#Real World Combat and Fitness

[welcometoteyvat]

jing yuan and yanqing are giving zhongli and xiao if the latter’s canon relationship was Actually fanon’s made up father figure/adopted child dynamic

[livingdeadhorse]

idk what this is. i like robots. i’ll clean these up later. i think.

anyways while drawing these I started thinking abt like. idk does this count as an AU.

General shit:

I didn't make it clear, but the robots that have pupils were built without a hardcoded purpose. They've always been free to explore what they want to do. The robots with fully colored "scleras" were created with a purpose from the jump, so their creators didn't feel the need to make them appear more "human".

The more expensive a robot's parts are, the less clunky it is.

Right now, I'm going with "their human family built them" but that's liable to change.

The designs are also liable to change because uh. duh.

Celestia Ludenberg:

Viewed the robots with an imbued purpose as interesting and superior (something something humanity's advancement). She wants to be praised like that, so she emulates them

Her cat loves how much heat she radiates so it's always near her.

Most of her upgrades are cosmetic but if they aren't, they're stupid. She won't upgrade her CPU or her motherboard, but she'll load up with three 4090s that her other components can't even keep up with. Yes, she does it to flex.

She'll distract from bootleg, refurbished, or shoddily painted parts by turning on her RGB. It gets annoying.

She knows that she's fairly unsettling and she revels in it.

All things considered, her cable management is pretty good.

Her gambling skill is still just luck here, but she tells everyone it's because she has a never-seen-before GPU(& CPU) that does calculations at insane speeds.

Most don't believe her but have no way to disprove her lie.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru

I can't decide if he was built by his father or his grandfather.

Either way, he was built before Toranosuke's downfall, so his internals were all pretty expensive for the time. Luckily for him, that means he was slightly future-proof and has a viable upgrade path.

Unluckily for him, this means he's stuck with really old parts and his 8gb of RAM can barely keep up in a 32gb world sadge

His chassis is built from secondhand or scrap parts. It's why his joints are so ancient in comparison to the rest of him and why he has so much cabling that he can't seem to manage.

Shit chassis = shit airflow = he is always overheating

BUDDY IS YOUR CPU BURNING HOW IS THERE SMOKE

Older tech = LOUD AF. The class bought him new fans to avoid the loud ass whirring. It's not quiet but he used to sound like a jet engine.

He runs on Debian. It was originally going to be Arch since it's lightweight but Debian's whole "old but stable" reputation fits him more. I don't see him properly dealing with bleeding edge software anyways.

His room is filled with past HDDs that no longer have storage. He deems all educational material important so he refuses to delete any lessons. He doesn't have the money for SSDs.

Mukuro Ikusaba:

Is usually in reconnaissance mode, meaning she has a shit ton of hidden cameras in her chassis

This used to benefit Fenrir. Now it benefits Junko.

She can have her parts shifted around with no issue to make room for a better arsenal.

She’s durable in her reconnaissance mode but she’s nigh on untouchable in her combat mode. Her chassis gets 10x bulkier and she can split her attention to several different tasks on the battlefield.

Fenrir Mercenary Group doubles as a weapons company. Mukuro is the only model of her kind though.

They tried to give her reconnaissance model the look of a “normal girl” so she could gather info more efficiently. They failed real bad. They also didn’t account for the fact that Mukuro isn’t good at socializing.

She allocates a CPU core to a process dedicated to Junko. 24/7 365

She believes herself to be less capable of emotion than she actually is. She can’t seem to find the system process that triggers such painful emotions.

Chihiro Fujisaki

Each “fold” in her skirt doubles as a screen. Think of the skirt as having two layers: the top shell and the under shell. The top shell is what doubles as a screen.

Optimized her hardware to work on code as fast as possible (fingers, skirt, etc).

She tends to test out new software on herself regardless of their compatibility with her pre-existing shit. She constantly has to reinstall her OS, but it’s all fun for her.

Speaking of her OS, I was going to make her run on Gentoo but IDK cause of the compile times. It’d be faster if she used distcc but I can’t see her screwing over her classmates like that lol.

So I’m between Nix and Arch.

Insecure about the fact that she overhauled her original model so extensively. Got made fun of for being a ‘defective’ robot. Her father supports her modifications but she still feels bad about having ‘failed’ somehow.

Cue identity issues

She helps out her classmates when it comes to repairs.

Tendency to stay up programming leads to high uptimes. If her friends notice her lagging or crashing, they’ll try to get her to shut down. (In a computer sense lol, not an emotional shut down)

Do y’all remember the xz utils backdoor? Yeah that’s how extensively she combs through code.

Sayaka Maizono

I can’t decide if she was built to be an idol or was originally some other type of robot.

Loves to make kids smile, so she has a sort of candy mechanism in her arm.

Everything about her glows or spins. You will never get bored looking at her.

Her skirt isn’t actually see through I just didn’t feel like erasing the hip joints lmao.

If corpos give her manager enough money, she has to perform with literal ads on her.

State-of-the art facial recognition software. It makes her fans feel special to have their names remembered.

She has a regular sleep cycle due to how load-intensive her everyday life is. Has to shut down for a couple hours every week at least.

Her psychic ability is just her running a million calculations based on people’s behavior and sensing which one is most plausible. This feature is in place to avoid PR disasters during interviews or public appearances.

There really aren’t enough worker’s rights regulations in place for robots.

The company gets alerts whenever she freaks tf out, so she feels even more stifled and repressed. Chihiro helped remove this.

Kyoko Kirigiri

Can’t decide if she was built by her father or grandfather. Probably just built by Jin and he “left” her in Fuhito’s care.

Fuhito made her go through several modifications, hardcoding his own investigative skills into her system.

Her grandfather loves her but has fucked up ideas about her own autonomy.

The events of DR:K still happen. She chose not to replace her hands.

Fuhito doesn’t make much use of a backdoor in her system anymore. He used it a lot more when she was a child but he sees her as a viable heir of the Kirigiri clan now. Chihiro isolated the backdoor to a separate SSD anyhow.

Still complicated father-daughter issues

Everything about her (but her OS) is proprietary, probably commissioned from Towa Industries. Her OS is a fork of Mint. The Windows 7 UI is just because I imagine her grandfather is One of Those lmao.

Has way too many scanners and sensors. She can’t test any evidence herself but she can gather a fair bit of information. Has a vast database for cross-comparison anyways.

Same issues as Togami and Mukuro: sees herself as less capable of emotion than she actually is.

The ramen noodle incident called for actual repairs.

Byakuya Togami

His superiority complex is far worse because he was literally CREATED to be the perfect Togami. You can’t tell him shiiiiiiit.

Gold joints. Scoffs at those with unoptimized cable management or software.

He’s constantly streamlining his own processes. Brings up that he runs on his own OS when Nobody Asked.

Had a similar backdoor to Kyoko’s but Koji did check that one. Obsessively. Nobody would tell Byakuya but He Just Knew. The lack of privacy irritated him. Aloysius helped fix it once Togami finally took over.

Only trusts Aloysius with his repairs. Has a hard time admitting when he needs repairs in the first place so Aloysius hides it under “monthly maintenance”.

Does everything from the terminal even when he 1) shouldn’t and 2) can’t. Bragging rights. He has written a bunch of his own scripts though to speed things up.

Kernel and OS provided to him by Koji. (UNIX-based. Proprietary) Byakuya maintains and builds his own updates. Doesn’t trust cheapskate peasants to do it for him.

Anti-FOSS. For him at least.

Has glasses for the aesthetics. Doesn’t need them.

[maowives]

The thing is that, while I'm certain Veronica Roth did not intend this, it's clear that the society of Divergent (at least as textual in the film specifically) lacks a Gender Binary of man and woman and instead has a 5-gender system wherein the genders are Dauntless, Erudite, Abnegation, Amity, and Candor. Which is hilarious.

Like. Everything about how their society is portrayed illustrates a deeply gender-segregated society which is organized around an arbitrary set of social groups ("factions"), where labor is (very significantly) allocated according to these factions, where particular behaviors and interpersonal styles are heavily associated with these factions, and where internal compliance with these norms is strictly regulated by other members of the faction. People who do not "fit into the faction system" ("divergents") are either forcibly made into subalterns and expunged from "legitimate" society ("factionless") or otherwise must obscure this fact for risk of the aforementioned social retribution / policing. New recruits to a faction are aggreassively socialized to that factions norms via a regimented system of rituals and violences, often with sexual/homosocial undertones, and are enlisted to participate in this same socializing violence against each other. Those who perform these social violences successfully are materially rewarded with prestige and positions of control. Further, people are a) considered implicit members of their given birth-faction until a coming-of-age ritual, which marks them as having become full (sexual) agents, at which point b) they are expected to typically remain within their birth faction. Unlike many real, extant gender systems, however, there is an in-built nominally socially-sanctioned mechanism for movement between factions, but this movement is always followed with particularly rigorous re-socialization, and acceptance into the faction is particularly conditional on behavioral compliance, particularly when those factions are externally threatened or need to consolidate their bases.

Furthermore, you see nearly no actual in-text segregation among "male" and "female" lines, in ways that are typically considered hallmarks of gender in our world. There seems to be little concern about sexual or semi-sexual contact between people of the "same gender" (which we must then read here as nonexistent), sleeping/living quarters are never segregated along these lines. Neither are sports or combat training (in Dauntless in particular), nor is labor in really any form allocated by the genders "man" and "woman."

I'm certain all of this is unintentional, but if anything I think this illustration of power and social compliance is a more articulate expression of how gender-class (within a materialist feminist frame) actually functions than most "queer" or "genderfucky" media.

[asterdisaster06]

Rottweiler's Callsign Story

platonic 141 x reader

summary > The mission was supposed to be an easy in and out stealth operation; however, you getting cornered by enemy guards that weren't drawn out by the team's distraction left you to desperation. Such circumstances resulting in unsavory acts needed to get out alive and back to your team. Half the blood on you might not even be yours, but you're out alive and safe.

word count > 5.6k

warnings > graphic description of blood and violence, like i'm not kidding. medical terms used to describe some of the gore. reader is described like a feral dog.

ao3

You had always been quite animalistic in your ways, vocal on the battlefield with snarls and hisses escaping your lips through the sheer effort of your tyranny. Grunts and growls being a point made to enemies you faced before absolutely thrashing them to death. Your skills with a gun whether a handgun or an assault rifle were top tier, your training made sure of it, but your real talent laid in hand to hand combat. Specializing in utilizing your own body and surroundings to tear your enemy down. It was something that had confused and yet impressed your teammates on the taskforce. They stared at you with something akin to visceral horror and pure adoration when you save their asses more than they can count. 

