like its been used and abused so I keep it still. 

In fact, every exposed bone in my body, which is to say none, feels used and abused, which is to say all. I use the ones I need to get where I want to go. 

But he finds me before I find him. Death grip on my lovey–Ellie–tears falling freely as I try to stifle my hiccups even though I really want to scream.

It takes him a while to process exactly what's going on, parts of me still don’t think he understands completely what it takes to come to him for help I feel I maybe don’t deserve.

And I don’t really know what it feels like to have someone who’s fingertips brushing up against my cranium chase away the pain of being. The pain of the unspoken when it comes knocking at my doorstep. 

Still he’s on his knees in a second. The smell of food from the kitchen infesting my nostrils and it hurts and I hiccup and sniffle because it's not the unspoken and I’m so grateful for that.

His eyes search, intuitive. Hear my heartbeat, rushing blood, the gears I’ve tried to stop from functioning turning painfully in my head. His socked feet walk toward me and all of a sudden I am alight with explosions tearing across my skin. Afraid that he will hurt me just as the unspoken. That he will crush me like a bug and look back and laugh and think nothing of the way he has utterly destroyed me.

I want to run away.

Instead I feel the warm air against the back of my throat as a shuddering breath wracks through me, into my closed throat, down my esophagus, settles unpleasantly into my stomach because it doesn’t belong there but is placed all the same.

The turmoil shows and he stops short, crouching with his hands limp across his thighs, telegraphing his moves. 

“Hello lovebug,” He whispers. I whimper at the nickname, pulling my trimmed nails to fruitlessly pluck at the skin of my lip. 

“Ah ah ah..” He chides, I flinch against his disapproval and the tips of his lips pull up into something like a sad smile. He transitions so that his butt is on the floor, so that he is criss-cross applesauce on the hardwood floor and I am safe on the square carpet near the couch who’s arm I have in a death grip. 

“What happened?” He questions. And I cannot answer that. So I cry some more, chest heaving against my ribs as I clench every aching muscle in my body and force myself to breath. It comes like quick pants when I really wanted slow, full oxygen- none of the air ever effectively fills up my lungs the way it needs too. 

My knees seem to fail me then, but my ankles do not no matter how bad they hurt and so I hug Ellie tight and bury my face into her soft fabric, crouched similarly to how he was just a moment ago. Ashamed and terrified.

Afraid, but most of all, angry. The emotions weigh in on me, press against my skin and urge me to give up, to lay out on the floor and never get up again, too overwhelmed by feeling and light and sound. 

And then the world is light and my heaviness is nothing when the warm arms I know, even though I don’t see, are gathering me up close to a steady beating chest. 

The air is warmer up here and I choke on feelings that I can’t say.

One arm supports my legs while the other comes up to rub soothing circles into my back. Rhythmic and constant, his hand pushes into my spine, squeezes me the right way.

He smells warm, like freshly washed laundry and cinnamon, like a new book just opened. I don’t know how the unspoken smells but I know it can’t be this and that's what makes my hand come up to clench at his black shirt. 

His scent is invasive but ten times better than whatever I was experiencing when I was on the floor, alone, by myself.

He’s moving, walking into the kitchen and it’s soothing to my frazzled mind, walking around the house but not actually doing all the work it takes. He’s humming something, I know what song it is but dont have the strength to focus on anything more than him.

I’m too scared to go back into my mind for fear of what might find me. With one hand he continues cooking, I look back, curious, looking to distract myself.

“Whazzat..” I whisper through tears and sniffling, clear my throat, hiccup again, and again before he is soothing me with a strong palm against my back.

“Rice and chicken…” He absentmindedly cuts a quarter of butter with its paper and, taking a corner of the parchment, shakes it over the muffled burbling of the rice until it falls and sinks silently into the thickness. 

He’s back to humming again, going into our room to wrap a blanket around me and grab a fluffy piece of towel–Doily, Doi for short–before placing it in my hands. 

It smells like him because it's with him for the majority of the day, so that when I’m in need of it he can just pull it out and give it to me.

It is white and has wavy, soft ends and feels good between the skin of my thumb and pointer finger. Only in bed because that's where we’ve been for a good chunk of the day.

It is warm and soothing, familiar, lovely. 

His steps make creaking sounds against the wood, the weight of two people making the material groan underfoot as he drags his heels over the house to make sound despite his unnaturally quiet nature.

We are back in the kitchen and he is skillfully plating a mixture of rice and chicken into a bowl with raised edges and silly characters on the side. Unknowingly, his rhythmic breathing has me taking deep breaths of my own, helping me even them into long shuddering ins-and-outs. 

He grabs the remote off the black and gray raised marble counter and sits on the couch with careful steps, bowl in hand beside my hip- spoon hilt resting on the lip of it before sitting down and maneuvering me onto a side of his lap. Eyes focused on not dropping anything or creating a too loud noise. 

“What do you want to watch, baby?” He asks, flitting across multiple movies and shows, before eventually landing on my favorite. Definitely not for kids but comforting all the same, Scream 1996. He turns it on with a huff of a laugh, leans me back against his chest so that my shoulder is ensconced between the side of his tummy and the elbow of his arm. 

He briefly tastes the chicken and rice, leaning down to grab a bite to judge whether or not it's too hot before humming and taking another scoop, bringing it to my lips.

I purse them and look up at him as the movie drones on through the starting credits. 

“I’ve already eaten lovey, your turn.” He waves the spoonful of food gently and I shake my head, afraid to defy but doing it anyway because I am not hungry. 

“Come on, if you do, we can play in the snow tomorrow..” But do I want to play in the snow tomorrow? What is usually a yes morphs into a slow no and I find that I have no interest in playing or even talking to anyone. Too exhausted, too bone-tired to do anything but sleep and leave those who want to play alone. I bury my face into my dad’s black shirt and I can feel that he is displeased. 

“Love, if you don’t eat you won’t feel better. Dad needs you to take care of yourself.” Why would I take care of myself when it is this very self that has made me feel this way? I don’t say as much, but the anger inside me simmers, directed aimlessly like a gun, loaded and ready to squeeze the trigger all the same. I bury myself deeper into his chest and he jumps me with his arm, a gentle jostling. 

“Hey. Come on, I need you to do what's good for you…I’m offering a hand, are you going to take it?” With those words dad puts my care into my hands, ready to give it when I affirm. An effective, gentle tactic that allows me to have control.

I want to say no, that I will not take the hand no matter how many times it beckons. My eyebrows furrow against his black shirt and I know he feels it.

Breathing too deeply feels too volatile but I am too angry to care so I scream into the couch cushion behind him with what little breath I have. Squeeze my nails into my palms so tight they make tiny moon crescents.

Again and again while the tears are fresh and warm do I use my voice to aimlessly communicate my inner anger.

And finding that I want to hit, move away from him so I can punch the cushions, so I can kick my feet and hinge my knees and beat against the carpeted floor and cover my ears.

It goes on like this for a while. I don’t want it to end. But my body can’t keep up and it seems neither can I, cannot give what my mental seemingly needs. 

So I end up lying on the floor face down, crying harder, face undoubtedly flushed against brown skin.

A hand comes to rest atop my twists, the headache does not leave but the claws there disappear momentarily, replaced with actual feeling.

It will be long days before I feel normal again.

But my dad lifts me up by my armpits and puts us back in our position on the couch. Like he knows, been through this with me before. He moves the full spoon to my mouth and I take it, chewing despite my tears. 

“Thank you, my good boy..” and he ruffles my twists and kisses my forehead as I curve my spine to rest into him, turning my focus to the tv and taking another bite when he holds it up to my lips.

[whumpster-fire]

Well apparently I'm back in the FNAF fandom now, so here are some headcanons about my favorite pathetic, skrunkly, strangely adorable engineering disaster, Mangle. From, like, an AU where the restaurant stays open for longer than a month and the animatronics are a bit less hostile / not possessed, just machines with horribly overengineered AI.

I'm sorry I know toddlers are comically destructive, but I do not buy Mangle actually being dismembered by them. Breaking down repeatedly / being damaged by slips and falls / having suit pieces fail or fall off, sure, but I don't think a machine that can easily overpower and kill an adult human would get its limbs torn off by a bunch of rowdy kids. I think "take apart / put together attraction" has got to be an inside joke and Mangle's current state is a result of being attacked by something much stronger than a child: either a disgruntled employee who was sick of wasting so much time trying to fix the same unreliable piece of junk, or one or more of the other animatronics.

Also someone or something clearly keeps repairing her. Either it's some chucklehead mechanic with too much spare time who's trying to see how many extra / mismatched limbs they can add before management does something about it or something non-human that has a vague idea of how to attach parts to each other in a "functional" way but has no idea what shape a Toy Foxy endoskeleton is supposed to be.

Despite this Mangle's level of activity varies a lot from night to night and week to week depending on whether she has enough working actuators and sensors to do more than flop around. She can't really stand and walk around in the tripedal pose she's normally depicted in most of the time because it's rare for at least one hip/knee/ankle joint to not be unpowered, jammed, or have position/force sensors out. Also having three legs splayed out like that makes balancing her long neck/arms easier but it's basically a stress position and uses too much energy to maintain for very long.

