#and even my initial idea of making some fucked up void fluid shit happen would work way better with boon

[arolesbianism]

I currently have scug campaigns for 3 of my 4 iterator ocs, and I should rly work on the last, but why think abt the hypothetical slugcat Stars might make when I can instead think of the ones she made already even more (<- has already run out of ideas for iterator gimmicks and doesn't wanna think abt it more)

[troutpopulation]

It Becomes A Chain (Sigma x reader) pt.3

Summary: The whole gig isn't as glamorous as you initially thought. (Plus there's that annoying "Dr. de Kuiper" guy, and that's a whole 'nother mess.)

Ti volti e vedi la tua vita

Come la scia di un'elica

Caruso is playing. You couldn't tell from where. The Song was distorted, and rang out in the distance from somewhere inside your head.

Ma sì, è la vita che finisce Ma lui non ci pensò poi tanto

You're about to die.

E ricominciò il suo canto

You're in the greenhouse and it's dark. It must be night, but you think,  you can't see a single celestial body. You stare blankly ahead into the glass and try to make out your reflection, but nothing but the bleak void outside stares back at you. There's a light in the sky.

The moon?

It vanishes. Just as quickly as it appeared, it's gone.

Te voglio bene assaje

The greenhouse glass shatters in slow motion. You can't move. The shard of glass glide eerily towards you and slide into your skin as smooth and slowly as a knife cutting into butter. It doesn't hurt. But you're scared. 

You're terrified.

You look at you hands, but the shards of glass have already slipped beneath your skin and were swimming around like fish. Your skin rippled and bumped and protruded with something alive underneath it. It dragged along inside you, slithering, making visceral slicing noises as it grated past your bones. 

Ma tanto tanto bene sai

Mounds formed in your palms as what ever was slithering about beneath your flesh struggled to get free. You wanted to scream. The bump raised and raised and burst. Your flesh folded backwards, dry and raw. You didn't bleed. You had no blood. The only liquid inside of you was a sickly yellow fluid that coated the thorny mass of wriggling vines and torn tendons.

È una catena ormai Che scioglie il sangue dint' 'e 'vvene sai

Caruso was playing.

È una cat ena orm ai Che scio glie il san gue dint' 'e 'vve ne sai 

The vines writhed, alive without your control.

È u  na ca te  na o rm  ai Che sciog  lie il san  gu e dint' 'e 'v ven  e s ai

Caruso was playing

È     a ca    na    mai Che sci   lie il sa  e di  t' 'e 'v e s  i

Pull them back. Move them. Make them stop moving. Do something to show you're in control.

È u    at   a   mai Che sc  lie il sa       t' '     e    i

The greenhouse was glowing in your peripherals. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. But you couldn't take your eyes off of your busted open skin and the viens and ligaments that had been discarded carelessly over the sides of the holes in your hands.

u     a t     a   m       i  t   e    i

Caruso was playing. 

a   u    t   a i     t    m    e    i   

The thorn covered vines moved. The raised from your arms, slowly, two twin snakes  charmedby the distorted opera that haunted you. You watched as they ascended, up towards a light from an unseen source.

a     i     t      u      a        t  m   e    i

They snapped downwards, serpents striking and closing around your neck. 

Caruso no longer played.

You screamed.

Aiutatemi!

  You woke up with a dry mouth in your hotel room, and sat up groggily. You raised a hand and a vine shot forward, curling around the glass on your nightstand. 'Yep', you thought as you drank. 'Still in control.' Your nightmare left you waking up feeling sick. There was some sort of song playing you couldn't place, and you couldn't remember exactly what happened either, but it left a rather unsavory taste in your mouth.

Then again, that could just be your breath.

Go brush your teeth (y/n).