Whether that comes from tackling the one on top and pinning them by their throat or managing to spot an enemy that they had missed on their six. Either way, any way, they were significantly impressed by you and your prowess. Your expertise offered something new to the group. Your bones held your pride that was either to be completely snapped or remain unwounded. Your muscles flexed to show the pride that was your mortal self. Your teeth were bared to the world like a stray dog. And in a sense, that was what you were.

You were found by Laswell and Price with your fur matted and your teeth too sharp from eating trash-thrown bones. Metaphorically of course. Literally though, they were your saviors. She took you off the previous military base you would’ve died on and Price raised you like his own flesh and blood. He took the limping, ugly mutt and showed a kindness you had always heard directed at others but never you. You learned to not bite at the hand that feeds you. 

The others came later once you were settled in - learning very little of your past; only knowing what you had seethed through tight lipped smiles. At that point you were known simply as ‘hound’ to them. You’re not entirely sure how or when it came about, but it seemed to fit you for the moment. 

You weren’t exactly talkative, similar to Ghost in that aspect. That’s not to say that you didn’t learn to open up and trust, especially when you were on a mission that required trust and teamwork. Collaboration and communication were the foundation for the taskforce, and it wasn’t something you could opt out of. You mostly sat back and smiled at a few of the jokes shared, but the one time you spoke to add onto the dark humor from Simon scared the shit out of them. Even Simon was a little caught off guard despite his vehement denial. It was the start of the blossoming friendship between you and the team. 

This particular mission was no different than the others. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Unfortunately, the world had different plans in mind for you and the boys. 

Soap had been talking your ear off and you listened in with a small smile on your face at his antics. It was amusing to you that he wasn’t put off by your scars, both physical and mental. He looked past them, not quite ignoring them but not pushing for you to spill the story behind them all if you weren’t ready. You were forever grateful for that. Gaz was in a similar vein, learning to eventually see you for who you were. Sometimes he poked and prodded you, but only in the intentions of helping you. Especially when you refused to see a therapist. Not after the last incident.

Ghost respected you at face value. The mask was who you were to him, and it didn’t make a difference in the slightest for your identity. It was a refreshing contrast to the other two who were not exactly openly prying, but their curiosity emitted from them like radiation. And you didn’t need a geiger counter to see that being near them would eventually unravel your DNA containing your secrets. Ghost simply left your skeletons in the closet lie. A needed deviation in your life. 

This mission required you to sneak into the compound in order to collect intel about nuclear weapons that a recent terrorist group had gotten their hands on. Obviously, that was a paramount issue that Shepherd had wanted the taskforce to take care of. Your boys would be creating a distraction away from your position, eventually creating a path to your location for a safe exfil after they had planted bombs around the compound. This establishment wasn’t going to be left standing after you guys were done with it if you could help it. 

“Is everyone clear on their positions?” Price’s voice breaks through the disassociation your mind had thrust you into. 

The ringing in your ears faded as the chatter began to quiet down and focus was injected into your veins. There was a small nagging feeling in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off as simple leftovers of anxiety growing mold in the fridge of your consciousness. You responded with a simple affirm alongside the rest of the team, eyes beginning to lose the dazed look within the cornea. You blink once and then twice as you take in your surroundings and run your tongue over your sharpened canines. 

Your muscles tense with anticipation, letting your legs carry you out of the truck that was about one klick from the objective. You were to be going on foot from here to avoid raising suspicion. The treeline would offer some cover for the infiltration attempt, the leaves in full swing. Unfortunately that also meant so were the bugs and thorns. You would just have to deal with it, although Soap wasn’t so easily placated.

“Fucking hell,” Soap exclaims, swatting at a very vague buzz that was swarming him.

“Here,” Gaz says, throwing Soap a can of bug spray. 

The droning and whirl of wings belonging to insects that lived long before humanity came about offers you a weird amount of comfort. It’s almost a commiseration of sorts between the creatures that nobody wanted around. You and the acarids. Nonetheless, you cover yourself in a self assumed shield of the spray that sticks to your skin in a way that makes you almost uncomfortable. The thorns and sticks pricking you through your tactical gear brings you relief. The opposite from what you presumed the others were experiencing.

It’s not like you were a masochist, peace and comfort have just never quite been something you’ve gotten used to. It’s what you’ve known most of your life and it’s what you’ll continuously go through. Much to the chagrin of your boys.

Speaking of, they appeared to be having varying levels of reaction to the harsh woodland environment. Soap has been openly complaining, although you knew it was mostly to break up the monotony of the trip alongside easing the anxiety of the others. He knew just how to utilize his personality like that and he wasn’t scared to come off as brash or even semi-annoying. You try to humor him enough to keep that spark going in his soul. That’s honestly a thought that keeps you up at night; Soap becoming like you or Ghost.

Gaz was experiencing his classic bad luck; truly trying to avoid any muddy spots or tripping on an exposed root, but it appears that it wasn’t working out for him. He had tripped over his own feet two times, an exposed root five, and almost twisted his ankle thrice. It was almost as if the woods had it out for him. You wince and make that last thing four times now as Gaz tripped over a small pebble and had to execute an almost ballerina-esque move to avoid falling face first into a puddle. It made you huff out a laugh, earning you a middle finger in your direction. Gaz truly does try his hardest in everything he does, placing expectations upon himself that nobody else even thinks of. Pressure mounting upon him that moves you to make sure he takes care of himself. You’ll be damned if you let him drown himself in the same way you do. 

Ghost was similar to your apathy, although you could tell from his body language that he was in as much discomfort as Soap was expressing. He refused to let even a slip of a grunt or groan escape from his sealed lips. His combat boots were sinking into the mud as much as Gaz, but he had significantly more coordination and confidence in his steps than Kyle did. You observed him quietly, seeing thorns stick into his skin - likely releasing the red ichor of his mortal body. Nonetheless, he braved on with only a slight wince betraying his emotions. It reminded you of how he faces his own torment and demons with nothing showing to anyone around. Not unless they’re particularly attuned to him and his distinctive micro-expressions. You know this as well as anyone, so you make a conscious effort to try and get Simon to open up to you. Not a lot, and sometimes not at all, but enough to sand down the roughness around his edges. Enough to heal him one scar at a time. 

Price was admonishing Soap for being so loud and semi-obnoxious. All in good fun, at least, at the distance you were away from the location. Given that Price was back at the car, you couldn’t exactly see what he was doing or his own personal quirks. However, you had known him long enough to know his personality and behavior. You had spent a good chunk of time analyzing the man that had offered you not only a position on this team, but a hand to help you up from your back-alley way of living. He was a tired man that needed some positive affirmation in his life if you were being honest. He had this entire team on his back alongside his position that designated him to a life chained to his work. His title delegated him to the duress that came with everyone expecting victory from you. It’s probability is down right improbable for him to always come out on top. Although, you doubt that he’s come to terms with that idea. You try your best to offer support in your own way, realizing that words alone aren’t going to cut it. You try to guide him to sleep if he’s too caught up in paperwork or offer him a cup of coffee just the way he likes it if an all-nighter is inevitable. You want to be there for him like he is for you. 

Laswell’s voice cuts through the comms and snaps you from your stupor. Kate Laswell. She offered you kindness while others offered you chains. She let you into her life instead of caging you like a feral animal. She took the muzzle off of your maw and let you speak. She presented you with a purpose outside of being a killing machine for your previous team sent in with no regard for your health or happiness. She gave you a life. One of your own. A team that you could rely on with a street of protection that goes both ways. Possibilities were opened up that you had never dared to dream of beforehand. You owed her your life, and that’s what you fought with on every mission. 

“You’re closing in on the base. Can we get a general overview of how it’s going?”

You smiled and shook your head before the Scot even opened his mouth.

“How’s it going? Oh wonderful, absolutely joyous,” Soap spoke with mock annoyance, good-natured humor shining through despite his tone.

“All is well, the intel we were given appears to be good. There should be no difficulties from our view over here,” Ghost answers, genuinely. 

“Affirm, I’m all set and ready here, Kate,” Price speaks, his commanding timbre sending rumbles down your spine and through your nervous system. 

“Remember, get in and get out, don’t get caught up in the blast,” Kate reminds you all, as if you could forget. 

A chorus of proclaimed agreements echoes throughout the trees of the forest. The silence that falls over the group afterwards makes you tense up and get into the mindset of the feral mutt that has kept you alive for this long. Your breath ends up heavy, saliva coating the inside of your jaws as you harshly swallow it down - almost choking every time you do. Your shoulders rise and fall in time with your respiration. Ghost checks in with the group one last time before you’re sent off first into the craw of the compound. Being a sacrifice is nothing new to you, but it still causes you to shudder in anticipation. Goosebumps rise all across your skin despite the temperature dictating otherwise. 

You wander forward, joints creaking in protest as you sneak around the side of the building. It’s inevitable that you have to utilize your knife, but you use it sparingly - not wanting the alarms to ring because some unfortunate soul stumbles upon the body of their fallen comrade. It’s almost second nature to you at this point and you would’ve zoned off if it wasn’t for the pure adrenaline rushing through your system.  You finally reach point A in which you reaffirm with the rest of the boys that the plan is a go and no complications have arised. 

You hear a plethora of acknowledgements before you begin to move forward with the permission of Ghost and Price. You snake cam the door before lock picking it after deeming it safe. There didn’t appear to be any enemies nearby much to your satisfaction. The less possibilities for this plan to go wrong, the better. It’s a waiting game as you come upon the stairwell door leading up to the room you were meant to infiltrate. The clock ticks down, the beats of your heart sounding out in your ears as a unit of measurement. 

Boom.

It’s the signal for you to proceed as all of the cameras are abandoned with the clicking of the gun trigger replacing the clack of keys in the office. You were all set up and ready to acquire the real reason your mission was handed out. Pushing past into the stairwell, you’re met with the surprise of an elbow to the face, effectively causing a gush of blood to start trickling down your face. Despite the advantage the enemy had from his effort of concealment working to catch you off guard, you gained your balance back quickly, and the pounding of your head did nothing to quell the vexation that led you to putting a knife in the guy’s eye. You shoot a bullet straight into his cranium with a glare, just to cover your tracks. 

You lick your chapped lips, tasting the metallic mouthful you had gotten from your little scuffle. You didn’t hear a crack, but it was definitely going to be a pain in the ass the next day. Nonetheless, you pushed on, aiming to be more aware of your surroundings. There was an odd lack of guards around the area for what seemed like the main structure. It set off warning bells in your head, but there was no turning back now. From the gunfire sounding out from below it seemed that the others would be too caught up to engage in a verbal conversation regarding your worries. Not like you weren’t confident in your own abilities, quite the opposite, but Price had managed to drill into your head that not everything had to be faced alone. Jokes on him, this situation had the appearance of it being a one man operation. 