The restaurant has exposed steel roof trusses like a warehouse which is how Mangle moves around on the ceiling. She's learned to hook her various exposed parts onto the trusses to hang there without using effort. Management are not thrilled about this because she keeps breaking overhead lights, ceiling fans, exit signs, and stuff like that.

Freddy's has a big plastic tube climbing structure, I don't care if it's not in the games come on it should be like Chuck E Cheese. The outside of the structure has scrapes and gouges because Mangle likes climbing it to get to the trusses. She sometimes hides inside it too because the other animatronics either can't fit or don't have good enough motion control to crawl through tight spaces with a height difference, so it's a good place to avoid everyone.

The ceiling also has a series of rails to let the prize puppet navigate the restaurant. Half of these are bent or otherwise messed up from having an animatronic that is way heavier than the puppet trying to hang from them.

Mangle gets stuck on the ceiling at least once a week and it's so pathetic every time, like a cat getting its claws hooked on a curtain. Usually this is another annoyance for the opening shift / actually a safety hazard because even if her motors are locked out after 6 AM, getting on a stepladder and trying to dislodge a heavy, awkward bundle of exposed edges and pinch points is playing OSHA Violation Bingo. Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

She's gotten stuck in the security office twice. The first time, the guard was driven insane by having to listen to four hours of uninterrupted static / having an animatronic that could kill him in the office for most of the night, and he quit as soon as his shift was over. Jeremy stood up on his desk with the Freddy mask on and carefully dislodged the part that was stuck. He also noticed that Mangle was panicking about being trapped with important wires about to be yanked out, and handled the situation like he was untangling a panicking 300 lb mechanical cat from a curtain.

The end result of this was Mangle falling from the ceiling and yanking the Freddy mask off by accident. However, the facial recognition bug that affects the other toy animatronics isn't a thing with Mangle because ironically her visual processing has ended up better than what the toy animatronics were originally programmed with because of how much she's had to adjust to having working eyes in two independently moving heads / having eyes frequently fail / having her head be sideways or upside down most of the time. Jeremy is now one of the only people she trusts and she frequently hangs out in his office.

An unforeseen result of this is that one time the puppet tried to jump Jeremy and got clotheslined right off its strings.

Toy Foxy was actually designed to have easily interchangeable parts. The idea was that they could switch between giving her a normal hand, a hook, or a hand puppet with a second endoskeleton head. At this point Mangle contains parts of all her swappable arms, as well as random spares and parts that were supposed to be spares for the old model animatronics.

Related Tangent: Foxy's hook is supposed to be rubber because not even Fazbear Entertainment is dumb enough to give a children's entertainment robot a sharp metal weapon. However a metal hook was made for him, because they decided to advertise Foxy's debut with a commercial where they filmed him doing some sort of pirate stunt like swinging from a ship's rigging. This naturally was never supposed to be installed in the actual restaurant. In the time of FNAF 1 it somehow got put on him but the staff who saw the empty box in the parts room thought it got thrown out and didn't check if it was on the actual animatronic. Nobody noticed except some unfortunate night guards. In the time of FNAF 2 however, Foxy's horrifying steel meat hook wound up on Mangle for several days, until she got it impaled through the side of an air duct and was trapped there for the rest of the night. Nobody knows how it got attached to her but the working theory is some kid got into the parts and services room when no one was looking.

Months later, there's still tape over the hole in the duct.

Jeremy got management to finally fix Mangle's speakers because six hours of static is still annoying as hell. He has now discovered that she does not have enough preprogrammed jokes, stories, and sea shanties to last a whole shift, so he's started bringing in books and cassette tapes to expand her repertoire.

[umbral-dominant]

Aramis Dantes Gen.Info [Mobile]

A Post version of his general info for mobile links o/

Full Name–   .   ✦  Aramis Dantes

.    Nicknames– .  ✦  Suan/Swan as an alias when asked for a name.

.    Age / D-O-B–    . ✦  17 Before Phoenix Gate, 30 At Narrative Start, 35 End - Born Mid Summer.

.    Gender–    .  ✦  (cis)Male

.    Pronouns–   . ✦   He/Him

.    Orientation–   . ✦   Demiromantic - Demisexual [Rarely makes advances]

.    Current Work–  . ✦  Wandering Guard / Wanted ‘Felon’

.    Ethnicity–    . ✦   Human, Sanbrequen ; Dominant of Nidhogg

.    Height–    . ✦   6’3

.    Color Descriptors–    . ✦   Slightly tanned skin, as if constantly tired, Raven black hair, Dark eyes that seem black from afar - but in light the color is ruby red. 

Unique Attributes; Violet-black scarring across his right side that was once scales [repeatedly torn off by his own hands] some ‘cracks’ can be seen in the scarring that have violet aether beneath them that pulses with his heartbeat (While it touches across his neck/somewhat up his face it is mostly present at his shoulder/biscep/hip) The skin is sensative to the touch more than most. - Missing his left leg [knee down], wears a prosthetic that is either treated-wood [for travel] or reinforced metal if expecting combat and needs precise movement. Two fingers on his right hand [ring/pinky] are almost non-functional with very limited grip strength and they don’t move as fluidly in his motions (His combat prowess has adjusted for this).

What do they sound like?–  . ✦ As he doesn’t talk often, his voice often seems graveled or tired from lack of use, though the actual tenor is deep, easily able to dip into a snarl, his tone usually carries a soft inflection that denotes a genuine care and honesty for what he’s saying.

───────────────

Current Residence–    .  ✦  Innrooms or makeshift campgrounds across Storm; Eventually the Hideaway

.    Hometown–    . ✦   Oriflamme

.    Languages Spoken–    .  ✦  Common tongue, Mothertongue [Sanbreque native]

.    Blood Relations–    .  ✦ Orelia Suan (Mother, Deceased) / Timoteus Dantes (Father, Estranged)

.    Other + Status–    . ✦   Those who’ve earned his Loyalty;;

✧ Dion Lesage- (Cherished Reason, Aramis’s Charge and he holds unbreakable loyalty to him.)

✧ Selene Amatori- (Cherished Reason, presumed Deceased, Aramis’s Charge and he holds unbreakable loyalty to her.)

✧ Clive Rosfield- ( Trusted Companion, It takes a small bit of time before he lets him close, but due to his prior meeting when they were teenagers at the Tri-Unity Summit and other shorter meetings, Aramis knows deep down that Clive is a genuine soul. By the fall of the first Mothercrystal he’s earned his trusted devotion. )

✧ Jill Warrick- ( Trusted Companion, One of the first to get Aramis to open up, she proves a paitent ear when taking note of his guarded habits. He takes to leaving small pebblesized wood-carved animals in her chambers now and again as little gifts for her time. Slowly she earns his trust all the same. )

Notedly: Within Aramis’s Solo narrative/Story, he is in a Poly-Relationship with Clive and Jill. This is not required to be included in RP interactions in any capacity. Mostly for my own work behind the scenes. His relationship with Dion [and Selene] is ‘romantic’ but in the context of emotional devotion, but is open to be explored further.

✧ Most of those of the Hideaway- While some will get on his nerves, they become as a family to him and the knight would die to protect them. 

.    Children–    .✦    None

.    Pets–    .  ✦  None

───────────────

.    Personality–    .   ✦ Rarely speaks unless spoken too, partly from how he was raised, as well as possessing a tendency to overthink his word choices. Relies on action most to communicate his intent. However this doesn’t mean physical contact with people; avoids that unless deemed necessary.

✧ A problem solver; When presented with something ‘wrong’ (Such as Gav lamenting a lacking of fresh fruits in the kitchens) he will listen quietly, then find a solution and commit to the plan himself alone. Doesn’t often ask for help unless the challenge is beyond his scope - but also won’t deny someone tagging along to assist him.

✧ When he does speak, it’s usually a fully thought-out sentence or statement that takes into account the entire conversation [or situation]. He is well spoken and comes across as intelligent, as he genuine is. Though he usually takes time to choose his words, sometimes he’ll say the wrong thing if emotion takes him - he’ll take responsibility for it though.

✧ Slow to genuinely trust someone, he is ready to defend himself at any moment, or to expect some measure of betrayal or ulterior motive. Proof of action and responsibility will be traits that will earn more trust. With this trust comes his loyalty and devotion.

───────────────

.    Hobbies–    .  ✦ Weapon or Armor upkeep // Physical activity and Daily exercise // General Cleaning (He’s not fully aware, but being surrounded by mess puts him on edge, so he’ll do any kinds of chores/cleaning to lessen any kind of anxiety) // bone or woodcarving (little dragonnetts or animals, sometimes those animals are actually his stand-in for people he knows)

.    Annoyances–    .  ✦  . Being asked to explain himself multiple times // Overly friendly people in his personal space // Boisterous Music/Loud constant noise (Makes it harder for him to keep an ear out on his surroundings, thus puts him on edge; Soft music is fine.)