  ---------------------------------

  Siebren walked from his car to the laboratory. As usual, he parked far away and enjoyed the walk. His hours were flexible, and rarely was he ever late, but he felt like hurrying today. Why was that? It was a good question, and one he asked himself fervently. His work was going incredibly slow, and he seemed not to be reaching the event horizon of any particular discovery. But he supposed it didn't really matter. The quicker he got there, the more time he'd have to work and find that event horizon. He chuckled to himself, his nose crinkling. Alright, Siebren, what was it really? What were you so excited about? His own brain decided not to give up such privileged information, and it wasn't until he entered the lobby that it hit him. Or rather, you hit him. With an apple. Immediately you were upon him, apologizing up a storm.

"Oh my God I am so so sorry Dr. de Kuiper! Are you alright?" You looked like you were about to cry. "Yes, I... I'm fine." He blinked hard, touching the spot below his receding hairline where the fruit had bopped him. His colleagues chuckled among themselves. How ironic, is it then, they said, that the man studying Newton's laws is hit by an apple. You however, saw no humor in it. You apologized profusely, explaining that  you had been demonstrating for the others and recognizing him had startled you and the tree had detached from your hands. He looked down and surely enough, on the floor was a sapling with buds of sparsely developed apples. "Really, it's quite alright, Mr. (l/n)." He smiled, and put a hand on your shoulder in reassurance. "Its good to see you again, anyways."

    "Oh! Uh, you too!" You smiled sheepishly, glancing away for a moment. "How are things going with what you're working on?" Stupid (y/n). That was a stupid question. You didn't even know what he was working on and he knows that. You were pretending to care just to excuse hurting him through your carelessness. Do you realize how rude you sound right now? "Very slowly," Dr. de Kuiper chuckled, lighting up. "And you? How are the tests going?"

Small talk was going to be the literal death of you. You bit back a grimace at the question and gave a half-assed reply about how you were honored to be here and contribute. You've done this about a million times and at this point, have learned to just smile, nod and interject occasionally with the fascinated "oh wow" or "really?". 

 "That's fascinating, doctor! Well, I don't want to delay progress. Good luck in your endeavors." You smiled and extended a hand. "It was wonderful seeing you again." Dr. de Kuiper looked fascinated at your palm before he gave it a shake. That's the fucking worst, when people did that.

"Likewise Mr. (l/n)." He chirped. He said something else, but you'd already disengaged, walking back to the small gathering of scientists and apologizing for keeping them waiting. Your face burned with his eyes on your back.

Stop staring at me, stop staring at me, stop staring at me.

You followed the other doctors into the elevator and closed your eyes as you tuned out their murmuring and focused on the lift's melodic music.

You don't know why you thought you'd enjoy being studied like this. You hated feeling... less than human. And here? That's ALL you felt. You should be used to being a guinea pig by now, but never before was anybody ever this on the nose about it. In the hospital and facility you stayed in, you were a patient. When you were hired by farmers to kick-start their farms, they treated you like you were a man with a talent. When you grew food and volunteered at feeding shelters, they treated you like a friend. Here, it was different.

You'd never been in a lab this scale before. You'd never been surrounded by people and not know what they're talking about. Maybe it was because you were away from home, but you couldn't help but feel lost and nervous. You began to regret coming. The doctors ushered you into a large glass tank with a bowl of seeds, and your stomach dropped as it was sealed behind them. Over a PA they asked you to create from the bowl and you nodded, gulping, as you timidly walked over to the container and plucked out a seed. Visible over a woman's shoulder was a reading of your vitals. You were suddenly hyper-aware of everyone's eyes on you as you got to work.

  ---------------------------

   Siebren must have been dreaming! That went incredibly well. Did you hear what (y/n) said? He said it was wonderful seeing him again! And perhaps, and now this might be a stretch, but perhaps he might want to see him again! Should he ask him out for coffee? Maybe that would be too forward.

Oh hadn't the night they met been so memorable? He'd saved him from losing his work. That was wonderful.