You and your blood soaked sleeves made your way to the computer where you gathered yourself into a semi-coherent being in order to upload data from their system. The hard part was already done for you; all you had to do was plug a hard drive into a computer and wait. And that you did. You almost felt sorry for getting their keyboard all slick with your carnage escaping from your sinuses. It also felt as if you had bitten your tongue during the altercation, your mouth being yet another outlet for the liquid escaping you. You spat on the floor, maroon saliva staining it. 

Running down your neck, the blood seemed to stop at that point, trickling off into a simple seeping of gore. You consider yourself lucky, just in time for the information to be uploaded onto the hard drive you were given. You report over to Price and Laswell, a slight lisp imbued into your words due to the tip of your tongue suffering from puncture wounds your teeth had embedded into the soft muscle. They understood you perfectly fine however, and you were instructed to continue with the orders you were given. At that moment however, the lack of communication on your part about your suspicions of an ambush was coming back to bite you in the ass. Almost literally. 

A gloved hand smothers your mouth, effectively suffocating you. If the arm around your throat and its connected hand stifling your ability to productively breath wasn’t enough, there was now a knife lodged in your side. Your attacker drove the knife you suspected he took from your gear even further into your abdomen, twisting it like he was wringing out the last of his laundry. Except you were the clothes and your blood was escaping you, much to your chagrin. Fortunately for you, this particular guard was practically brain dead when it came to medical knowledge, so you were pretty confident that you were going to live. That is, if you could escape without being asphyxiated to death. 

You maneuver your maw into an opportune striking position, opening your jaws like a dog being thrown a bone. The coincidental nature of that thought would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t currently on the verge of being slaughtered and gutted like a pig. You chomp down and dig your teeth into the metacarpals of his skeleton, relishing in his grunt of pain and attempt to recoil. You were like a dog with a bone though, and you’d be damned if anyone tried to take it from you. His attempt to pry your jaws open with the hand that soon abandoned the knife in your side after the puncturing of his palm. You ground your teeth into the fat of his hand before realizing the glove was going to be an issue. You turn your teeths’ attention to his exposed wrist, aiming for his radial artery. Unfortunately for him, your fangs found their intended target and perforated his skin. You threw your head back, grasping his arm with your other hands - clawing at it like a feral beast. 

You effectively were one, your mouth full of flesh and muscle that didn’t belong to you. Although, you suppose that one could argue it didn’t belong to him either. Not anymore. You spat out the pulp of tissue, realizing that he had let you go. You put a bullet right through his eyes, spraying blood and brain matter across the room. Well deserved for someone like him. You drive your boot into his lifeless corpse, really kicking the man while he was down. Your joke, although knowing nobody alive was around to hear it, made a hysterical laugh claw its way out of your throat. Your larynx had really betrayed your deranged and volatile behavior. Your manic nature had kept you alive so far, so you supposed you had only yourself to thank. 

You shoved your bloodied tongue around your mouth, hoping to wash out the taste of human flesh. It wasn’t the worst thing you’ve tasted - that goes to Ghost’s attempts at cooking - but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. You wiped your mouth against the back of your hand, quickly realizing that it too was bloody. Red wasn’t really your color right now, otherwise you would have appreciated the look. You quickly checked over your supplies, knowing that you could make due with anything around the room or at the very least your hands, but feeling comfort in the weight of the metal contraption that delivered death at a much quicker rate. Hemorrhaging from either a knife or a gun was much more effective than your bare hands. Or teeth. 

It appears that your enemies didn’t appreciate your sentiment though, ambushing you only to take away such things from your grasp. There were two this time. They almost reminded you of Soap and Ghost, if those two were actively trying to kill you. Your boys only sometimes did that, and most of the time it was pitiful attempts. You were actually the one that got quite a few new rules implemented during training - but seriously, who stops in the middle of a fight to ask if something is legal? No-one, which is exactly why you simply did what was necessary to survive, to quote verbatim what you had said to Price as your excuse when Soap had ended up in the med bay. 

Be that as it may, these guards weren’t who you thought them akin to. Therefore, everything was on the table. Especially since they had made the grave error of giving your standard weapons a place on the backburner. Now, the only thought in your mind was kill. At all costs necessary. Your sharpened canines glinted in the dim lighting with a scarlet staining the pearly white as your mouth opened. It’s unfortunate for them that they didn’t have a muzzle on hand. 

Before the one in front of you had an opportunity to shoot you through any vital organ, you used your body weight to shove the one holding you to the ground - the bullet whizzing above you. A guttural growl escaped your throat as you turned your attention to escaping the grasp of the poor soul restraining your body. You grasp his upper arm, twisting yourself to use his body as a human shield. It would’ve made you gag if this was the first time you’ve done this. Regrettably, you have quite a bit of experience in this particular experience. 

The bullets pierced the soon to be corpse of his comrade, narrowly avoiding you except for one that grazed your side. You really were losing a lot of blood today. Making your way to safety was your biggest priority; however, that was proving difficult with leftover guards that were actually doing their job semi-well. You untucked yourself from under the weight of the stiff remains and threw yourself at the unlucky fellow who had just run out of ammo in his weapon. A simple click is all you heard as the gun escaped his grasp in favor of his bare hands. You were thrown into a chokehold yet again. These guys really did like their chokeholds. His hand gripped the knife slick with your own blood from your hands and ripped it out, leaving you to bleed to death. His mistake though was only using one hand to contain your rage filled body made of torn flesh and bones. 

You tore yourself from his grasp, with the worst luck in all of history happening with the knife getting knocked down the stairwell - sounding like a fork being dropped in the sink on its way down. You were in no condition to run or even jump after it, and the only other weapon was out of ammo, so it seemed you were yet again stuck using your bare hands. They trembled as you gathered yourself, preparing yourself for what you were being forced to do in order to escape this ordeal alive. You settled your weight into your haunches and launched yourself at the enemy, vision bloodshot and tinted red. An animalistic growl escaped yourself, sounding almost like a hyena’s maniacal laugh. Your lunge proved fruitful as your claws came into contact with his facial features, digging into his eyes to blind him. The texture of the soft tissue under your sharpened nails flexed and then ruptured. The front layers of his cornea gave way to the gooey gel similar to egg whites that filled the orbs. 

A visceral scream escaped the man below you, causing Price to finally check in over comms. At least, you think so, it was getting hard to hear with the ringing in your ears. You didn’t respond either way.

You knew that even blind, the man was still a liability. Or maybe he wasn’t, but to your addled brain firing neuron after neuron that drove you with the only thoughts occupying you being: survive and kill; well, the feral nature of yourself pushed you to make sure he was dead. You had your training to thank for that. You knew that the rest of his body was protected by the structure of his epidermis, much to your dissatisfaction. Your thoughts wandered back to the first enemy you encountered as you loomed over the blinded man. Your mind was made up.

In a split second decision, you descended your fangs into his throat, sinking your teeth into his trachea and hearing a sickening squelch of his bare flesh. The muscles gave way as you shook your head like a rabid dog, separating his tissue from their home within his body. You didn’t stop until you felt his carotid artery begin to hemorrhage. You shakily stand up, staring at the massacre you had left behind. Your jaw would definitely be sore the next day. There wasn’t a surface of you that wasn’t absolutely drenched in blood, and you couldn’t tell where yours began and theirs ended. The corpse beneath you had stopped screaming after the first puncture of your teeth - at least, you’re pretty sure. The haze surrounding your mind made thinking about it too hard. It almost fills you with a sense of regret at letting the monster you once were out of their muzzle yet again. The halfway decapitated body was left as you limped down the stairs and out a back door. 

You shambled out into the woods, faltering only twice to prevent yourself from tripping since you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to get up again after that. The rush of blood in your head faded as the sounds around you finally cascaded back into reality. You swore you could feel the dripping of blood spurting out of all open wounds in time with your heart. The chaos finally sunk in, the screaming over comms for your response demanding your attention.

“I’m,” You break up your sentence with a cough. “I’m fine,” Your voice sounds crackly and hoarse. Not that you’re surprised.

“Where the fuck are you, you were supposed to be out of there five minutes ago,” Price yells out over the radio. 

“I don’t exactly know. Somewhere out in the woods?” You respond, your head pounding.

“Ghost, find them!” Price had apparently discerned that you were in no condition to be taking in your surroundings accurately enough to ascertain an accurate location. 

“Fuck, I think I see them. Hound!”

You think you hear a faint yelling of your name, although it doesn’t quite register to your unhinged and disoriented brain. All you could tell through the muddy fog of your mind was a person. Enemy. Kill. Survive. Escape. You felt their hands on you, your throat closing up in response as you preemptively expected to be strangled half to death. You let out a snarl, baring your teeth and coming into contact with what you think is a hand. Either way, it doesn’t matter to you and you bite down with the force of a wild animal. A yelp is heard, only cementing your actions in your mind. 

“Calm the fuck down Sergeant.”

A voice cuts through the haze like a hot knife through butter. You fall limp in the grasp; whether it’s because you recognize the voice or you simply are accepting your fate is up in the air. Nonetheless, your surroundings begin to load in, your eyes stopping their constant darting around and focusing on a singular face. Or, faces. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. They had found you. You were safe. You notice Soap has a bleeding hand - your own handiwork without a doubt. Guilt floods you, your behavior similar to a puppy hearing the words ‘bad dog’ for the first time in their life. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You did great, Hound,” Soap begins to say. 

“Come back to us, Love,” Gaz whispers, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” You cry out, finally feeling the effects of your pure exhaustion. 

“I don’t blame you, Jesus, you’re gonna have a hell of a story to tell us when you get all patched up again, Hound,” Soap exclaims.

“How much of this blood is yours?” Ghost finally cuts in.

“Not a lot, just where the knife was and I might’ve gotten shot.”

“Might’ve?” Soap laughs.

“Mission, guys,” Price finally interrupts. “I’m glad you’re safe, Hound.”

The mission continues, you leaning on Soap since you’re pretty sure stumbling down the stairs strained one of your ankles. You spewed out numerous apologies for his hand, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. The go ahead for the air team with Laswell to level the building was given, and the exfil point was finally reached by your ground group. At that point, you were barely conscious, hearing echoes of pet names assuring you only a little longer and to stay with them. They plagued the darkness that overtook you and greeted you as you woke up to the blinding light of the medical room. 

“Welcome back to the world of living,” Soap says. “The doctors hadn’t seen anything like you before,” He laughs. 

“Do you want to explain why they found human tissue in your mouth?” Ghost asks, his tone inquisitive.

“Shit man, let them have a bit of a break before we interrogate them,” Gaz chuckles, offering you some water, much to your appreciation. 