.    (FF Class) Job–    . ✦   Dragoon > Dominant of Nidhogg (Unaspected Umbral Eikon)

.   Political Affiliation–    .✦ Selene + Dion / The Hideaway / Clive Rosfield

.   Faceclaim if applicable–   ✦ . All Art done by myself / my wife HLK

[blrecs]

01/50: the original of love (tomo serizawa, "white liar")

A perennial theme in bl manga (and, perhaps, in any genre story about love) is the desire for two people to become one person through their love. The (now tired) callback is, of course, to Plato’s Symposium, where Aristophanes recounts the myth that would later be made famous in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” that humans were once one large being with two sets of arms, two sets of legs, two heads, and that Zeus split us apart. Love is the longing to return to wholeness, to find one other’s half and become one.

In White Liar, Taiga Jinnouchi is both less and more than a human being. He is able to be many human beings, by taking in each character through his scripts, but it feels somehow that he is, at the same time, incomplete. His mentor Ren warns him that a lack of self is the sign of a second-rate actor, that allowing himself to be possessed by other characters, other non-selves, will destroy him. Kasamatsu, the veteran stylist, describes him as a transparent vessel, capable of taking on anything poured into him. His director describes him as a doll. He projects the illusion of wholeness, but inside he is empty.

White Liar is, then, a happy story. Taiga is reunited with Kei, the person who inspired him to become the actor he is. Like other stories of predestination (soulmates, childhood friends to lovers, reincarnation), the appeal is that you are doing what you are supposed to, that some act of divine intervention (love, fate, God) put you on a path that you will see to its end, and that that end is good. Because Kei set Taiga out on this path (acting), and that path brought Taiga back to Kei, Taiga is complete because Kei is back in his life.

Despite Kei being the point of view character, White Liar is Taiga’s journey. We even return to his hometown. What Kei gets out of this is “love,” but in a nebulous sense — good sex, good feeling, the ability to invest in someone who values him. I am not poo-pooing this as an important element of love IRL, but simply as a fascinating narrative quirk. Kei doesn’t go on a journey of self-discovery to find himself. As an object of Taiga’s love and desire, he is already whole and perfect, at least to Taiga. Kei’s forte is hair and makeup — by definition, his role if done correctly renders him invisible to Taiga’s audience. As for us, Serizawa’s audience, he is subsumed into Taiga. Together he and Taiga combine to create one person, but that one person is the actor Taiga Jinnouchi.

Compare this to Ayako Noda’s Double, which is also a series about two people trying to make up one complete actor. But the creation of the actor Takara is an uneasy compromise that cannot be sustained out in “the real world.” It is a nebulous thing of competing and complementary visions, which once sent out to actually function as an actor begins to collapse. Of course, Noda — through her other name Arai Niboshiko — is frequently interested in the idea of a world created by two people alone, that can only be sustained when accessed by those two people alone. Many of her stories are about two people becoming so lost in a world of their own making that love becomes a survival tactic.

Serizawa, though, does not feel compelled to put Kei and Taiga through the same tortuous gauntlet. In chapter 5 of White Liar, Kasamatsu is trying to convince Kei to accept Taiga’s feelings. “Sometimes, when Taiga laughs, he looks just like you,” Kasamatsu says. I have no doubt Serizawa meant that as comforting, a callback to that age-old idea that a couple that has been together long enough even begin to resemble each other. But what an unsettling thought: that the wholeness envisioned by Taiga is to take in Kei as well, as if Kei too were a role, his first and most important role. There is no need for struggle in White Liar. It is a story about seamlessness. One lover is a vessel, transparent, and the other is invisible. If Zeus were to look down upon them, he would not need to tear asunder. He would see only one person, moving easily through the world.

[msvorderofoperations]

Time for another dream journal, and a weird one at that.

The dream started out fairly hazy and bereft of details. A Rod Serling type was describing a number of anomalous artifacts he had collected over the years, and incredible danger they represented. One was a typed out IOU that could be given in exchange for anything, but as soon as it changed hands the person who had been given it could use it to get something from someone else. This seems innocuous at first, but would inevitably lead to continually escalating exchanges where people would eventually kill each other over trying to get their possessions back. Another was an ID card that could cut through anything that it had its edge pressed against. One can certainly imagine the kind and amount of violence that could be inflicted with something like that. Another was a tray that would attract bees that if left there would become sentient and capable of human speech. A yet further one was a clockwork display that could change its outward appearance and function, and it would occasionally incorporate the person operating it into itself, often in an extremely painful manner.

This is only kind of where more details start asserting themselves. Something akin to a flashback occurs, where a few of these items were at a single persons garage sale, and it was taking place inside their home. And to further communicate the weirdness going on, it was almost impossibly warm inside. Like, borderline snow conditions outside, tropical jungle inside. A person who recognizes the potential of these items starts gathering some but not all of them in the hopes of pulling off a bank heist.

The dream then transitions to said heist taking place. Because the mastermind of the operation didn't really know what they were doing, the whole thing has turned into a mess. There is evidence of other items being used like something that can shrink parts of things but not the whole to disable people by reducing one of their limbs. And on top of all this, the people pulling this robbery off are the exact opposite of professionals. They are letting their victims rile them up into doing stupid shit. Such as instead of using the ID card to cut their way into the vault, they are using it like a gun to enact violence. Specifically by throwing it. It is certainly capable of doing harm by doing so, but the problem is that the person being brutalized now can pick it up themselves.

Soon the entire operation goes tits up, partially because no one knows what they're doing, and mostly because these have a will of their own and don't like being controlled. The turning point is when the person using the bee tray realizes that the bees have been slowly working on destroying the tray by boring into its wood and laying eggs. And what now emerges from the swiftly splintering wood is some of the biggest, most terror inducing flying insects you've ever seen. Imagine Japanese hornets designed by H.R. Giger and that should give you a rough idea. Thinking quickly, they grab the ID card after it has been used to turn someones leg below the knee into a pile of gore and turns it on the hive where the queen happens to be emerging. For some reason the hive upon seeing their queen killed opts to just leave since they can't protect her.

At this point the narrative shifts back to the guy explaining how he came to be in possession of these items, but he is now much younger, and he has only *just* started collecting. Since he is just starting out he is willing to sell some of the items to be able to properly finance containment for the others. Though he wisely hides the IOU when meeting with people about potential sales. The first item he shows off is a non-functional offset printing press that came from a disreputable newspaper that closed down many years ago. As he is describing it however, it springs to life and two people appear in the room operating it. They then describe what about this press was so powerful and how its misuse led to the downfall of their publication.

The printing press was able to use misery and negative emotions to create much more accurate and affecting pictures and articles. And it was shockingly literal in this, often using their tears and blood as the ink. Those highlighted in their printing would meaningfully have their suffering lessened, and it meant that sympathy and comisseration were much easier to come by. The problem was that the output of that emotion was not evenly distributed. Instead of having it spread out and divided among their readership, it was a 1:1 ratio for each person who read it. Effectively, this machine had the capacity to exponentially increase suffering. And so unsurprisingly even among the very small readership this rag had, people had to take action because it was ruining the lives of their readers.

And it was around here that I woke up.

[artbyblastweave]

Gideon the Ninth Liveread, Chapter 13

Gonna try and catch up on these.

Gideon is using increasingly possessive language used for Harrow- HER necromancer.

“I am just saying, you’d be dead.” More and more I understand the gestalt image of Harrow as the Kitten Who Thinks Of Nothing But Murder All Day. She’s a heap of bones and wet cloth held together with spite.

Big fan of the repeated use of "In a Bone”- “hiding in a bone”, “stuck in a bone”, “dying in a bone-” to describe the bone cocoon. This syntax smacks of Homestuck.

Okay. So Harrow was “just recuperating.” Here we see a reproduction of what Harrow did with her parents; sealing herself off from the world to try and recover, which is of course fruitless because you do it in a situation where you're starved for resources and there's nobody who even knows or cares something is wrong. Harrow rejects all solutions she doesn't execute singlehandedly; Gideon, meanwhile, snaps at opportunities as they emerge, even when offered by someone she hates; her brand of stubbornness only superficially resembles that of Harrow's because she was never given any real offer of assistance.

Finally Gideon starts flexing her leverage. This is good to see. Yell at your wet rat

Harrow is equally suspicious as I am of Dulcinea; she picked an interesting place to die! This, in turn, highlights something interesting about Gideon’s point of view; Gideon is cutting, but not consistently insightful. She’s very good at coming up with downright poetically mean and snarky things to say about the people and things around her; she can intuit the broad shape of the social dynamics, as shown in the chapter 12 intro- but she isn’t thinking critically about a lot of it. She’s routinely spending time with Dulcinea, and she hasn’t moved mentally beyond “she’s dying” to “why is she dying:” She hasn’t considered in the slightest the fundamental weirdness of sending a terminally ill person to complete a giant scavenger hunt. Gideon noticed and was put off by Canaan House’s dumpishness, but she didn’t parse it as a power play; instead, we overheard Naberius say that. Gideon noticed how incongruously constructed Canaan House is, but didn’t read much into it; Palamedes is the one whose bullshit detector actually went off.