Siebren ran his fingertips over the gaping hole in the paper he had brought with him to his desk. The power behind that vine skewering the paper was astounding, it was like a bullet! Oh but the man behind the weapon... (Y/n) must be busy, but later on, maybe the two of them could sit down at a cafe, and compare notes? (Y/n) must be some sort of botanist, but maybe he was an astronomer? He was probably a physicist! They could compare notes. Oh, he had so many questions! He burned to know, how did he acquire those abilities? How did he learn such control?

Siebren grinned. The man must be some kind of genius. Finally, he found himself an equal.

  ----------------------------

  You left the lab that evening feeling ill. This was turning out to be more stressful than you ever anticipated. You were no genius. You had no PHD, no masters degree, nothing. You felt stupid here, and for the first time in ages, began to doubt yourself. Why had you been chosen to take on these abilities? You had no idea how to handle them! You didn't know shit about plants in space, you didn't know anything about-

Stop, (y/n), breathe.

You do know how to handle them. You use your powers for good. Feeding your community? Planting trees? That's worth more than some shitty degree. That's worth more than some stupid math equation you couldn't read. So what if you failed math throughout school? You helped people.

But maybe if you could understand the science behind it, you could be doing more. Better yet, you'd not have people breathing down your neck and feel so exposed as they watched you grow plants from as many places on your body as you could. You hated how they glanced between you and their screen, judgement on their features. You felt small under the laboratory lights. You didn't want to even see a damn seed anymore.You were sick of being studied everyday. You were sick of the poking and prodding and awful scenarios. They nearly drowned you to simulate lack of oxygen in space yesterday. You complied, knowing you signed up for this but... You were TIRED.

You heard quickly approaching footsteps-

"Mr. (l/n), hello!"

Oh great, it was this guy. He kept popping up randomly this week, always pestering you. Hello, Mr. (l/n)! Mr. (l/n), hello! He couldn't take a damn hint and wouldn't shut up about his PHD. It was patronizing. He KNEW you weren't as educated and he wouldn't let you forget it. You responded with the most auto-generated shit possible and he still insisted on approaching you over and over, offering to show you his stupid research or equations you couldn't understand, or recommend some pretentious, expensive coffee you couldn't afford when you specifically told him your diet is being regulated. And now it seems like even AFTER hours he had to remind you he was better than you! What was it gonna be this time? He's smarter than you? More well liked? More educated? Richer? More handsome? Taller?

You glared at him, eyes red and glassy.

"What." Your voice was thick, and you hated it. "Oh... Mr. (l/n), are you alright?" "Can I help you?" You added, more forcefully this time. "I... This is probably a bad time-" "Yeah, it is." You muttered. "It can wait, never mind." Thank God. "Would you um... Do you need a ride home?" You grimaced. You should just tell him you're walking to yours. Or calling a lift. You looked into it, Uber was available in The Hague.

"Sure. Thank you." You were going to cry, how much more pathetic to this guy could you get? You followed him, tense as you held back exhausted, frustrated tears. Christ, how far did this guy park? You felt like you were walking into a trap. Suddenly you felt scared. "Where are we going?" You piped up, scowling. Vines began to sprout from your palms. This guy knew better than to try anything, you were sure, but in the off chance he did, you were ready now to turn him into a damn kebab. "I park a little far, sorry..." Dr. de Kuiper rubbed the back of his neck. He seemed relieved to speak, as if he'd been holding his breath this whole time. You glanced over at you, but you were shoving your hands in your pockets, nodding. He led you around the corner. Of course, his car was nice as hell. A black Tesla, a new model. Pretentious. You wordlessly got into the passenger seat, getting in before he had the chance to open the door for you. "Thank you for the ride, Dr. de Kuiper," You sighed as you put your hotel into the navigation. "I appreciate it." As if to further taunt you, Dr. de Kuiper beamed. He assured you it was not trouble, and you closed your eyes, pressing yourself back into the seat. This past week had been ridiculously uncomfortable, but this? This took the cake.