You gulp down the water like it was the last time you would ever get the precious liquid, your body thanking you. You sheepishly hand the empty cup back to an amused Gaz. You clear your throat, not quite ready to delve into the specifics of what you had to do to survive, but knowing you had to. Being open in communication was a non-arguable point to being a part of the taskforce. 

“Most of the blood on me when you found me was probably belonging to the man I might’ve,” You pause, “ripped the throat out of?” You rush that last part out as quickly as you could, knowing that despite your efforts, they’re going to question you.

Both Soap and Gaz’s eyes widened almost comically, both quickly exclaiming different curse words. One being Scottish curses that you could barely make out from his accent. The other being aggressively British expletives spilling out of Gaz’s mouth. Ghost simply looked upon you with what seemed to be both admiration and affirmation. You had known he would be the most likely to not be surprised at your actions. He knew what it was like to have an untamed beast within you. 

“What in the bloody hell did you say?” Price was apparently looming in the doorway, keeping himself hidden until this moment.

You cough, and ask “Is now a good time to mention I also might’ve done the same to a man’s hand?”

Soap had a horrified look upon his face. “You’re saying I could’ve lost my precious hand?”

You had almost forgotten about Soap’s injury, and stared at him with a semblance of guilt flashing across your face. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You say quietly. 

“What happened to the good ole knife or bullet?” Soap asked, offering you his bandaged hand to hold in an offer of forgiveness and trust.

“They stole my shit, and my knife ended up kicked down a staircase after it was ripped out of me,” You pouted, the drug concoction of morphine and other such things loosening you up to talk. 

“You’re quite a rabid beast, ain’t you?” Price said, his tone betraying the fact that he was in fact quite proud of you. It wasn’t meant in a derogatory way and you knew that. You smiled in his direction, jokingly baring your teeth at your Captain. 

“Aye, I think you’re more than a baying hound at this point. Maybe Rottweiler would serve you better. That mouthful of teeth sure does remind me of my childhood,” Soap says, shivering at the thought of being the victim of your maw. 

“I hate to think of the final view those soldiers saw of you,” Gaz laughs. 

“I think Rottweiler suits you,” Ghost says. “Fearless yet loyal.”

The rest of the team nods in agreement, surrounding you with support and love. Something that still unsettles you to this day, but not in the same way facing down the barrel of a gun would. It’s a warm embrace in front of a fireplace that sends a jolt of something new down your spine. A fondness spreading like wildfire, adoration deep seated in your bones to those around you. Just like a dog, you were a fierce protector of your family, but with them? You were a tender beast that rolled over at their feet. 

You couldn’t think of anything better than that thought which warmed your heart. 

[chris-prank]

Yandere Hunter x GN reader

Peace-Pocalypse Part 1

CW: Manipulative behavior, Obsession, Mention of kidnaping, Implication of murder and mention of blood

(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)

This guy is more of the soft dominante type, so yay no subby yandere this time.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

🪓 It was surprisingly peaceful for a post apocalyptic world and Martin liked it that way. He found it to be similar to the far west, but with modern technologies. 

🪓 Most big cities were destroyed, only leaving behind small villages secluded from each other. Between them were miles and miles of luscious nature. Pretty but dangerous for solitary travelers. 

🪓 You were one of these adventurers, going place to place to create new connections. That’s when you ended up at a village called Flowermore. The name was fitting since there were flower fields all around it. 

🪓 When you arrived, you instantly became an oddity for the townsfolk, since they didn’t get to see new faces often. 

🪓 You were just another stranger for Martin, nothing extraordinary, at the very least he was even a bit wary of you. Flowermore was a peaceful place, where a real community created itself, but that didn't mean people outside were the same. That’s until he got to talk to you and not just eavesdrop on conversations you had with the people of the town. This encounter happened after two weeks of you staying at Flowermore and of him watching you from afar.

🪓 Martin lived a bit outside of town, in a forest nearby. He was a hunter, meaning he took care of bringing meat to the village and he would often leave for multiple days or weeks– hunting animals was not his only line of work, but he kept that a secret. 

🪓 It would be a lie to say that you didn’t notice him when you first arrived and that you didn’t thought he looked cool. He seemed like an interesting guy with the scars on his face and his attire making him look like a pirate. You were so enthusiastic when you got to talk to him for the first time. 

🪓 Martin thought you were so cute while he listened to all your questions, notebook in hand. He could stare at your amazed face all day if he had the opportunity. In addition, he was truly invested in the stories of your own life, contributing to them to make the conversation last longer. 

🪓 Martin wondered how a bubbly thing like you survived alone all this time. Not that he considered you weak, just that it looked so easy to gain your sympathy. He was glad that no one seemed to have taken advantage of you until now. 

🪓 The more he spended time by your side, the more he could feel his feelings grow stronger. Maybe a bit too much. 

🪓 After a month, he asked if you wanted to crash at his place for the rest of your stay. Saying that you could sleep in his bed and he could use his couch. He totally wasnt hoping that you would feel bad and offer him to join you in bed.

🪓 “It's really no problem for me darlin’ and I can sleep anywhere really. At least that way I'll have the chance to show you more of my skills.”

🪓 You were a bit unsure by this offer at first, the thought of living with him was making you all flustered, but you ultimately said yes. 

🪓 Martin soon started to note down in his journal every time you mentioned something you liked.  Once, while he was in a ghost town, he found a cassette of your favorite singer. He relishes the huge smile you made when you saw the gift. 

🪓 He could also feel himself melting in his combat boots when you played it and started dancing. Watching your body sway like that was making his mind go into overdrive. The indent of his grip on the couch was proof of that. 

🪓 If one of your favorite animals happens to be a species that lives in the surrendering area, be sure that he will find a way to capture one for you (without harming it of course.) 

🪓 Martin is not very a plant guy, but he will ask the apothecary of the village what your favorite flower looks like so he can go pick some for you.

🪓 If you’re down for it, he’ll show you how to hunt small animals, by using his crossbow or by putting traps in place. He positions himself behind you, his hands going from your shoulders to your wrist to readjust your posture. 

🪓 “Yay, just like that darling. You’re doing so well.” His face was so close to yours, as he whisper tenderly in your ear, that you almost feel his lips ghosting your skin. 

🪓 Is this just his method of getting closer to you in more ways than one? Maybe, but at the same time he is teaching you crucial survival skills! So he doesn’t feel too guilty about it. 

🪓 Seeing you and Martin spend all of your time together, armless rumors spread around. Could you really blame them? Gossiping was one of the rare sources of entertainment these townsfolk had. You tried to ignore it or just straight up tell people that you were just friends. 

🪓 Martin wasn't bothered by this, that's for sure. When people asked about the two of you, he would respond in the most vague way possible, fueling the imagination of everyone.

🪓 “Mm them? Oh you know how it is… we get closer everyday.~” 

🪓 One day, when he heard from one of the elders that you were planning on leaving, it’s like his whole world was falling apart. You couldn’t leave him, especially after all this time! At this point, you two were literally living like a couple! And weren’t you happy by his side?! 

🪓 “I heard you were leavin’ soon…At least you had a good time with me, right sweetin’ ?”

🪓 Behind his unbothered words, he was trying his hardest not to lock you up in his cottage. He had the strength to do so, but he knew you would hate him if he did. The idea of you disliking him was worse than death, so he decided on a more subtle approach. 

🪓 Martin had a lot of connections outside of Flowermore, some that he wouldn’t want you or anyone else to know of. He ended up asking some guys who were indebted to him to scare you a little. The plan was to fake a bandit ambush when you would be outside the village surroundings. 

🪓 Now, he just had to wait for you to come back to him and act shocked at the sight of your crying face. You can bet that if any of these guys went too far during the attack, he will definitely make them regret their life decisions. 

🪓 “Aw darlin’ I’m so sorry, it must have been horrible! Come here, let me give you a hug.”

🪓 Despite the traumatic experience, you kept telling him that you were determined to continue your travels. That one bad occurrence shouldn’t discourage you from trying again. 

🪓 Oh, how Martin admired your courage and dedication, so much that he could have kissed you right then and there. But in the time being your motivation was going against his plans. He tried to play the reasonable one, using his deep soothing voice while arguing with you. 

🪓 He finally convinced you to settle here by saying that you could just come with him every time he had businesses out of town. That way you could still travel (and he could keep an eye on you.) On top of that, the winter season was rapidly approaching and it wouldn’t be wise to travel by foot in these extreme temperatures. 

🪓 You slowly started to notice how much more protective he had become over you, but you figured it was just out of concern since the attack. You were a bit sad to not be able to explore like you used to, but it’s true that it was nice to have a more stable life. 

🪓 When the snow came by, it truly changed the scenery of the town. Since the end of the apocalypse, winter has become way more magical. You felt like you were in these cheap Christmas postcards just by taking a stroll in town. 

🪓 The cold was a completely different story though. It was so intense that even with the fireplace you still had to wear several layers of clothing around the house. It was one of the cons of living in an old cottage. 

🪓 One evening, you were wrapped in a hand-knitted blanket made with real sheep's wool. The good quality material weighed on your shoulders and gave your body much-needed warmth. You stared out the window and into the distance, your eyes focusing on nothing in particular. 

🪓 Suddenly a black dot appeared between the trees and seemed to grow bigger each second. It was Martin, probably coming back from hunting. Your speculation ended up correct, because the moment his features became more visible you could see the striking contrast of red on his brown clothes. 

🪓 You ran to the door and opened it for him. The man flashed you a subtle grin and with heavy steps he crossed the threshold of the door. Despite the blood, it was endearing to see him covered in snow, his shoulder length hair covered with bits of frost and his cheek burned from the cold wind. 

🪓 After he had taken off his now soiled coat, he took you into his arms and lifted you off the ground. He nuzzled his face into your neck, his beard scratching your skin. The lack of dead prey to be seen on the ground made you think that it had maybe ran away despite successfully harming it. Martin always came back home feeling down when that happened. 

🪓 When he spoke up his voice was low, almost sleepy.

🪓 “I need help to recharge, d’you think you could do that for me ?”

🪓 You cuddled for the rest of the night. Despite feeling a tad of frustration that he always seemed to find the right excuse to make you stay in Flowermore, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to fall asleep in his arms. 

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

So this was my terrible attempt at writing an accent that's not even in my native language... If you guys have any tip to make it better/realistic, don't hesitate to comment!

These two drawing of him are from last year, but I still kinda like them, so here they are!

[animehideout]

Jobs JJK Men Would Have In Real Life ( IMO ) Part II.

check part I here.

Toji Fushiguro: Martial Arts Trainer.

• A display of traditional weapons arranged on his walls.

• He carries within himself a quiet confidence, a power.

• He helps people get stronger, to be able to stand for themselves and fight back.