The awful orange tone of human leather. Jesus fuck.

Alright, so they aren’t supposed to go through locked doors without permission. I didn’t remember the specifics of the wording on that one.

Harrow got ahead of the other houses because she has the force multiplier of skeletons; Palamedes has psychometry. The eighth house has... raw zealotry? There’s gotta be some necromantic element giving them a leg up. Here we get insight from Harrow about the other houses, insight absent from the narrative up till now because Harrow is, again, the protagonist of a very different story from that of Gideon's, with a very different set of known unknowns. All that buildup surrounding the sixth pair, and Harrow just kind of casually knows Palamedes by reputation. Also here we get a sense of who Harrow considers the functional competition- the Sixth, the Eighth, and possibly the Third. This makes sense; the Fourths are teenagers, the Second don’t actually seem interested in this, the Fifth were painted as pretty non-competitive in the dueling sequence, and the Seventh is.... actually, now that I think about it, Dulcinea is pretty heavily implied to be doing what Harrow is doing but with her Cavalier as her proxy instead of a skeleton army. Hmm. Harrow might not know this, having been AWOL the last week or so. And Gideon herself is not making that connection at the moment.

Harrow’s description of how she methodically swept the entire House for locked doors and then threw 163 skeletons into the bone grinder is yet another example of her being the protagonist completely different kind of book than Gideon. Harrow is the kind of prodigious protagonist who has incredibly in-depth understanding of the magic-system and to a lesser extent the setting politics; a strong insider of the sort whose "arc" often consists not of getting good, but of turning their incredible force of personality against the correct adversary, and whose minute-to-minute page-filling challenges consist of outsmarting hard-magic-system puzzles through cleverness and brute force. That whole "163 skeletons" thing, in a different kind of book, would be a triumphant sequence for Harrow where she tries everything she can think of until something finally works; but this is a story about how trying to do everything yourself fundamentally destroys you.

Brief aside- we get another mention of blood “skeletonizing,” which appears to involve rapidly drying it/ draining it of energy in the process; presumably this might allow for the rapid creation of occult diagrams, or that might be a mundane use compared to the mystical function of a quick powerup.

And Gideon puts the nail in the coffin; she found the door, she’s the only one of the two capable of standing upright, she’s successfully framed Harrow as being the weak link in their power projection to the other houses. Gideon is good at this kind of freight-train Laying Out Of Points when she’s given the opportunity; she hasn’t had cause or opportunity thus far in the book, but like any good swordswoman, when she sees an opening, she presses her advantage.

The sum of all necromantic transgression. That’s a fundamentally interesting concept to hear come out the mouth of a girl reading a book bound in human leather. Given what we've already seen of business-as-usual necromancy, what does the head of first house consider "transgression?"

Ten Thousand Million unfed ghosts. What do you feed ghosts? And why are there a billion ghosts? Someone was busy.

So Teacher is capable of specificity, if you hit upon the right questions. Florid specificity. Does he write his own lines? Is this his description of the situation down there, or did someone give him a script?

“Ghosts and you might die” is my middle name. Not far off- I haven’t really touched upon the bizarre circumstances of Gideon’s coming into the Ninth, but she was named by a manic ghost. (Does she, herself, know that? Did anyone tell her the profoundly bizarre circumstances by which she came to Drearbaugh, or is this something only the narrator knows?) 

[pockcock]

No thoughts. Pussy dwelling on Erwin's fingers edging you until you're a begging mess though. (Because let's face it, we all know the calluses on his hands feel like heaven when his tongue eases the feeling soon after-)

"whore mouth" // erwin smith x f!reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

word count: 2.4k

a/n: Oh god I'M SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG I'M SORRY I'M SORRYYYY :( This was supposed to be a drabble but I got carried away... Anyways. ENJOY <3

tw// porn with very little plot. impact play. slapping. jealous!erwin. sugardaddy!erwin. dom!erwin. sadist!erwin. edging. cunnilingus. breath play. dumbification. spitting. forced orgasm. slight blood. squirting. clit slapping. slight consensual non-con (reader and erwin have a dom/sub relationship). prey-predator if you squint. usage of "whore, slut, bitch". aftercare.

Erwin isn't the jealous type in your eye. He is a confident man, he is fierce. He is the CEO of the Corps Ltd. after all. He isn't jealous, people are jealous of him.

But the look he gave you at the party made you lose your ability to breathe.

He bought this black silk dress for you a couple of weeks ago. It arrived at your door by his assistant, Armin, a pretty young boy. He reminded you of Erwin, only young and naive. You felt incredible in the fabric, it felt as if the dress was made for you and you only. Everything was right about the dress. But you didn't have any opportunity to wear it. Until tonight.

"Here we are, madam," Armin spoke, his eyes met yours from the rearview mirror. It was obvious that he was having a hard time keeping his eyes away from your beautifully exposed chest and perky nipples showing through the dress. "Mr. Smith is waiting for you inside."

You thanked him and carefully got out of the car not letting your dress go even higher. As you entered the hotel where the party was being hosted, your eyes found your pretty CEO. Surrounded by his close friends Miche and Levi, he was laughing. He was wearing his brand new black Hermes set with a gold detailed Versace tie. Then he saw you, his whole expression changed. The bright, playful eyes turned into loving ones.

"My sunshine," he greeted you with open arms, calling you in. "She is finally here!"

You walked towards him. "Traffic hold me hostage!"

A little laugh escaped his lips as he hugged you. But his words were far far away from his laugh. "Why the fuck are you wearing that?"

You hugged him, hiding your surprised and sad face in his neck. "I-I thought you'd enjoy it..."

He let you go, fixed your hair a bit. Cupping your cheeks, he said: "We'll talk about it when we go home, okay? Now let's enjoy our party." And, uh, what a bastard he is, to put the smile back into your face, he added. "You're looking like a swan."

And the rest of the night was almost perfect. Erwin introduced you as "My cup of sunshine!" to his friends, co-workers, business partners. He complimented you, let others compliment you and he even let Miche steal you for the dance and touch your bareback with his enormous hands. He let Zeke kiss your hand which was decorated by the ring Erwin gave. Everything went smoothly.

And yet, here you were, in front of him. Couldn't even look at his face because of the humiliation and mockery he possessed in his eyes.

"Tell me, princess. Why did you wear that?" he asked, emphasizing the word 'that'.

"I'm sorry-"

Your head went to your right with the impact. Your left cheek was burning and you were in shock. Did he slap you?

"I'm not asking for your apology. I'm asking for the reason."

You lifted your head, eyes filled with fear. "I-"

Another slap. This one hurt more than the other. "Stop this fucking nonsense and answer me." His voice was calm, steady. It contained no anger or fury.

"I thought..." A tear left your eye, you wiped it with the back of your hand. "I thought y-you'd like it."

Another slap. "Did you get the note I sent with the dress? I remember putting it into the box myself. I even attached it to the dress with an anklet. Remember?"

"Yes."

Another slap, you fell onto the ground. "What did it say?"

A sob left your lips. "I-I don't..."

"You don't what, princess?" He kneeled down. He grabbed your chin, lifting it up and looking directly into your teary eyes. "Tell me."

" I don't remember!" You screamed it out. Humiliation now took over your body, making you ache in pain. It was also creating a pool between your legs. "I don't remember, Erwin! I'm so-"

Another slap. "You don't get to say my name tonight." He took his jacket off, then his tie, he threw both across the room. He talked as he rolled his sleeves up. “You don’t deserve to say my name with that whore mouth.”

He yanked your hair making you scream in pain, he slammed you into the wall. The photos fell down, shattered. His rough hands ripped the dress’ straps, making it fall onto the floor, pooling around your feet. “I bought this for my eyes. My pleasure.” He slapped your right breast harshly. “You are mine.” He pinched your cheeks together, making you open your mouth. “That’s what I wrote, stupid whore.” He spitted onto your tongue, it tasted like whiskey and cigar. Then he covered your mouth and your nose, not letting you breathe. “Swallow.”

You did as he said. How couldn’t you?

“Open your mouth, tongue out.” He let go of your mouth, wanted to see your mouth empty. You inhaled in relief, brain too hazy to understand anything. He slapped you again. “Open your fucking mouth.”

“Erwin!” You screamed with pain again.

He laughed and let your hair go, you fell down with the sudden movement. “Your stupid brain can’t understand a word I say, right?” He grabbed you by the neck, lifting your fragile body up. “What are you good for? Oh, right! Being a whore, now I remember.”

You grabbed his forearm, nails digging into his skin. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything. You tried to push him away but he didn’t budge. The worst part wasn’t him being harsh with you. It was him being calm as usual, never shouting, never talking with clenched teeth. Even his damn expression was calm. His damn eyebrows weren’t furrowed. That scared you.

“Stop,” he said, pushing your hands away with a harsh move. You made his arms bleed a little. He looked at you unimpressed. “You never understand, do you?”