"How was work today? Did you make any progress with the tests? I've been dying to ask all week, actually." He chirped. You opened your eyes, glaring at the passing streetlights. "It was alright. I'm uh... I'm honored to contribute. As far as progress goes, I don't know. I don't even really understand what they're looking for anymore. All the math n' science is lost on me." You chuckled. "Major respect to those of you who work here every day... I couldn't. If I so much as see another lab I'm probably going to cry." You glanced over at Dr. de Kuiper. He looked shocked. If you thought this couldn't get anymore awkward, it did.

"I... Uh, I don't mean that literally."

"No, no I got it. It's stressful."

"Yeah... S'probably why I never became a scientist, heh."

"You don't say..."

You frowned. Alright. That was enough. You were getting really damn sick of this guy and his sarcasm.

  ------------------------------

  It clicked suddenly. Embarrassment flooded inside of him as the realization shot down his hopes like a firing squad. Those glances you threw at him as you walked away? They didn't mean what he thought they did.

And you weren't the person he thought you were. His excitement had skewed his perception. Perhaps it was lack of socialization, all cooped up there in his lab, but his fantasies had ran wild. He was nearing middle age, but like a young boy he let those few interactions with you go off the rails and he built a false persona of you in his head. How foolish of him.

His heart sank as you recoiled from his comment.

"You can let me out here." You blurted out sharply. "Wh- what? Your hotel isn't for another-" "Please, let me out." You were already reaching for the door and unbuckling yourself as he began to pull over. Oh God, oh God he felt so stupid, he hadn't meant to upset you. What had he said wrong, how could he fix this?

Nothing he could say could fix this. He felt himself dying inside as you slammed the door. Hastily, he parked and got out of the car.

"Mr (l/n), please wait-" "Ohmygoddd-" You groaned behind your hands. He could tell you'd started crying. "I just want to know what I did to upset you, I-" "Look, I get it OK, you're smarter than me, I understand! Please, just stop hinting at that every time you see me? It's not subtle! I get what you're trying to say! You're in charge around here, I understand!" You whirled around, face flushed but you refused to let him see you cry. His heart broke. Had you really, this whole time, thought he was trying to assert himself over you? No, nonono that wasn't right at all! He'd been trying to impress you! He wanted you to like him!

"Mr. (l/n) I didn't mean it like that at all! I was... I wasn't trying to make you feel inferior." You waved, nodding. "Yes, yeah I know I know, forget what I just said, that was stupid." You interjected, voice cracking. "No, I understand how it could have been taken that way, I really do, I'm sorry." Siebren stepped closer. You wiped your eyes, closing them and pursing your lips. Your expression was tight as you let out a deep, shaking breath.

"it's alright. I'm sorry for the outburst. I just... This whole situation has been really stressful. I'm far from home, I'm here alone, I'm being studied like an animal I-" You swallowed. "I'm just overwhelmed." "I understand, I'm sorry, if I'd known I..."

He already hates you, Siebren, you might as well say it.

"Do you want to grab a coffee sometime?"

You looked dumbfounded, brows furrowed. "What?" "I've... been meaning to ask you. I know this is a terrible time, but I feel like if I don't put the offer out there now I wont get the opportunity later. You don't know how many times I've been trying to..." You laughed as if he'd told you a joke. It didn't make any sense. Nothing in this universe made sense. "You've gotta be kidding. This whole time I thought you were, I dunno, subtly threatening me," You sniffed, chuckling. "And you were just trying to ask me out. God, I'm about dumb as shit... I'm sorry about," You gestured around, lips pursed into a tight line. "All of this." You looked aside, that same sheepish look on your face as you had when you'd accidentally beamed an apple into his forehead. "The stress got to me. Shit, this is so embarrassing, I feel like an asshole." "I promise you, it's more than alright. I know what it's like to be overwhelmed." You looked up at him, hopeful. For the first time, you looked like you actually believed what he was saying. "Right. I um... I'd love to, by the way. Coffee. With you. Get some. I mean-" You covered your face, and let out a long monotone groan. Siebren couldn't help but smile. He felt terrible that you'd been so scared and nervous and not told anybody. But, he was glad you finally had somebody here to talk to. He was more than pleased that it was him.