• Ruthless when it's about training especially in combats.

• Very strict mentor.

Choso: Private Chef.

• His passion for cooking started when he cooks for his brothers. He cherishes family and appreciates it when a family is gathered around the table eating and sharing stories together.

• Enjoys cooking different dishes, adding flavors, seasoning, mixing ingredients..

• Loves to try different international dishes and not limited to local flavours.

• The cooking apron suits him well.

• Loves to prepare very sweet desserts for his younger brother Yuji.

Gojo Satoru: Actor.

• Money Money Money.

• This man knows he's gorgeous, for that he needs to show it to the whole world.

• He posseses the ability to embody, transform into different personalities/ characters. His blue eyes are canvas of emotions.

• Steals all the light on the red carpet. Literally the center of attention with his strong etheral elegance.

Ryomen Sukuna: A Mafia Boss.

• This man is a menace.

• Exudes an air of authority, dominance and power wherever he goes.

• Radiates a magnetic charisma that forces others to respect and submit for him.

• Not forgiving at all. Vile, villainous and sadistic,would kill his enemies in a heart beat.

• The most wealthy, respected and intimidating mafia boss in the underworld.

• Strong cigarettes and alcohol scent mixed with perfume.

Itadori Yuji: Athlete.

• Very fit with a perfect toned body.

• Enjoys healthy food full of protein.

• Follows a strict diet and strict daily schedule.

• Very neat and tidy.

• Determined to win. Has loads of medals hanging in his room.

[baiwu-jinji]

TGCF author's notes translation

@/camilikha on twitter kindly provided links to TGCF author's notes and I translated the ones I find informative and interesting. See translations below:

chapter 58 notes: The second book is all about the overconfident Xie Lian with delusions of grandeur and the tender little flower (mxtx means kid Hua Cheng) and their diaries of the downfall of Xianle. Word count is undecided, I'm never accurate at estimating word counts anyway. It's just like the xianxia I write doesn't fit into your regular xianxia, the royalty I write doesn't fit into your regular fictional depictions of royalty - just the outlandish made-up worlds and social customs in the author's imagination...

chapter 60 notes: If we put Qi Rong in a modern context, we could say that he has bipolar disorder.

chapter 72 notes: about the chapter title "To Meet You in the Mortal Realm; to Find Flowers Beneath the Rain" - eventually I feel that "To Meet You" is more romantic than "To Meet Someone". Just think about it, "meeting you" is one of the most romantic things in the world.

chapte 80 notes: Of course (HC) won't give (XL) a handjob or help him [...], but Huahua's sexual awakening starts with this incident... (XL is seriously obssessed with martial arts combat!)

chapter 88 notes: Xie Lian never gets tanned, I envy him... I finally reached this place - in a dilapidated temple, a god about to be forgotten and a believer who's still young - this is the first mental image I have about this story, which drove me to wrote the story. I'm the kind of person who'd make up a whole book just to get to write a certain passage...

chapter 119 notes: Actually Huahua is just being naughty and wants to joke around playing dead, who'd have thought...

chapter 123 notes: So Black Water made his appearance long ago, he's been hanging around before your eyes all along. Wind Master never knew the real Mingyi, it's always been the same person before him - and before you readers. (Black Water) officially recognized as Best Actor of this story! I've been holding it a secret for so long and so has he, now I can finally let it out.

chapter 141 notes: If you heat up Huahua in the kiln, he'll grow bigger~

chapter 175 notes: "Hua Cheng! Your diary! We've read it all!!!"

chapter 229 notes: Huahua low-key sucking up to the elderly to make a good impression

chapter 242 notes: Why do you like to spook yourselves? - why on earth would there be such plots as (XL) waiting for another 800 years - too long, impossible! Happy ending is around the corner!

SVSSS is my first work so it has some exceptions that I won't discuss here, but MDZS and TGCF both only have one main couple. I said this repeatedly in the author's notes when MDZS was being serialized and in other places. As for Mo Xuanyu, he is a little gay dude but he died at the beginning of the story so he doesn't count as a serious character...It's fine to have headcanons you like as long as you don't seperate the main couple. But for me personally, my taste leans towards having only one gay couple in the story, and I have no plans to write about another secondary couple. I'm stating this to avoid some unnecessary disputes.

XL is good at making pickled vegetables. Because pickled vegetables are needed with steamed bun and rice porridge, so XL became quite experienced after practicing for hundreds of years. Also you can just leave the pickled vegetable by itself most of the time and let it undergo chemical reaction. XL mostly fail because he get inventive.

XL and Mu Qing chose the same path of cultivation and are both Daoists. But Feng Xin never studied under a master at the Holy Royal Pavillion so he's not a Daoist and simply a plebeian martial god, so he doesn't need to observe the celibacy rules like XL and Mu Qing.

My passion for inventing new dishes (or rather weapons) cooked by Xie Lian is only slightly less than my passion for making Huahua change into new clothes

Huahua often turn into human forms, in which he has two eyes, so you guys can stop counting the number of his eyes.

In the setting of this story, if you want to be a god,you need to be a human hero first, which means you need to be the best of the best among humans. Only heaven officials who ascended are real heaven officials and belong in the Upper Court. How do you ascend? Firstly it depends on your personal ability, you have to be outstanding in some aspect (such as martial arts or literary talents) to enter the path of ascension. Secondly it depends on luck, if you're extremely lucky and a favourite of fate, and just picked up some rare secret guides (to ascension) or immortal pills by the roadside, that works too. Officials in the Middle Court are appointed, which means someone in the Heavenly Realm could promote you to that position. But Middle Court officials have the opportunity to become a bona fide Upper Court official too if they're capable enough.

Black Water indeed owes Hua Cheng a huge sum of money and is a very impoverished Calamity, seriously lowering the income standard of the Calamities (although there're only three of them). But his debt isn't completely due to eating too much. As for the money Black Water owes, it's an ancient debt - 40% is the cost of buying gifts for heaven officials of Upper Court and planting agents there (bribery!), 30% is maintenance fee for his territory and expenses on pet food, the rest 30% is food (for himself).

Talismans are probably the equivalent of the business cards (of heaven officials)... "Hello this is my consecrated talisman" = "hello this is my business card"

You can't get rid of ghostly essence (which XL is tainted with because he spends too much time with HC) simply by brushing your teeth with plain water...you need to use consecrated spell water (which is super bitter and weird).

The weapon forged by a heaven official is called fabao (literally "dharma treasure"); if it's a weapon forged by mortal Daoists and monks, it's called faqi (literally "dharma tool") - only after their ascension can their weapons be called fabao.

In my imagination, Xianle ia the kind of small ancient kingdom that's overall culturally Han, but has peculiar customs...although I feel like what I wrote on Xianle is mostly just peculiar hahahaha [facepalm] [beat myself up]

Not only are the forms, customs, cultures, and politics of countries in this story made-up, the kind of arcane stuff like occult sciences and philosophical values are all made-up. Although I did research but the records I consulted are too difficult to understand, so I just made things up on my own. Please bear with me If you're knowledgable in this sort of thing hahaha.

Puqi refers to water chestnut.

Look up "Blood-Soaked Fire Social" (xue she huo) if you're interested, it exists in real life and is very thrilling. What I wrote is different from the traditional festival, there're some made-up elements to make it more exciting

[rottenpumpkin13]

How do you think ASGZ and the Turks+ Rufus would dress if they were ordinary people living in the real world? (My personal guilty pleasure head cannon is Sephiroth loving leather jackets and V-necks… imagine him in all black, leather jacket, dog tag, some bracelets, black jeans and combat boots… ahem sorry it’s late at night and my thoughts are going weird places)

Sephiroth's go-to outfit: All-black and minimalist is his go-to style, so he does like leather jackets, long coats, and black pants. He wears v-necks sometimes, but prefers button-ups so he can alter how constrictive his shirt is (not the case when he's at home because this man lives for comfortable clothes).

Angeal: I told you this event required you to wear a shirt.

Sephiroth, wearing a button-up that's only fastened at the bottom last button, leaving his whole chest exposed: What's wrong with my shirt?

Angeal: WHAT SHIRT?

Genesis' go-to outfit: Red leather jacket (he has so many of them), a button up/turtle kneck, and knee-high boots. All designer. He accessorizes with jewelry (all gold) such as necklaces, bangles and tons of rings.

Angeal's go-to outfit: sleeveless tee, jeans, boots, and a flannel he either commits to wearing or ties around his waist. All thrifted. Bonus points if the top is DIY'd or tie dye. He's a compulsive tie dyer.

*Zack leaves one of his white shirts out and walks away*

Angeal: Hm.

*Zack comes back and his shirt is tie dye*

Zack, alarmed: MAGIC

Zack's go-to outfit: A fitted tee, baggy pants, fingerless gloves and combat boots. He wears his dog tag as an accessory and hates jackets unless he can roll the sleeves really high.

Zack: I'm ready to go!

Angeal: You cannot wear that shirt out. Go change.

Zack, wearing a shirt that reads "DYSLEXIC WITH TICE NITS": Man, why you gotta be so judgemental?

Sephiroth, still wearing his chest out: Genesis claims he is allergic to good taste.

Angeal: I'm leaving you two at home.

Rufus' go-to outfit: It's a designer suit or nothing; preferably white and pristine, preferably custom-made. He's also likes to wear a kimono and hakama sometimes.

Reno's go-to outfit: A leather jacket, gloves, a button up that's either red or white, gold chain, and jeans, and combat boots.

Rude's go-to outfit: A leather jacket (him and Reno are matching), gloves, wearing all black, usually a button up since he's not a fan of t-shirts, and dress shoes. He likes to accessorize with chains.

Tseng's go-to outfit: No one has ever seen Tseng wear anything other than a suit. Work? suit. Party? suit. Beach? suit. Reno nearly died on the spot the day he and Rude ran into Tseng at the local coffee shop and he was wearing a t-shirt beneath his blazer, no tie, and a silver chain.

Reno: WHO ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH TSENG? Tseng: Why are you and rude wearing matching couple's t-shirts?

[hadesoftheladies]

friendly reminder that men together perfectly fit the definition of a terrorist group

"Terrorism, in its broadest sense, is the use of intentional violence and fear to achieve political or ideological aims. The term is used in this regard primarily to refer to intentional violence during peacetime or in the context of war against non-combatants (mostly civilians and neutral military personnel)." 

men are not a neutral group, not politically, not positionally or economically--they actively participate in violence as intimidation against innocent women and children (and even other men) to advance and maintain patriarchy. misogyny is an ideology and a practice. it is a belief system with a long, old history of books, sermons, articles, and propaganda art pieces. it has its philosophers, its academics, and its politicians. you do not have to look far to be buried alive by examples.

men torture women for being women. men create stereotypes and archetypes in books and movies to convince men and children of their otherness. their inhumaness. "see?" the male politician say, behind a pulpit, at a conference, in the boardrooms, "she doesn't feel pain. she is made to be penetrated. she exists to supply offspring. she is made to be owned. it is an economic necessity that women and girls are made available to the man for sex. it is a human right."