He took you to your shared bedroom, threw you onto the bed. You tried to get away, silly you, where could you go. Your makeup was a mess, mascara running down onto your cheeks as your tears left your eyes, painting your face black. Crying loudly, you screamed once more. “Please! Please don’t!” You tried to stop him. “Daddy please!”

He choked you, again, harsher this time. You held onto his arms, wishing he would let you breathe just once. Slammed your weak body into the mattress, he ripped your panties. “You’re begging me not to do anything, yet you’re soaking like a fucking slut.” Without warning, he pushed his thick middle and ring finger inside you. “See? You take my fingers like a slut too!” Amusement coated his tone. “You either want my fingers or my dick. You just want to be my pocket pussy, right, slut?” He was pounding into you like there was no tomorrow, wet noises filled the room. “Stupid whore.”

Your eyes rolled back. Everything was too much. Too much pleasure, too much pain, too little air. Your brain was shutting down slowly, you couldn’t think straight. You wanted to kiss him, wanted to beg him to fuck you with his huge cock. Wanted him to take you then and there, without preparation. Yet, the only thing you could do was to moan, like a stupid whore. His voice echoed in your brain. You got closer, his fingers curled inside you, finding that pretty spot. It was too much?

“You’re cumming already?” He mocked, his pace quickened. “You won’t. Hold it.”

Your fingernails once again found the little cuts they made previously, digging even harder as the pleasure built up. You were losing consciousness due to the lack of oxygen in your body. You couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hold your orgasm, couldn’t stop him.

Erwin felt your orgasm before you. He pulled his hands away from you. “Open your legs. Ruin it. Don’t cum.”

You couldn’t.

The pleasure hit you, hit your body like a truck. With the sudden feeling of air coming into your lungs, your legs started trembling. Your whole body clenched, shaking like your vibrator Erwin bought you for your birthday. Your eyes snapped open and you felt something coming out of your cunt, wetting your legs, the bed and Erwin in front of you. You squirted.

“Fuck…” You heard Erwin cursing under his breath. His pants were soaking wet.

“D-Daddy...” You reached out for him, eyes barely functioning after the intense orgasm. “I-I’m sorry, I co-uldn’t hold it… I couldn't ruin it!”

He tsked. “Princess, what have you done?”

Your eyes filled with tears once again. You were slowly regaining your ability to think. “Daddy... I’m sorry…”

He sat next to you, pushed the hair from your face. “Shh, don’t talk…” He cupped your cheeks. “Maybe I was a bit too harsh for you.” He leaned down to kiss your puffy lips. “But you still need to be punished baby.”

Before you could protest, he spanked your clit.

“You were being a whore today.” Spank. “And you were also being a bad girl.” Spank. “You didn’t listen to me.” Spank. “But now,” Spank. “You’ll be cumming from this.”

You did. You didn’t know you could. But you did. And he didn’t stop.

“Daddy! S-Stop! I’ve come already” You tried to close your legs, the pleasure was turning into pain with each slap. “Can’t take it! Daddy I’m cumming!”

“Yes, babygirl,” He whispered. His eyes were locked into your, his pupils had expanded. “You’re cumming again. And you’ll be cumming again. And again. Until I’m done with you.”

“Daddy!”

His spanks became even faster and harder, hitting that sensitive bud throbbing in a mixture of pain and pleasure. When you opened your mouth to moan, he spitted onto your tongue once again. “Don’t swallow. Stick your tongue out, slut,” he said as his other hand caressed your hair. “Let yourself drool like a stupid whore.” His words, his actions�� Everything was so complicated. Making you feel even more stupid.

After cumming another four times you were a drooling, dripping mess. You were lost your sight. Everything was spinning, the ceiling, Erwin in front of you, and you. Your breaths were unsteady, you couldn’t even hear your heartbeat because of its speed.

Erwin patted your cheek. “Don’t faint on me now, bitch.”

“D-Daddy…”

He smiled. “Shh, princess. I know.” His hands came down on your face to wipe your tears away. “I’m proud of you.” He kissed your forehead. “Now, I’m going to eat you out, ‘kay? I wanna taste my pretty pocket pussy.”

You squinted your eyes to see him. Your eyes filled with tears once again. Your makeup was already ruined and smudged into the sheets. “Please daddy! I can’t take-”

“Shut up, baby.” He stood up, got between your legs and pulled you towards his face. Erwin loved your pussy so much, he could live in there forever. He inhaled the heavenly scent and licked your slit, drinking everything you offered. “It’s my pussy and I chose to do whatever I want.”

You tried to push him, kick him away. Nothing worked. Erwin Smith, ate your pussy like it was his last day on earth. He ate your cum, drank your juices, sucked on your clit and fucked you with his tongue. His face was sweaty, his perfect hair stuck onto his forehead. His naked chin was now coated with your nectar. He made you cum again, leaving you breathless, sucking your soul out of your body. He made you cum, made you squirt onto his face. He was pussy drunk, couldn’t let you go. Couldn’t stop sucking your clit. He loved the way your legs trembled after each orgasm. He loved the way you screamed “Daddy!” first and when he didn’t stop you screamed “Erwin!”. He loved the way you babble nonsense trying to apologize from him. Stupid slut, he thought. And ate you out until your whole body went numb.

When he was finally done, both of you were panting. You were barely awake, holding onto nothing but trying your best not to lose consciousness. Erwin was tired, tired from eating you out, fingering you and taking your soul away from you. He got up, laid right next to you. He adored this sight; you, completely fucked up and ruined. He did this without putting his cock in you. He was proud.

“Are you with me princess?” He whispered into the night. He was being cautious.

You nodded weakly.

“Good girl,” he said. Kissed your forehead slowly he cupped your cheeks. “Can you give me a color baby?” You were using a color system alongside your safeword. It was for your safety.

“Y-Yellow…” Your voice was hoarse after all the screaming.

He furrowed his brows. He was too harsh on you. “I’m sorry, kitten.” He carefully flipped you onto your side, hugging your back tightly, he kissed your shoulder. “I was too harsh on you. I’m so sorry baby.”

A sob escaped your lips. “But you didn’t cum…”

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay. You’ve done so well. I got pleasure from your pleasure. I'm not important. You are. Your pleasure is. You did so well. So well baby. That’s what is important. I got you now, okay? I’ll never let you go. You’re my everything. I got you. I’ll never leave you.”

You stayed there, tangled together for a long time. Erwin kissed your shoulders, back and hair, his calloused hands caressed your arms. When the extreme pleasure made you clench again, he hugged you tighter, whispering. “Calm down, baby. I got you.” He made sure you were fully okay after your intense session.

“D-Daddy?”

His heart shattered into thousand pieces after hearing that tone in your voice. “You can say my name baby, it’s over now.”

“Erwin,” you said almost hesitantly. “C-Can I go to the bathroom? I need to pee.”

His eyes snapped open. Right, you had to. “Yes baby, let me take you there.” He took you into his arms bridal style. “And we’ll take a bath, I really want to try that lavender bath bomb you bought. Is that okay baby?”

You snuggled into his shirt, it was still wet after your countless orgasms.

After you were done with everything, you were in your marble bathtub with Erwin. A purple color was prominent in the water, making you feel safe. You leaned into his chest filled with little patches of thin gold hair even more. He was your home.

“Erwin?” you asked, melting into his touches.

“Yes, princess?”

“How many times did I cum?” You asked, lifted your head to look at him. You loved that expression. You could see surprise, confusion, calculation and answer in seconds.

“Thirty..” he furrowed his thick brows, he was counting. “Thirty-nine.” Then he realized what he said. His eyes opened up with amazement. “Oh.”

“Yeah..” you said, a chuckle left your chest.

“We broke our record!”

taggings: @maries-gallery @st-arlert (you have to read this baby, no escapes) @azazelles

[youryanderedaddy]

Every breath you take

You heard of Corpse husband, now get ready for corpse wife--

tw: female reader, necrophilia so non - con, murder, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dirty talk, overall nasty shit that i needed to get out of my system, pls don't read if such stuff makes u uncomfortable

Jack couldn’t bear to look at you without feeling his stomach crumble and twist sharply and violently. You looked almost normal. Besides the empty stare in your now dark lightless eyes and the dead weight of your arms stilled tightly by your side. Besides the necklace of pretty sky - coloured bruises and purple bite marks around your delicate neck. If your boyfriend was to simply press his lips against yours in a desperate attempt to savour your final cries, he might just be able to feel their silky softness - the smooth edges of your tiny side smile against his cheek, the pure scarlet warmth of your slightly open mouth and the millions pained whispers falling out with each heartbeat of your very soul. And If the man was to hold your hand he could pretend it wasn’t colder than ice itself.