You, the real you, not the one in his head, were distrustful and anxious, cruder mouthed than he expected, and insecure.

But honestly? For the situation, you handled this all very well, he was impressed. You were not the prodigy he assumed you to be. (Though really, that was on him for putting you on that pedestal. He regretted the stress that had caused you, but he'd apologize properly later.) You were not some genius physicist.

The kick was, though, that you did not impress him any less. In fact, he was all the more intrigued.

[comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog]

Finn “Firkle” Sinn

out of character info

Name/Alias: Alison Pronouns: she/they Age: 21 Join Our Discord: c; Timezone: est Activity: 6.9/10 Triggers: n/a Password: jimmy can fastpass my ass Character that you’re applying for: Firkle Favourite ships for your character: uhh Fike or Firkmore. Whichever bugs Kyle most.

in character info

Full name: Finn Nyarlathotep “Firkle” Sinn (I hate his canon name, I’m sorry.) Birthday: October 25th, (Scorpio) Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Death (Bisexual), Goth (cis man), “Don’t fucking talk about me” (he/him). Age and grade: Freshman, 14

Appearance:

Standing at the height of 5’7, but subtracting three inches the moment his boots come off. Firkle always wears two expressions, one of constant disdain, or a vacant one. Despite the eerie faces he likes to make, he has a rather pretty face. Heart shaped, large almond eyes, the color the storm clouds before the rain begins to fall, a small, slight turned up nose, a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. More often than not, he straightens his naturally wavy black hair, his fringe hangs down, on his right side, past his chin, and the sides are shaved with an abstract design of geometric shapes.

He has piercings, including: a septum ring, a bar through his left eyebrow, numerous cartilage piercings, a bar through his tongue, and his collar bones. He has a total of 7 tattoos, a skull with horns and the word 'death’ over its forehead on his right upper arm; he got it when he was 13 and properly initiated into the cult. An Omega (Ω) on the outer side of his left wrist, “some ghosts are so quiet, you would hardly know they're there” in a small handwriting font on his left thigh above a small ghost line art. He has an octopus the size of a CD on his left upper arm, it holds little knives in each hand. He has a boo from Mario over his left forearm, accompanied by the three life hearts from Legend of Zelda, and the Space Invaders alien.

His body type is thin, though he does have lean muscle from several years of fencing. His fingers have numerous scars on his fingers from years of playing with knives. Pale scars, a very slight contrast from his already corpse-like skin tone. His makeup is usually just dark eyeliner and black lipstick, very rarely does he use any cover-up or contour. In contrast to his minimal effort in his appearance, he has a very decorated taste in clothing. Plain black skinny jeans, plain dark grey t-shirt, wallet with chains hanging from his hip, boots with studs and buckles, and his jackets, always black, commonly leather, have studs, patches, and/or patches.

Personality:

Firkle is a true nihilist, he believes that nothing really matters, and he’d defend that philosophy until the day he died. Though he lacks empathy and is an undiagnosed sociopath, having said that, when he finds someone he wants to nurture and cherish, he does so. He would murder for them, and take care of them through thick and thin. It's incredibly rare that this occurs, and he isn't fond of the majority of the people he talks to. He has a short patience for people he doesn't like, he's snappy and will start roasting people in hopes they will leave him alone. He often comes off as cold and reclusive, but it's actually because he hates talking to people, it makes him emotionally tired; though good at carrying conversation and it's the entirely of his school career, it makes him want to curl up into the fetal position and sleep for a week. Having control over his emotions is something he's mastered over the years and it's rare that he would snap at anyone outside of being tired. Anger, sadness, and even happiness are controlled.