"see?" the male artist/propagandist says. "the woman is hysterical, emotional, crazy, romantic. a woman is soft and must be soft. a woman is fuckable and must be fuckable. a woman is sex and must be used for it. her beauty is our intellectual property. as men we must claim it, display it, define it--and we can. we have."

"see?" the religious man says from his pedestal. "the woman is a whore. easily tricked and deceived. untrustworthy. she cannot be an authority. only a mother. only a servant. a woman who denies her meekness is diseased and to be burned. it is not wrong to own slaves. it is not wrong to own wives. god is in our image."

"see?" the academic man says during his lecture. "history is man's invention. the suffering of women is an evolutionary fact, and is not truly suffering, for it is natural. it is her destiny. the male body is excellence. the male body is default humanity. what is his body, what he needs, is what she needs, for she is a weaker version of him."

and our brothers listen, and our fathers learned. and it showed up in our homes. the propaganda showed up on our dinner tables, in car drives. each new century, each new generation of men, pick up the movement and carry on the march. it was burning women at the stake, now it is using their faces to torture them with deepfake porn. it evolves, but not on its own. not mysteriously or "naturally" but because people, men, keep fighting to maintain the status quo.

it is active. it is a deliberate and strategic movement. it is violent. it is hatred. it is PURPOSEFUL. it is there to convince any man of conscience that what patriarchy does, what it stands for, is not morally wrong. it needs to be done. it's the natural order of things. women are half-way people, and so they deserve half-way rights. women are chattel, and so they should be well kept. they are not being unreasonable. it is the world. it is the truth. it's not politics, it's common sense.

don't fall for propaganda. take their hate seriously. because they mean to ensure the subjugation of women. they believe in it and will do the worst things possible to maintain the regime. it IS a regime. it IS REAL. do not gaslight yourselves or let others gaslight you. this is not politically neutral, it is not culturally benign, it is not destiny, it is not "healthy/normal" human behavior. it is a regime that has to repurpose itself and its propaganda to stay afloat. it must keep recruiting.

please don't fall for the "women can be just as bad/not all men" propaganda. men as a group are not a neutral political party. RESIST.

[simmerkate]

XTRA Interactions Mods

Introducing "Xtra Interactions," a mod for The Sims 4 that expands the range of social interactions available to your Sims! Developed with the goal of adding depth and realism to your Sims' social lives, this mod introduces 13 new dynamic interactions that delve into various aspects of contemporary conversations and interactions.

"F Bomb": Sometimes, emotions can run high, and Sims now have the option to express their frustration or anger with a straightforward and powerful statement. Use this interaction when your Sims need to release some built-up tension!

"Backhanded Compliment": Not all compliments are created equal. Sims can now deliver a compliment with a subtle hint of sarcasm or hidden meaning. Watch the recipient's reaction as your Sim walks the fine line between praise and critique.

"Body Positivity Conversation": Promote self-love and acceptance among your Sims by engaging in heartfelt discussions about body positivity. Encourage a healthy body image and help your Sims develop a more positive relationship with their own appearance.

"Discuss Fitness Apps": In the digital age, fitness has gone mobile! Sims can now chat about their favorite fitness apps, sharing tips, and exchanging experiences to stay motivated and reach their health goals.

"Discuss Fitness Classes": Exercise is more fun with company! Sims can engage in conversations about various fitness classes, from yoga to cardio workouts, and discuss the benefits and challenges of each.

"Engage in Mindfulness": Encourage your Sims to take a moment for themselves and embrace the practice of mindfulness. This interaction allows Sims to discuss and learn about techniques to reduce stress and enhance their overall well-being.

"Female Empowerment": Foster empowerment and gender equality among your Sims. Initiate conversations that focus on the strength, achievements, and challenges faced by women, inspiring your Sims to break barriers and pursue their dreams.

"Flirty Fight": Love and passion can take many forms. Sims can engage in playful, flirtatious banter that adds a spicy twist to their romantic relationships. Sparks will fly as they exchange teasing remarks and engage in light-hearted arguments.

"Spill The Tea": Keep your Sims in the loop with the latest gossip and scandals by engaging in juicy conversations. Share secrets, rumors, and intriguing tidbits that add an element of drama to your Sims' social lives.

"Stand Up Against Gender Inequality": Promote equality and social justice by encouraging your Sims to voice their opinions on gender inequality. This interaction allows them to express their concerns, share stories, and discuss ways to combat discrimination.

"Talk About the Living Crisis": Engage your Sims in thought-provoking conversations about the pressing challenges of the living crisis. Delve into the impact of declining real disposable incomes, adjusted for inflation, taxes, and benefits, that individuals and households have faced.

"Throw Shade": Sims with a mischievous streak can now throw shade at each other in a playful and sassy manner. This interaction adds a touch of humor and wit to your Sims' conversations, ensuring they never run out of snappy comebacks.

"Xtra Interactions" is a must-have mod for players seeking a deeper and more engaging social experience in The Sims 4. Expand your Sims' conversational repertoire and explore new avenues of interaction that reflect the complexity of the real world. Unleash the power of words and emotions in your virtual neighborhood, and watch as your Sims' relationships and social lives flourish with newfound depth and realism.

Follow me on insta @SimmerKatex

Curseforge (xx) FREE

[yurozo]

what could have been (chris redfield oneshot)

description: chris made the biggest mistake of his life letting you walk out of it, and he's determined to make it right this time.

a/n: there really isn't enough fanfic about chris redfield and i am more than determined to change that. this man is sooo underappreciated. about: gn!reader/little physical description/no use of y/n. fluff, with very minor angsts, and a few mentions of in-canon violence.

it was an unsettling thing to walk away from you. but that was the way it always worked— you went one way while he went the other. a research laboratory on the other side of the city beckoned you over, studying accessible cures to viruses that chris had dedicated his life to eradicating. ever intertwined, despite the miles between you at all times.

on the other hand, chris spent his time travelling from place to place, never truly settling in washington due to the unbidden fear of having to leave it again. familiarity was a privilege unbeknownst to him, the mortal atlas condemned to carrying the world on his shoulders. he could at least enjoy knowing that if you ever needed a place, you would know where it was. and despite everything, he was rather proud of the way he matured. he was more fit than he was back in s.t.a.r.s- not entirely of his own accord, mind you- and eons more responsible.

watching every person you've ever cared about lose that twinkle in their eye did that to people.

and he didn't hate his job, contrary to popular belief. founding the b.s.a.a is among his crowning achievements, and allowed him to enact some real change. along with paying him a decent salary.

he supposed, bioweapons notwithstanding, that adulthood had changed him. long gone is the foul-mouthed air force pilot, and in its place stood a true soldier. safe and solid, protecting and proud. it was more so the person he imagined you would be into, someone dependable that could protect you if the need arose. truth be told, everything he did back in the s.t.a.r.s was with a side glance in your direction, desperately hoping you were watching him the same way he was secretly watching you.

the two of you kept minimal contact throughout the years, limited to the occasional 'how are you' and 'work's been good'. you always let him know of any major life changes, and he always contacted you after a mission, however brief, to sate your anxieties of whether or not to look for his name in an obituary. you pointedly never mentioned your dating life, but the very thought of someone vying for your attention made chris a little sick to his stomach.

call him possessive, call him crazy, for helplessly pining for a girl who was just slightly nicer to him than everyone else at the police department. what he did know is that the only suppression to that boiling feeling in his gut was the unbridled joy that filled him whenever he saw your contact name show up in his notifications. an indicator that you thought of him, however briefly.

in some parallel universe, he would be standing outside your balcony playing some queen song with terrible audio on an even shittier boombox, and you would be awed and wooed by his grand romantic gesture. you would run down from the balcony and plant one on him, and he would swing you around in his arms and there would be nothing but the two of you. no bioweapons, no blood staining his hands, no nightmares about finding you dead in the middle of a ruined city. but he lived in this world, where he was too old and too tired to indulge in those fantasies.

he was a man. he was also a soldier, and therefore, a realist.

so, when you texted him about being in the washington area and wanting to meet up for a day, chris had spent two days drawing three viable conclusions.

1.) this was an elaborate dream made up by a combat-addled mind to live out some younger, unbridled fantasy of his,

2.) this was a cruel prank by some twisted fuck that somehow knew how much he clung to you over the years,

3.) the final, and least likely conclusion: that there was some part of you that missed him as much as he missed you.

he wants to cross the third one off by instinct, but something in his heart adamantly refuses. that sparkling hope in his chest is something he's not particularly looking to stamp out just yet, so he chooses to simply let it burn until it probably would just consume him entirely. by the time he reaches the bar you both agreed on meeting at, he's been so wrapped up in determining your motivations that he's caught entirely unprepared by the sight of you.

you were sitting there, chin in your hands as you mindlessly tapped on the glass in front of you. probably waiting for a while, given your propensity for being unbearably early to social gatherings. you always did have a distaste for tardiness, even if chris was technically five minutes early. the same endearing furrow in your brow makes chris falter in his steps, taking a moment to truly absorb you for the first time in years.

fuck, you were gorgeous. the kind that had other tripping over themselves just to bask in your presence. hell, chris was one of them. always had been.

that same simmering boil of jealousy that used to arise every time that he watched some civilian lean over the reception desk, speaking to you in hushed tones as they preened in your attention, sparks to a roaring fire. he has to remind himself that things are different now; you had lived a whole other life without him, and he's had to learn to survive without you.

he briefly entertains the thought that his absence affected you in the same way. this gnawing feeling that something vital to his very being was lost somewhere in the wreckage of raccoon city.

your face had matured over the years too— jaw set a little sharper, eyes a little duller, the faint lines of age beginning to appear on your skin. you're still gazing somewhere far away by the time he musters up the courage to approach the table, hesitant like you'll reach over the table and sink your teeth into his arm like a-

no. bad chris. no talking shop here.

you don't seem to notice him as he approaches, still staring down at the table like it will speak to you if you glare at it long enough.

"seem lost in thought." chris gives you the most dazzling smile he can muster, full of charm eased by age. while his body language is casual as he slides into the booth next to you, his mind has gone blissfully blank.

your thigh is touching his. oh god, you're wrapping your arms around him before he can think of something suave to say. your action is immediately reciprocated by strong arms pulling you closer, tucking you into his chest like he wants you to live in it forever.

god, he fucking missed this. seeing you, touching you with a familiarity he thought was long lost.