It was an accident. It had to be, otherwise Jack wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Just minutes ago you were safe and sound in his embrace, screaming, thrashing and fighting at every turn, but still safe none the less. Then you had told him you hated him. That you could never love someone as cruel and sick as him. He didn’t remember much from the resulting argument, other than him on top of you with his hand around your throat, your lips turning blue and your eyes closing slowly as you lost consciousness completely. Your boyfriend was ready to give everything for you to shout at him again, for you to squirm around like a battered animal like you used to, insead of watching you lay on the ground, motionless and still, peaceful like an angel. He wanted the old you back, the you who wasn’t quite living (since you always went on about how Jack had stolen your life away from you), but breathing and alive. You were quiet and obedient just like your captor had always wanted, such a good girl for him now that you were dead and unable to protest any of his sick, twisted desires. 

A single tear ran down the man’s black charcoal eyes as he lowered his head and kissed you softly, careful and wary, like you would wake up any moment and push him away in horror. The graze was airy and almost sweet, so different from all the other rough invasive kisses he had forced upon you in the past as a reminder of your place beneath him. Yet this one tasted of nothing, but blood and ice. Your lips were cold, but your body was still warm somewhere under that flimsy blue sundress your boyfriend had helped you put on in the morning. It made you look so innocent, so childlike in your eternal sleep. Jack stared at you for what felt like an infinity, unable to look away, hypnotized. He ran a finger through your exposed collarbone, then laid his head on your chest, listening to the silence. You were dead, but your breasts were still so soft and squishy, the man decided. Jack’s hands were glued to your waist, admiring your curves as he dug his nails deep into the loose fabric, ripping it away from your figure, causing shivers down the delicate skin. Your back hit the ground, sinking into the soil and the mud, a couple of daisies forming a crown above your head. You were so beautiful all vulnerable like that, his sweet Persephone, queen of the underworld and of his heart, too. 

“You’re so lovely, dear.“ The man spoke out as he positioned himself above you, his eyes hungry and sharp as he stroked your cheek, devoid of any colour. “No panties, huh?“ Jack whispered lustfully, his voice raspy and deranged, and cupped your sex. If you were still alive you would have turned red, stuttering as you explained that it was him who ordered you to go bare under the dress, but now you remained quiet like a blushing bride on her wedding day. The lack of protest only managed to stir the maniac up further, and he unbuckled his jeans to free his half - hard member. “LIttle minx.“ He cooed at you and ruffled your hair, fisting your locks to pull your head down, thus arching your back and exposing your neck to his sharp teeth. “I am going to use you, precious. You want to be useful to me, don’t you?“ Your boyfriend muttered against your throat as he covered it in harsh lovebites and hickeys, only growing satisfied when there wasn’t even an inch unmarked. “Because you are mine, baby. You are my good girl.“ He kept going, stroking himself in the process until his cock was practically oozing with pre - cum. Jack smirked when he didn’t hear the typical whimpers and cries of disgust you usually showered him in when he let himself act possessive of you. The man wasn’t sure why you always denied the truth - you were his and his alone, even after death did you part.

Your tormentor spent the next ten minutes squeezing and kneading your breasts, pinching the nipples, covering them in sticky white semen. Jack almost missed the way your chest would rise and fall with each soft breath escaping your rosy lips. When he was done playing with your body like you were nothing more than a rag doll your boyfriend spread your legs wide open, and his mouth watered at the godly sight. “You have such a pretty cunt, dear.” He commented lovingly, his fingers pushing and poking at your pink slit, abusing the nerve ending still functional despite its owner not being able to. “I am doing to force my cock deep inside your pussy, and there is nothing you can do about it, baby.” The man laughed manically, high off this new found power and control over your lifeless body. When you were alive you would beg him to stop by this point, crying and whimpering helplessly. Now he could pretend that you actually wanted him to ruin you. That you needed him as much as he needed you. 

Your boyfriend entered your tight hole with a sharp deep thrust, his lenght reaching your cervix with each and every brutal move. In and out, in and out again and again. The man felt like he could fuck into you forever - there was no pressure to stop and your muscles were completely relaxed now so it was up to him to take his own pleasure from your unwilling uncooperative body. “You’re so loose, honey.” He growled, biting your earlobe and moaning into your ear. “Guess I really wore you out the past few months.” Jack suggested playfully, a hint of pride apparent in his thick voice. Soon enough he was groaning loudly and ruthlessly pounding into you, covering your whole body in mud and grass. The pale moonlight lit up your sweaty face, making you look lively and vibrant once again. Your captor claimed your lips hungrily, licking and biting them into a swollen bloody mess. “Fuck, take it, my love.” He commanded as he lifted your body in order to go even deeped into you. “Take all of me inside.” The man added quickly, thrusting one last time before the pleasure overtook his senses and he arched his back in delight. He inhaled deeply as he pulled out of your used up hole, dripping with his seed. 

In that moment the man knew that he had to let go of you eventually. It wouldn’t be too long before your perfect little body decomposed and your beauty faded in the face of death, but there was some time between now and then. And he intended to make good use of it. 

[bts-trash-blog]

Best  Of Us

Prologue:Story Introduction 

Summary: Being an Omega is hard, it could be so lonely. The hardships that you would sometimes feel seemed to much, always expected of things you could never fully reach. Always seen as a piece of meat to some, seen as weak and stupid. So you worked your ass off to finally work your dream job. And the world all changed when you met one of the bosses. And couldn't help but end up falling.

Paring: Rap Line X Fem!Chubby OmegaReader

Warning: A/O/B!VERS, mentions of sexual harassment, heats, ruts, knotting, breeding, angst, possessive behavior, more warnings will be added as needed.

An: Trying something diffrent with intrducing this story to you guys! This story over all, is going to be a diffrent experinces as it goes along for you guys.  I can’t wait for this story to progress, and can’t wait for you guys to read.

...._.NEXT

Being an Omega was hard, being a female Omega born from an Alpha base family was harder. Though you were lucky, your family loved you. Your father an Alpha and mother a Beta, they both had no clue how to go about raising an Omega. When you presented at 16, you were a surprise to them, your mother trying to stick close to you during your heat though she  had no way to help you. But they tried. They did anything and everything that they could do to help you.

Your father during these five days, had dragged himself to Omega classes for non omegas,  to learn about your sub-gender. He had taken fucking classes, to learn how to help you adapt to your new senses. Things he had no clue about. When you came out of your heat haze, and was greeted with protein and fat filled food you had felt comfort. Especially when your father has wrapped you in a blanket that smells like him and your mother. Soothing your omega more. When you learned of your father taking classes you had cried, which had surprised the shit out of both him and your mother since you had barely cried over anything.

From that day on, your life changed.

You lost friends, and grew distant from certain family members that gave you the creeps your parents even followed your omega intuition which you learned later in life that not many families do. Your father grew more protective, your mother filled with more worry, doting over you making sure you were eating the right amount of everything. You figure changing drastically, hips wide, breast had grown full and your thighs and stomach had thickened up. Though you felt gross, your parents reassured that you were beautiful, and that your subgender was just making sure you were healthy.

Over the years, you had grown accustomed to the eyes that would linger on your curved frame, friends leaving in fear of their partners wanting you instead of them. The only friends you had were other omegas, who knew what you felt. It was nice knowing who really had your back, who was really your ride or die in this world. You honestly were now just waiting for the right mate, or pack, to come in and love you. Choose you.

You went to school but it was close enough to your home that you could still live with your family. Hence why you probably hadn’t found anyone even remotely interested in you, though you know it wasn’t necessary they didn’t find you attractive or didn’t crave the omega scent that twisted with your own. Your scent didn’t drive the crazy. Didn't make their Alpha scratch to claim you.  

So you waited.

As you waited, you worked your ass off to prove that your subgender status did not define how smart, and determined you were. It was a struggle when you were applying to colleges after high school. They weren't the typical schools that omegas go to, the ones that taught omegas how to build a home or to teach them for educational purposes. No they were for music and business, odd looks and even professors judging you as you walked into a Beta and Alpha filled class had your head spinning at their pheromones. Yet you pushed through it, you proved yourself in class after class. Lecture after lecture. Wanting to show that you knew what you were doing, that music was a true love of yours.

You had always loved music, your mother having been a music teacher for some extra cash in the house. So the soft sounds of piano keys or the strum of a guitar, the sting of a violin was always heard and played throughout your home. It had made you curious, your head peeking into the spare room watching child after child play. Till one day your mother called you in. The feeling of the cold piano keys against your fingers as you slide onto the piano stool, your finger pressing the smoot keys as a simple melody you heard your mother student play echo out making your mothers face light up. From that day on, when your parents couldn’t find you, they made the house silent to hear the simple yet sharp keys play, slowly growing more and more bold as you aged. Smile bright on their faces.

You still remember that day. It was like any other, your father was driving you to campus the two of you talking lightly about the movie you had gone and watched with your friends you had made in school. A loud and crazy pair of Omegas, Lisa and Bambam. You were laughing about the moment Bmabam had dropped the popcorn onto an attractive Alpha when it happened. The jerk of the car, blaring of a horn and the bright lights of the other car. You remember the pain in your neck, the feeling of something dripping from your head as you opened your eyes to see your fathers head slaked to the side, the last memory you have of him. You remember calling out for him, arm stretching out to him but wincing and dropping in pain, so much pain you had blacked out. When you woke up, you were met with a dim light and the beep of a heart motter, your mother practically on the bed with you clutching to your fathers jackets. Her face was sunken in, under her eyes were blue yet the edges were red with an irritated look, when she felt you shift she had bolted up and looked at you with wide eyes, filling with relief. When the words pasted her lips after a few questions with your doctors, her hand smoothing down your hair as you shook your head. Your father had died on impact.