Behavior wise, Firkle is cunning, often lying to cover for himself, and generally selfish. Admitting when he's wrong is something he despises doing, and he will get violent over small, insignificant disputes. Instead of getting mad or arguing, he's more likely to slap someone than to shout at them. (But if they do shout at him, he can get incredibly loud, and he does not take anyone's shit.) He's not selfish in the “all for me, none for you" sense, but he will let someone become a scapegoat as long as it keeps him looking like the Eldritch Golden Boy his cult sees him as.

When he hits his most stressful moments, he grows numb and acts robotic, because the only rational, sanity retaining, thought he can think is that none of this actually matters, and his pure form, the sadistic apathetic asshole he is deep down comes out.

History:

Firkle was born to a single mother, Maeve Sinn, due to the absence of his father after his conception, his mother gave him the name she felt was most appropriate for him, including her own last name. Finn is a traditional Irish name, Nyarlathotep is the name of an Elder God, and Sinn has been the last name in his family for ages. His name rhymes, but he's not fond of being called by his first name. When he was born, his mother was finishing her doctorate to start working full time as an alternative medical doctor. Commonly referred to as the local witch doctor, more accurate name than the population knows.

Firkle was raised by a goth and more or less by the cult his mother belonged to. Spending his earliest years, being laid down to nap on the pews of the abandoned church. By the time he was old enough to start school, the sadist fit in well with the resident goth clique. It took a long time for him to even like them, he betrayed them at gunpoint at one point, and it wasn't until they forgave him unconditionally, that he came to realize that he had friends. Not really his own age, as they were all four and five years older than him, but much closer in age than the group he was raised by.

Spending the next 6 years being numbed to be the most apathetic asshole he could be, in the one place on the planet where everyone was a bit on the psychotic side. Must be something in the water. 12, and in the 6th grade, he spent the second semester of school in the South Park public school system, creating a reputation of defiance early. For his 13th birthday, the following semester, he was properly initiated into the cult, no more sitting on metal chairs, or on the pews, he got to attend the rituals, not just the sermons. Throughout the next year, he became a very active member of the group, attending every sermon and ritual he could, even if it meant skipping out on things normal kids got up to. Homecoming? He was harvesting blood from a sacrifice. Despite how much time he spends at these meetings, they never became common knowledge. He just called it “therapy”, and never went into any details. 

Sample paragraph:

McDonald’s espresso, it seemed like a good idea when he bought it, but as Firkle sat at his booth alone, he came to realize how terrible it was. The taste was bitter and scalding, the way he liked it, but that wasn’t the issue. A gremlin released upon the world was, and it made the young goth livid.

Some punk ass eight year old came running down the aisle between booths, banging his fist down on each one, for no obvious reason. Naturally this caused the craved caffeine to tip over, soaking into a filled page of poetry, rather than into the goth’s blood stream. A great Shakespearean Tragedy. The pools of ashen misery he called his eyes just watched the liquid soaking into his pristine white page for an absurdly long moment, frozen by the thought he just spent three dollars to ruin a twenty dollar bullet journal.

Letting out a long overdue huff, he starts to sop up the remaining fluid. All of the pretty poetry pictures he had hoped to obtain were lost to time now, dumping the hardly used notebook in the trash with the napkins, he heads off towards the nearest location with any hardcover journals available. Doubtful any would ever be waterproof, the goth was still resolved. His mind void of any emotional attachment to the event further than the major inconvenience it happened to be. He had to draft the artwork his writing was before he could ever dream of posting it for his whole school to see, and now he was going to write a new poem. One called McDonald’s Espresso.

Headcanons:

-He plays violin. -He has a total of 0 expressions when anything happens, he just keeps this blank look on his face like he’s some sort of robot.

Anything else: I love you gays.