"i missed you," you murmur, letting your cheek smush into his collarbone.

"missed you too," he laughs, bright and warm. all the tension from his job immediately eases in your hold, and he lets himself squeeze you tighter and tighter, like a serpent desperately trying to stay out of the damnation of hell.

"jesus, chris. you got huge."

chris frowns as you pull back from him and start squeezing his arms appreciatively. he has no choice but to let you manhandle him, silently relishing in the way your eyes trace across the contours of his body. he is proud of it, even if he hates the reason why he felt the need to train this much in the first place.

the only way to stop wesker, to try and make the fight on level terms. he never told you about that either, keeping the details concise, knowing that you would have gotten on the first place to washington if you heard his plans of hunting their former boss. you had once admired the captain the same way chris did, and the knowledge of what had to happen would have crushed you.

that shoulder of burden can lay squarely on him.

"you know how it is," he answers instead, taking a sip from your glass. something sugary and way too sweet for his taste. "work never stops."

"tell me about it." the glass is then swapped to your hands. "i'm pretty sure i've huffed enough chemicals to send me to an early grave."

if anyone is going to rot eight feet below the earth soon, he thinks, it's most definitely not going to be you. he's been running from that ticking clock for far too many years.

"but you do good work." he grins, waving down a bartender and ordering a simple whiskey. on the rocks, top shelf, because he's a classy guy.

"we do good work." you remind him.

"fine." he concedes, hunching slightly over the table. "we're both patron saints."

a bright smile is what he gets in response, one that has his heart stuttering and tripping over in his chest. he can't help but give you a slightly goofy one in return. everything feels like as it should be. you're here, alive, and he is here, slightly less alive but feeling like he's finally able to breathe.

—

in retrospect, three-drink chris was probably not the best choice for tonight. one-drink chris is a little chattier than usual, but still relatively normal. two-drink chris loves music, always tapping his feet or bobbing his head to whatever song is playing. and three-drink chris might just be the most impulsive person on the planet.

the entire time you drive him home, which you insist on, chris has his head turned to you with the most obviously love-struck look in his eyes. the entire world around him seems to dull to a faint hum, instead focusing on that frustrating smile of yours as you recount some time that a coworker of yours accidentally put whatever chemical in something solution, causing a lab-wide evacuation.

like he said, impulsive. no more little voice in his head warning him to be subtle.

no more voices in his head screaming the songs of the damned.

he's honestly only half-listening. and only half-paying attention it seems, because you give him a questioning look when the car pulls into his driveway and he makes no move to get out. a nervous laugh escapes him then, breaking the awkward silence in your car like a clap of thunder.

"this was nice," you say eventually, lips upturned in a sort of half-smile. endearing, even cute.

"it was," he nods, trying desperately to keep this moment going as long as it can. just the thought of leaving you again after spending years drowning in the emptiness gives him a headache. chris spent enough time dawdling around like an idiot, going so far as to refuse to change phone numbers in the small chance you would never contact him again.

you're picking at your nails during his internal monologue, that same worried pinch forming between your brows. you're, once again, the one to break the silence. "chris, i-"

his lips are on yours then. thick hands curled around your neck, keeping you in place for one second, then two, then three.

his eyes are still squeezed shut when he pulls away.

"fuck," he whispers, jolting back like you had slapped him. "i'm sorry, i just have wanted to do that for a while, and i couldn't let you go away again without doing something."

"chris."

"i know it was stupid, and impulsive," he keeps going, purposefully avoiding eye contact. "i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, i just-

"chris," the stern tone of your voice is enough to make him stop mid-ramble, peering up at you hopefully. you only laugh in response, before raising your hand to the nape of his neck. his hair is longer than you remember it being. just another way he's changed.

"yeah." he sighs, defeated. just another part of his life that he's royally fucked up. another friend he's going to lose, and this time it's not to circumstances out of his control. not because of bloodshed or shitty calls. this one is purely on him, because he really does lose all sense around you.

instead of slapping him, or yelling at him, like he expects you to— you take pity on him. "are you going to shut the hell up and kiss me?"

there's another long stretch of silence then, the only sign that chris even heard you is the glimmer of hope twinkling in his eye.

"fuck yeah, i am." he smiles, before pulling you into him again.

[chaifootsteps]

that anon talking about charlie not actually being masc is so real and it reminded me of how i wished so bad that charlie wore a suit of knights armor or something in the finale (maybe something like goldenhearts original armor when he was goldenloin in the nimona comic,) that she inherited from her dad before he fell, or that maybe carmine makes for her out of angelic weapons.

some of the others get fitting outfits that represents what they associate with throwing hands, (angel in that ugly ripped mafia suit, vaggie in an exterminator esc suit with her own twist, sir pent in a generals uniform, etc,) no fun battle outfit for nifty or husk and cherri just gets a weird ugly matching suit to angels, i wish she just got to kill angels in her addict fit but charlies is just a dress for no reason given. there's not even a little self aware joke about it, and i hardly noticed her wear it on a first watch, but it's such a lame and forced way to give pretty much the only gnc woman character in all of vivs work a gender conforming outfit.

maybe i could forgive it if it reflected how charlie is inexperienced with physical conflict/combat and only knows how to present herself as the princess of hell when she wants to feel/seem powerful, instead of as a fighter she needs to be here. maybe vaggie notices charlie getting ready in her room and charlie proudly shows off in the mirror how ready she is with her shield and crown and fireworks, gushing about them, accidentally setting them off inside, while vaggie just sighs and lovingly accepts it anyway, finding endearment in it as well reminding her the reason shes fighting for the hotel before a battle that could determine all of their fates..

but we dont have time for dumb scenes like that for the main character or her girlfriend. we OBVIOUSLY needed vox to talk and take up precious space in the finale between 10 separate characters at the hotel doing shit all at once within 22 minutes just to scream, "IM SO FUCKING HARD RN" and "FUK U HAHA THIS IS BETTER THEN SEX"

This ask took me to a better world and the last paragraph pulled me forcefully back into a much colder one. Good lord, I forgot just how cringe-worthy the dialogue in this show was.

[ouroborosorder]

I once heard someone say that because Arknights' disability representation is mostly tied to their fantasy turbo-cancer, then it doesn't feel like real disabled representation, and I've been unable to get it out of my head, like a piece of popcorn stuck in my teeth. So, rather than doing my homework like I'm supposed to be, I want to talk about why I disagree and why I love Arknights' approach to disability.

So, for those who are unaware, Arknights has a shockingly high amount of disabled characters, and characters who are disabled in a lot of different ways, both caused by being Infected and just being disabled in the way that normal people are. Nightingale has chronic pain, Lemuen is the best sniper in Laterano while being in a wheelchair, Akafuyu is mostly blind, Eyja has severe hearing loss, Rosmontis has severe memory loss, Amiya has very severe PTSD, I could go on and on.

And of course there'd be a lot of operators with disabilities! Rhodes Island is a medical organization dedicated towards long-term care of terminally ill patients. Of course many of them would develop disabilities, and of course Rhodes would have the resources and facilities to help them. They even make notes of how to treat them in their medical files, like how Ejyafjalla's has a little guide on how to best have a conversation with her. It makes perfect sense, but I can't say a lot of games would think about it on that level.

And that why I like this game's approach to disability so much. A lot of video games just treat disability as "someone missing an arm" or "someone in a wheelchair because of Their Injuries From Combat. It's usually treated as an individual thing, just someone who got hurt, or who maybe has a frail constitution or whatever. But in Arknights, disability isn't simply treated as a character trait for individuals, but as part of the worldbuilding itself. The world is largely defined by Oripathy, this fatal degenerative disease with no cure. And the Infected are treated as second-class citizens, considered free labor that they don't have to treat ethically because they're dying anyway. The writers realized that this would cause severe disability, both real and fantastical, and worked it into the story and world.

This runs the other way, too! Arknights' worldbuilding follows a sort of social model of disability, in a way. There's a lot of fantasy stories that treat the inability to use magic as a sort of disability, but to Arknights, it's... not. Because Arts require specialized training, and so a lot of people just don't know how to use them, and might not even know they can't use Arts. So it's not treated as such, even though it is still a physical inability to perform things other people can.

But on the other end, Laterano's culture is based around the Sankta having empathic communication between each other. Mostima, as a fallen angel, can't use this telepathy anymore, and she speaks about how othering it feels sometimes, to be physically unable to engage with an important part of her culture. While it's not explicitly stated as a disability to the Lateran culture, I certainly feel like it's treated as one to some degree. Namely that it's explicitly contrasted with Fiametta's PTSD rendering her unwilling to empathize with the people around her, as opposed to Mostima's physical inability. It's the fantasy disability treated with the same weight as real world disability, because within the world of Terra, they're the same thing.

And of course there's just some of the more fucked up fantasy stuff like "On top of her existing narcolepsy, Ptilopsis was forced to become plural after she had to have part of her brain replaced with a computer that forces her to speak and think like a computer or else it causes her severe mental stress to the point of physical pain." Which uh. I don't know where that fits in the conversation but jesus christ someone hug that owl

Of course, its representation isn't always perfect. Just off the top of my head, Nightmare is a pretty rough stereotype, with the whole "Oripathy gave her multiple personality disorder with a violent personality trying to take control of her body!!" trope. And, of course, I'm sure other people have complaints with the representation of their disability in ways that I'm not aware of because I only have the perspective I have.

But... what I remember about this game's treatment of disability isn't when it fails. What I remember is reading Glaucus' module for the first time, the story of the first time she ever put on the mechanical exo-suit legs that allowed her to walk for the first time in her life. And I started bawling my fucking eyes out. I cried because, even though I don't know the specific feeling of walking for the first time in years, I know well what she felt. That feeling of liberation from something you secretly feared was just who you are now. Even though you know it won't be a perfect solution, the physically choking emotion that you're able to get a little closer to a normalcy you've always wanted. The feeling that right now, the only thing you can do is run like the wind.

[another-lost-mc]

(Fallen) Angels Round Table Discussion: Fashion

Featuring: A mixed bag of canon and OC angels and some of their fallen brethren.

"So, honest question - who comes up with these outfit designs?"

GABRIEL: Most angels meet with someone from the tailoring guild and they can request what sorts of clothing they'd like.

SERAPHIEL: Clothing is also a popular gift for angels that pass their ascension trials.

"Does hierarchy or rank have anything to do with the types of clothes angels are allowed to wear?"

SIMEON: Not really. It mostly boils down to preference. Certain styles are more practical than others too. For example, most of the warriors choose not to wear robes on a daily basis. I only wear mine for very special occasions.

METATRON: Michael and Lucifer couldn't be more different style-wise and they were both Seraphs.