The piano sound stopped playing, the sharp keys that you had learned with your soft voice had stopped the day your father passed away.

You switched major to just business, music fading from you as you worked but your work ethic never deflated.I n fact your ethic seemed more driven, you pushed yourself harder and pushed yourself to limits you never thought you would reach. It worried your mother from time to time, walking into your room, your fathers blanket wrapped around your shoulders, body bent over crossed legs passed out. She had even seen you work on a paper during your heat, in between waves of pain. You worked your way past every obstacle that was in front of you, jumping through hoops and dodging everything thrown at you. You reached your senior year without a hitch after your fathers passing, your mother was proud even more so when you had fallen into an internship at one of the most reptile companies  in the world. Min&Jung

They were two of the most powerful men, and Alphas in the world. They had worked from the absolute bottom and had built one of the biggest electrical manufacturing companies. Have an Apple product? A smart t.v? They were the reason it was functioning. Your teacher had helped you get the interview, she loved how persistent you were and how you always pushed yourself further and further. And somehow after your first interview, you had another, then the final one with their personal assistant. Out of thrifty other students they chose you. Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok had chosen you.

Little did you know that their choice alone would change your life forever.

Tag List:

@kth-kpoplover @alex4243 @malyxsoulpersonal @purelyecstacy @ryuyalana

[dailycharacteroption]

Races Among the Stars 5: Shirren

We’ve done five of these specials on the playable species options in Starfinder, and it’s taken this long for us to look at one of the two core options that were created wholly in Starfinder, with no prior history in Pathfinder!

 While they no doubt have a long history prior to the gap, the shirren as a people’s history began sometime during The Gap. Originally, they were part of The Swarm, the hive-mind collective of organically-engineered horrors that seek to consume all both physically and genetically. However, sometime during that universe-wide fugue, the Shirren developed independence from the all-consuming horde, adopting more humanoid forms, and becoming their own beings.

Then The Gap ended, and the shirren took stock of their situation and found it very dire, for neither they nor the Swarm remembered how or why they became their own beings, and the Swarm did not care, eager to devour and assimilate them just as they did every other life form. So began the Shirren exodus, with the Swarm hot on their trail.

Without going too far into spoilers for the Attack of the Swarm adventure path, along the way, the shirren reconnected with the racial deity of their ancestors: Hylax, who helped guide them into the arms of a galaxy rife with its own dangers, yet also plenty of friendly peoples for the shirren to befriend, as well as warn about the coming of the now-Drift-equipped Swarm.

The Shirren as a species are insectile humanoids with two arms, two legs, and a quartet of grasper appendages near their midriff that are used for grasping a mate during coupling. (while there are no taboos against exposing these claws, it is considered indecent to use them for anything other than their intended purpose). Their heads are rounded with large compound eyes and antennae that bend upwards, mounted on thick multi-segmented necks with small toothy protrusions on the underside that give their heads a distinctive mix of mantis and caterpillar. Most art of Shirren makes it hard to tell where their mouth begins and their neck segments begin, but they actually do have a toothy mouth. Shirren carapaces and eyes come in a variety of colors and patterns, ranging from muted tones suited for camouflage to bright and vibrant hues.

Additionally, shirren possess a trinary reproductive system and base gender spectrum. Male and female shirren function similarly to several other species, but it is host shirren that carry eggs to term, adding their own genetic contribution as the eggs develop. Imagine the variety of their non-trinary gender spectrum, then. Regardless, in some societies, shirren mimic eusocial insects by setting up a single host as the “parent” of the whole colony, bearing the eggs of many different male-female couples, while other societies favor three-partner arrangements that are bonded together.

Very much unlike their Swarm forbearers, the shirren as a people are mostly pacifistic, preferring to find diplomatic solutions whenever possible. However, they know better than most that there are some that cannot be reasoned with, and that sometimes one must take up arms to defend oneself and others. For the most part, however, shirren value community and communalism above all, seeking to befriend and establish good relations both within and without their borders.

Due to a quirk of their brain structure, the act of making choices, whether on important or trivial matters, triggers the part of their brains that was once part of the Swarm’s hive mind reward system, giving them a rush of euphoria when they make choices. As such, though they value community, they also crave individualism as well. As such, conformity is not a factor in a healthy shirren society, and the individual is celebrated even as they are encouraged to take part in and support the whole.

Of course, not every shirren feels this way, but only the truly most jaded and twisted of their kind abandon these values entirely for selfishness and evil.

The original Shirren homeworld, or that of the Swarm and their kurchani ancestors, is lost to time, but in the Pact Worlds, the first Shirren colony was set up on the daylight “Fullbright” side of Verces, and they have spread out from there. The shirren respect and try to establish good relationships with most other races, even though mammals and other non-insects tend to find them unnerving, particularly the lashunta, whom have a history of fighting against formians. The shirren don’t hold it against any other species, however, because they have firsthand knowledge of an even greater insectile threat.

 As a baseline, Shirren are tough and empathetic, but they tend not to mesh well with the social niceties of other species.

Their antennae are for more than just show, able to sense vibrations to detect the presence of nearby creatures.

Community-driven as they are, they can draw inspiration from nearby allies, pushing themselves to succeed.

Eager to learn about other peoples and their ways, they are quick to absorb information about new cultures and societies.

They also possess limited telepathy, allowing them to communicate with those that they share a language with.

 Of course, not all shirren are the same, and ones with different upbringings might have different aptitudes, and some may come from lineages suggesting their former role in the Swarm. For example, so-called “courtier” shirren may have descended from those that served as assistants and go-betweens of powerful Swarm entities whose powerful minds made them akin to leaders in the hive mind. As such, these shirren boast impressive intellect and charm, but frail bodies.

Some sport light frames and agile reflexes that make them ideal scouts, with keen intellect to boot, at the cost of similar frailty. They might have descended from Swarm infiltrators, or they might hail from worlds where mobility is important.

Finally, the so-called “worker” shirren are said to be descended from an expendable labor force in the Swarm. Regardless, they prove strong and coordinated, though less durable and insightful than baseline members of their species, not to mention still being awkward at socializing.

 Beyond these, there are plenty of other variations for the shirren. Some, for example, channel their fascination with other cultures into blending in with them, for example.

Others channel their love of community and their allies to remain standing when pain and debilitation would bring them low.

Some forgo connection with community and culture to focus on the wonders of their choices and interests, gaining great acumen in a skill.

And others still channel the energies of that fascination into linguistics, learning new languages at an alarming rate.

 The Shirren spread of abilities promises a tough and cunning figure, with their only weakness being charisma. Ironically, this gives them something of a disadvantage as their societal focus on diplomacy and pacifism, but with the courtier ability spread and plain old fashion perseverance, they can succeed anyway. With that in mind, they make decent biohackers, mechanics, and technomancers, the former especially with their focus on biotechnology. Envoy is a thematic choice, but unless you’re playing with the courtier ability scores, you may be fighting uphill slightly, though their bonuses to social skills makes up for it. Their wisdom bonus makes them promising mystics, and in fact the iconic mystic is a shirren. Constitution-based combat classes like nanocyte and vanguard, with the nanocyte having a “community” of sorts living inside of them, and the vanguard being a thematic choice with their ability to absord and negate attacks, filling the role of protector. Scout shirren are a decent choice for operative, but their social skills in general are attractive for those that wish to disappear into society and read their foes. Precog is also a fun choice, diving into the shirren themes of psychic awareness and of choice. Other combat classes like solarian and soldier benefit from their high constitution and high wisdom, but the charisma penalty hurts solarian a bit. Finally, witchwarpers hurt from the charisma penalty, but this is easy enough to work around with another ability score set, and the class, like the precog, taps into the themes of choice.

 That does it for now, but we have a whole week worth of alien species to cover, and there are some of my personal favorites in this batch! Stay tuned throughout the week!

[tribbetherium]

The Early Temperocene: 135 million years post-establishment

Bucks In A Row: The Horned Grimhogs of the Early Temperocene

The grimhogs are a clade of small, stocky podotheres that filled a niche similar to the bumbaas in the continent of Mesoterra, as small foraging opportunistic omnivores that thrived in a wide range of environments. They were one of the main species to traverse the Mesoterran land bridge to Arcuterra in the late Glaciocene, before the bridge sunk, and they have now capitalized on the recent extinction of the giant non-podothere drundles to occupy the mid-to-high browser niche.