MICHAEL: I designed a new outfit for Lucifer that was a little bit more...relaxed...but he wouldn't wear it. Asmodeus even helped with it.

LUCIFER: That’s exactly why I refused. You show enough skin for both of us.

"Now that you mention it, is there a practical reason for designing tight clothes with, um, decorative cut-outs?"

RAPHAEL: It helps us stay cool and prevent heat sickness during our hottest season.

HABUHIAH: Loose clothing isn't comfortable to wear underneath armor.

RAPHAEL: I don't think that's much of a concern anymore.

HABUHIAH: You have more faith than I do when it comes to certain demons.

BELIAL: Are you still upset about our little scuffle in the human world? It's been nearly five-thousand years.

URIEL: You mean the pointless war that you started?

BELIAL: It was actually very profitable.

URIEL: You're the worst.

GABRIEL: Shh, darling. Just pretend he's not here.

BELIAL: That's not very nice, Gabe. You haven't missed me even a teeny-tiny bit?

HABUHIAH: You can't be serious.

METATRON: If we have time later, I'd love to talk to you about your involvement in that skirmish. The official records we have aren't very detailed.

BELIAL: Say no more! I'd be delighted to stay as long as necessary and—

GABRIEL: Absolutely not.

"So, back to the whole why angelic clothing is so revealing thing...?”

SERAPHIEL: Right. Well, from a utility point of view, form-fitted clothes usually work best because you still want to be able to move your body freely without any restrictions. Wearing something flimsy like a cloak is a potential disaster too, at least if you're in a fight.

RAPHAEL: Michael learned that the hard way.

URIEL: The younglings were in the garden and got a firsthand demonstration about combat safety so at least something good came from it.

MICHAEL: You set your cloak on fire by accident one time and your friends never let you forget it.

RAPHAEL: That was an accident? I thought you did it on purpose to get out of training that day.

SIMEON: The point is, a lot of those considerations aren't as important as they used to be. Now we simply wear what we like.

AZRA: Are we going to gloss over the other very important reason? That some of us just wanted to look good?

LUCIFER: Riveting input from our resident incubus.

HABUHIAH: What's that gesture Azazel is making with his hand?

SERAPHIEL: I'm not sure, but judging by Lucifer's expression it's probably not nice.

MICHAEL: Their demonic forms are much more impressive than the photos I've seen on Devilgram.

RAPHAEL: Should we try to stop them?

SIMEON: It's more entertaining if we don't.

METATRON: But I don't want anyone to get hurt.

URIEL: Wait, why is Belial fighting now too?

SERAPHIEL: He's upset that his suit got scorched when one of their wayward spells hit him by accident.

GABRIEL: I hope you're pleased with yourself since this was all your idea, Michael. But I have to admit, I expected much worse.

MICHAEL: See, I told you not to worry. It's just like old times!

A/N: Here's something silly that helped distract me from real life stuff that's kept me busy lately. This vaguely incorporates some Celestial Realm headcanons/worldbuilding, and to be honest, I just wanted to throw these characters into a room and see what happened. (Chaos. Chaos happened.)

[demifiendrsa]

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 | Reveal Trailer

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 will launch for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X|S, and PC via Steam and Epic Games Store in 2025. It will also be available via Xbox Game Pass.

Key visual

Character headshots

Screenshots

Overview

About

Lead the members of Expedition 33 on their quest to destroy the Paintress so that she can never paint death again. Explore a world of wonders inspired by Belle Époque France and battle unique enemies in this turn-based RPG with real-time mechanics.

Year by Year, She Erases Us

Once a year, the Paintress wakes and paints upon her monolith. Paints her cursed number. And everyone of that age turns to smoke and fades away. Year by year, that number ticks down and more of us are erased. Tomorrow she’ll wake and paint “33.” And tomorrow we depart on our final mission: Destroy the Paintress, so she can never paint death again. We are Expedition 33.

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 is a ground-breaking turn-based RPG with unique real-time mechanics, making battles more immersive and addictive than ever. Explore a fantasy world inspired by Belle Époque France in which you battle devastating enemies.

Reactive Turn-Based Combat

In this evolution of JRPGs, real-time actions enhance the heart of turn-based combat. Craft unique builds for your Expeditioners that fit your playstyle via gear, stats, skills, and character synergies. Open an active dimension in combat—dodge, parry, and counter in real time, chain combos by mastering attack rhythms, and target enemy weak points using a free aim system.

Tomorrow Comes

With only one year left to live, join Gustave, Maelle, and their fellow Expeditioners as they embark upon a desperate quest to break the Paintress’ cycle of death. Follow the trail of previous expeditions and discover their fate. Get to know the members of Expedition 33 as they learn to work together against impossible odds.

A Hauntingly Beautiful World

Explore an enchanting realm populated by surreal adversaries. Wander through breathtaking landscapes, from the Island of Visages to the Forgotten Battlefield, discovering secrets and hidden quests along the way. Find allies of fortune in creatures of legend and recruit special companions, access new travel methods and discover secret areas in the World Map.

Experience the debut game from Sandfall Interactive, fully realized in Unreal Engine 5 with stunning graphics and a heartbreaking soundtrack.

[goatyuuji]

Sorry for the delay, but it's here now… Most of them are NC-17 and R rated, so read the tags.

One shots (1k-9k)

Incense by cielelyse (E, 6.6k)

“We wanted to know,” says Mimiko, “who between the two of you is the better fighter?” (Or: Satoru tries to prove he's better at close combat, but Suguru has other plans.)

Curiosity Killed the Crush by xBarbarellax (E, 7.5k)

Today was the day. No more chickening out, no more waiting for him to make the first move, no. Today, Hina was going to ask out Gojo Satoru.

all the world’s a stage by ruche

“I don’t deserve to love you,” Suguru offered. It was placid as a temple pond, at odds with all his feelings. His arms went limp at his sides. He smiled again, sweet and hollow. “Right?” Satoru recovered well enough. Intensity seemed to evaporate off of him within a few stiff seconds. “They deserve this, I deserve that,” he said after a beat. “Who died and made you king of the universe? Talk about obnoxious.” Suguru is horny and Satoru makes that Suguru’s problem.

closer to the bone by sanctify (E, 6k)

“How thoughtful of you.” Gojo eventually says as he rests the cuffs on his lap, skimming a finger along the black padding on the inside of one. “I saw that you had added them to your wishlist.” Geto hums, tilting his head in his direction, the sharp amber of his eyes like spools of molten honey. “I hope it wasn’t too forward of me.” This has Gojo burst out into a brief fit of laughter, the bright whites of his teeth showing as he leans forward to lay a hand on Geto’s chest, easy and playful and flirtatious. “I invite you over so I can record you fucking my brains out and post it online, and you think you’re being forward?” Gojo laughs again, a soft pink coloring the curve of his cheeks this time, accentuated by the highlighter he wore.

Thought you were about to get some foreplay with me by SaintOfAthena (E, 5.7k)

See, Gojo Satoru has a problem: there is a frontier that his true feelings cannot breach. When they try to force it, it is only at the cost of their true nature that they are allowed to pass. Consequently, after a mental breakdown due to a pimple that leads to Geto taking care of him, he jumps on the chance to tell him how he feels but things don't go as smoothly as expected.

up the river, we can go slow by Eskarina (E, 5.8k)

Satoru looks ethereal this way—like nothing has ever touched him. Like Suguru couldn’t even touch him if he wanted to. He does want to, eventually; ask Satoru if he’s allowed to leave marks that won’t disappear within the blink of an eye. He doesn’t think they’re quite there yet.

Trials and tribulations of loving Satoru Gojo.

Woozy by Kiboutie (E, 2.5k)

“I have infinity, remember? No one can touch me,” Satoru repeats, before slowly reaching forward and tucking a stray strand of hair behind Suguru’s ear with a wistful sigh. “Unless I want them to.” Alternatively, The one where omega Gojo continues to spend his heat with Getou, even after they've parted ways.

Longer fics (9k+)

4AM by damiselart (E, 10.8k)

Suguru and Satoru's meet cute but it's horny instead.

His **** is What?! by owl_beans (E, 10.1K)

Gojo Satoru did not have a crush on Getou Suguru. They had never even spoken to each other. Satoru was just curious about what neat and polite Getou Suguru was like when he wasn't all buttoned up. The answer was not at all what Satoru expected and even better than he had imagined. To no one's surprise, they hit it off infuriatingly well.

in the eye of the dragonfly by backbones (E, 9.3k)

Suguru first heard about the Six Eyes when he was still a child. Like most children his age, it sounded like a legend, or a fairy tale out of a book—and when he was a teenager, it became more real. Suguru was slated to be a sorcerer, but he still came from a modest clan inside the same village where the Six Eyes was born, and occasionally he would hear little truths: he was a boy of sixteen (like Suguru), he had eyes like the sky (unlike Suguru), or he will be the strongest sorcerer alive (not if Suguru had a say). But— He’s a boy, Suguru thought. He’s a boy. (In which the Gojo clan arranges a marriage between Satoru and Suguru.)

lovesick lullabye by pastelcoloureddreams (E, 18k)

"Satoru, you can't pretend like there's nothing more to us," Suguru appeals, grabbing the crook of Satoru's elbow. That certainly makes Satoru freeze but his eyes remain hard, an impenetrable fortress to the soft and vulnerable boy he knows still lives inside Satoru. "I still love you." "Love? Is that why you left me?"

Slow Hands by megumiblues (E, 12.3k)

Satoru is in desperate need of a massage, so who better to ask than famous masseuse Suguru, who just so happens to be the best friend he’s been in love with for over ten years now?

The Traveller's Song by No_Ir (E, 23.3k)

When it comes, the death of summer is vapid and quiet. It tastes like stale water and smells like memories gone bad in the heat. Nothing mourns it and the air is speckled with bits of seawater that cling to the dampness on the back of his neck. Crickets chirp throughout the night and the bed is too warm to sleep in, so he buries his face into pillows that smell like dust and salt and ignores the stabbing behind his eyes till he can feel the irritating warmth of another day on his back. I miss the sea, he thinks, staring at the familiar outline of the window, palm resting on the friend-shaped dent on his bed. Exhaustion drapes itself over his shoulders and sweat beads like pearls at the roots of his hair. I miss the sea like I miss my friend.

The Future of a Broken Past by dazylein (34.5k, ongoing)

Temporary amnesia due to severe trauma. It’s all the doctor can tell Satoru when he wakes up bloodied and bruised with no ID on him and no fingerprints matching any record. Plagued with the idea that his life must have been meaningless if no one is even looking for him, Satoru finds himself in front of a buddhist temple that proves him otherwise. As the haze around his memories clears, the guesses of who did this to him and why turn muddier and muddier.