Functionally, the grimhogs are very similar to the drundles, save for minor skeletal arrangements such as shorter legs, longer feet and a ribcage shifted back two units that gave them a sturdier and more rigid spine, but functionally speaking two additional "neck" vertebrae for a total of twelve, giving grimhogs, and most other podotheres, more mobile and flexible necks. Unlike typical slender-necked podotheres, however, grimhog necks are thick and sturdy, possessing pronounced neural spines that serve as attachment points for strong muscles to support the weight of their heads. This is due to a novel new adornment that has found new purposes in these herbivores: a various set of bony horns that in many species are found only in males, as ornaments of display, weapons for self-defense, and as signals of fitness that are more appealing to potential mates.

The horns of the grimhogs differed from those of ungulopes by possessing bony centers and keratinous sheaths, the outer layers of which are regularly shed and regrow. Their horns retain their bony cores, but the outer layers continually grow from the base, eventually producing elaborate branches as the bony cores themselves produce branches. These cores provide additional strength and durability, and can even regrow if damaged, though a damaged core often results in horns growing crooked, lumpy or asymmetrical.

The most basal form of these horns is a thick, flat pad, like the ones possessed by the ramming slamster (Duropetasumys inlisucephalus), a basal Mesoterran species geared for head-on impact. This goat-sized grazer has an incredibly sturdy neck for its size, with its broad horn evenly distributing the impact over a wider area, and specialized tendons in its head and neck redirecting most of the force throughout the rest of its body, allowing slamsters to deal heavy blows in territorial combat or dish out crippling blows to a would-be attacker.

From this basic structure, more elaborate ornamentations would emerge: longer, thinner horns that are less suited as weapons and more of display. Many species would develop a bifurcation of the bony pad, giving rise to two separate horns. Some are simple structures, like the straight horns of the black gazalabi (Antilopodotherium capraceros), while other species have more complex gear, such as the distinctive forked horns of the orange-tailed prongaroo (Podothericeros bicornis). Typically possessed by males, females either lack such structures entirely, or have smaller and less pronounced protusions, often favored in high-predator environments where does would benefit from additional protection.

Throughout Mesoterra and Arcuterra, the grimhogs would colonize a wide range of ecological niches and environments. The mountains of the Mesoterran Alps are the domain of the broad-footed heighorn (Pilosopodotherium ovicornis), adapted for the windy peaks with a thick coat of wooly fur. Meanwhile, the forest floor of Mesoterra would be home to the tiny dwarf chopper (Minicervitherium unapars), a small opportunistic foraging herbivore that grows no taller than two feet in height.

But so far the oddest are the branch of grimhogs that migrated across Mesoterra to Arcuterra and filled the niche of their bygone ancestors the drundles: the stagotaurs. These browsers sport the most unusual of head ornamemtation with their males, displaying immense structures that, over time, become less equipped as weaponry and more to show off to members of the opposite sex.

In basal species such as the flangehorn (Dendrocerotherium platycornis), the broad bases of the horn are still used to butt heads with rival males, while the branched structures at the top are primarily for display. But more derived species, such as the clusterbuck (Polyceratopodotherium linoculum), bear such a bizarre tangle of tines and branches that their head appears crowned with an innumerable number of tiny antlers. These horns are quite fragile, with their teeth and forelimb claws still being their primary defenses, and, in more forested areas, can even prove a liability when moving through branches: though the reproductive success it grants them may well be worth the evolutionary cost.

The most remarkable stagotaur of all, however, is the Arcuterran giant known as the ringed torus (Taurotorus solioceros), an eight-foot tall, two-ton giant that lives on the open plains of the Arcuterran midland and browses on the sparse trees of the grassland. But the most incredible trait of the ringed torus is its unique, ring-shaped horn: actually the product of two horns growing tight into each other until they eventually fuse together at the tips. While the bony cores merge into a simple hoop-like structure, the keratinous sheath produces long, branching spikes that are longest in older and fitter males, though seeing less use as a defensive weapon due to the torus's great size being enough deterrent for most enemies. Otherwise, this biological crown is but an advertisement for good health: it is not uncommon for males with misaligned horns instead growing two curled separate horns, which often have lesser success to picky females, and thus pass on less of their unfused- horn genes to new generations.

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[rex101111]

hey remember that one post where i spit balled a concept for a Baiken action game? Yeah I’m done with exams so I’m just gonna ramble off a few more ideas about it because non of you can stop me. anyway:

general gameplay: An action game in the PS2 God Of War games with a bit of DMC weapon switching with Baiken’s demon tools. She has all of them; the claw the chain the huge sword the mace the cannon the gun from xrd the tether from strive all of it i don’t care im not actually designing anything and restraint is for people paid to do that.

She can only equip up to three at a time along with Baiken’s sword (which has a few variants you can unlock more on that later), each one has a couple of moves that can be strung together with each other and normal attacks.

Has a meter for either super strong Overdrive like moves or a DT like mode where she does more damage.

Baiken has both her counters. Azami from Xrd with all its follow ups, generous frame window and works on every attack including boss attacks, but doesn’t do much damage and is mostly a combo tool. The counter from Strive works only on melee attacks and only has the one slam and has a really narrow window, but does a ton of damage and works on bosses that aren’t “huge”.

general story: still like i said, the whole plot is a flashback to Baiken’s days wandering the earth after the attack on Japan told by Baiken to a curious Anji while they go through their day in the colonies fixing the damage from the final battle in Rev2 or alternatively told to Delilah and Anji while they travel together after Another Story.

Anji provides the tutorial by waking Baiken up from a hangover by letting her stretch her legs by beating on him for a bit. 

now for some flavor text on miscellaneous things because more games should have some extra things even on functional stuff and i get to stuff a few references in here, cookies will not be given upon a correct guess but have fun anyway;

Difficulty (i miss when people gave little descriptions with these it adds a lot of flavor):

Vagrant (Easy): You are a fool and a stoner, and are allowed to make mistakes. For those who simply wish to enjoy the story.

Samurai (Normal): Your sword arm is steady and combat is a common sight for you. For those more comfortable with action games.

Warlord/Onna-Bugeisha (Hard): You seek a challenge worthy of your skills, and the enemies you face will offer no mercy. For those confidant in their skill and reflexes.

Warrior Of The Six Paths/Rokkon Shojo (Very Hard): Yours is a blade that severs Karma, and the path you walk is fraught with deadly foes possessing insatiable bloodlust. Only for those of supreme tenacity and unmatched fury.

Instant Kill: Bad news: You are only one hit away from death at all times. Good news: So is everyone else. Have fun!  

Road to Naraka: Bad news: You are only one hit away from death at all times. There is no good news. Good luck.

Swords (unlocked through both story progression and beating the game on various difficulties.):

Katana: A simple iron forged sword. Sharp and easy to use. Perfect for a warrior with a simple mission. (base weapon, no special attributes)

Broken Katana: A sword shattered in a moment of despair, caked in dried blood. Only used by those with no other options, or those driven to the brink of madness and desperation. (Beat the game on Easy, One potential story chapter has Baiken ambushed by a bunch of bandits while starving and exhausted both mentally and physically. They break both her arm and snap her sword in half. She goes crazy with desperation and delirious from blood loss, wielding the sword between her teeth. Equipping it gives you an alternate moveset with no access to your demon tools or counters and halves both our range and damage but makes you way quicker. Beat every chapter in the game with this weapon to unlock some really good shit.)

Reforged Katana: Sharper than before, its edge carries the weight of anger and revenge a century old. If one puts their ear to the flat side, you could almost hear it demand for blood, more blood, always more blood... (Beat the game on Normal, increased damage and attack speed.)

Regret: A sword given to a warrior seeking a new path, given by a child seeking a new home, maintained by a man seeking a new name. Not meant to cut people down, but for cutting them free. (Beat the game on Hard, increased damage from counters and demon tools, but less damage from normal sword attacks.) 

Bokken: A wooden practice sword. In anyone else’s hand this weapon is nearly a joke, but Baiken can turn even a joke into something deadly...provided she swings it enough times. Note: Not be used on dogs, thank you. (Beat the game on Very Hard. Reduces damage across the board but massively increases defense and meter gain. Makes a Bonk! sound with every hit.) 

Demon Slayer Okami: A sword from a world different from this one, meant to be wielded by a warrior with no name and no destiny beyond killing. A weapon meant to cut down world eating snakes and Beasts made of shadow. As such, few things in this world will survive more than one strike from it. (Beat the game on Road to Naraka or beat the game on Very Hard using the Broken Katana, increased normal attack range and kills every normal enemy in one hit and does MASSIVE damage to bosses.)

 added ideas:

* Each demon tool was given to Baiken by a different mercenary/bounty hunter she met on her journey before they kick the bucket. Whether she’s given the tool as a dying gift or taken from their dead body after they try to kill her for her bounty depends. 

* Extra Bosses ideas that give you special skins when you win: Dizzy (beat the game on Instant Kill with the Broken Katana, classic Baiken Skin), Sol (Beat the game on Hard with the Broken Katana, Holy Order Baiken), Serious Anji (Beat the game on Hard with the Bokken, Casual/Just Woke Up Baiken briefly seen in the beginning), I-No (Beat the game on Road To Naraka with the Broken Katana, the games warns you that this boss hates you personally and will actively cheat, Neon Blue Arcade Skin)

that’s what i got cheers :p