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inscrutable-shadow · 27 days

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Augusnippets Day 24 - Path of Whumperless Whump - Land Mine

mil au again hee hee

rex engelhart @cyberwhumper vic montez @bxtterflystxtches mariano ortiz and bastian miranda @crash-bump-bring-the-whump cal bjornson @write-kin

"Okayyy. Engelhart? I need you to stay very still for me. Very, very still."

"Still" had probably been a challenge for Rex before the chrome, now, with all the work they'd done to get him pacing instead of punching when he was agitated, it was like asking a dog with a bone not to wag its tail. Still, lights darkened on the chrome as nonessential systems were powered down, out of use.

"You should run, doc." They'd both heard the click as the landmine armed itself. Rex was heavy, no way they could switch out the weight like Indiana Jones, as if that could ever work on a pressure-activated explosive.

One thing about Thanatos, though, was that he never gave up. "No. Bjornson, get me Montez now. We've got a mine."

Cal's voice filtered through his earpiece. "No good, he's dark on comms. I'll keep trying to raise him."

Shit. If Vic was dark, he might have run into the same problem. He and Mariano were on the other side of the outpost running final checks. This area was supposed to be safe, the war mages had already cleared it, Thanatos was only here providing secondary support and aid to any remaining civilians, as someone with field training and who wouldn't be expected to do any fighting when paired with Rex. Thanatos thought that "lack of manpower" was an excuse to put him in harm's way, but who was he to dispute the general's orders? "And Miranda? Does he have a read on Ortiz?"

Bastian cut in. "No bad feelings, but no comms either. They might have found a deadzone. Hold tight, you two. I'm scrambling backup." His voice was as confident and sure as ever, but there was no way that wasn't a front.

Fuck. He just needed to think. There had to be a way to get out of here. They didn't know how many other active mines could be around, and no matter how light-footed Thanatos was, he wouldn't fool one. He just needed a solution, a way to get them both out of there unharmed—

"Don't worry, doc. I won't let you get hurt," said Rex, the lights on his cybernetics flaring to life again.

"Rex, what are you—"

A huge metal frame wrapped around Thanatos, shielding him from the force of the explosion that knocked them both to the ground and made his ears ring and light flash behind his eyes. He curled himself into a ball in Engelhart's arms, the way he always did when something went wrong. When his vision cleared and his ears stopped ringing, he lifted his head. "Rex?"

It took a moment, but he was answered with a cough. "Ow." Thank the gods. Engelhart was a fucking tank. Now just to do that however many more times it took to get back. Thanatos wasn't looking forward to it.

#original fiction #my writing #writeblr #coy writes #whumpblr #coy whumps #group military au #mil!thanatos #thanatos iuventus

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harpysongs · 2 months

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You may call me Atlas, or Harpy

This blog is a place for me to explore the otherkin, xenogender, and voidpunk communities. I’ve identified as voidpunk since the term was coined and I’ve always been drawn to the alterhuman and xenogender communities I’ve never really given myself the chance to explore them or my own alterhuman experiences. Because of this I may be unfamiliar with certain terminology!

I do not utilize DNIs, but I do block liberally

I’m still questioning the details of my kinnitiy and so the words I think best describe myself may change with some frequency as I figure myself out. Follow the orange type links for details on each kin.

— Kintypes —

🦖 Dromaeosaurkin — I identify generally as a dromaeosaur but primarily have the traits of utahraptors and velociraptors. I have black and vermilion feathers.

🦎 Desert Reptile — Under kinsiderstion, likely a leopard lizard or perentie. 🌊 Ocean Types — Under kinsideration, questioning siphonophore and large predatory type.

— Otherkintypes —

🪽 Harpykin —

🐲 Dragonkin — I have dark iridescent scales with chrome aspects that change color depending on mood and environment. I thrive in especially harsh environments.

— Tag System —

🪽 playing track — harpy - harpykin and gender tag

🐲 playing track — dragon - dragonkin tag

🦖 playing track — dromaeosaur - dromaeosaurkin tag

🦎 playing track — reptile - reptile kin tag

♾️ playing track — ♾️ - unexplored feelings that may be related to unlabeled kin types

💿 harpy hisses - original text posts

💿 harpy sings - original art

💿 alterhuman anecdotes - my personal experiences as an alterhuman

💿 shifts - discussions of phantom and mental shifts

💿 gear - physical items for representing kintype(s)

💿 tips - advice for engaging with your kintype(s)

💿 species euphoria - discussions of species euphoria

💿 species dysphoria - discussions of species dysphoria

💿 music - kin related music

💿 art - kin related art

💿 web graphics - its web graphics

wing graphics by tearbowl | icon by ladymahou | divider by elfbar-baby

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gay-little-izzet · 2 years

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A Symphony of Perfection

Separated as Phyrexia surges across the multiverse, Jace and Vraska nevertheless try to reunite. This chapter is a bit looser, but it explores how Jace and Vraska might experience compleation, as well as how their relationship is altered by it.

The song of Phyrexia surges through Jace’s mind, caressing his neural circuitry as it resonates. It is so peaceful, now, to hear nothing but their glorious harmony. Gone is the chaos he knew before. Creatures of flesh were so messy, so foolish, and their thoughts were a discordant clamor of emotion, desperation and desire. But the symphony of Phyrexia is beautiful. Perfect. Once, he had thought the hum within their mental networks to be nothing but barren thought, white noise in oppressed minds. But now he saw it to be quite the opposite.

Every part of Phyrexia, from the magnificent Praetors to the smallest mites, every cog and gear and engine in the great machine, had a piece in the symphony. Some sang in unity, their myriad minds becoming a singular great hive. Others, those with more important parts to play, sang above the rest, their harmonies nonetheless merging with the great frequencies of Phyrexia.

Jace had never been one for music, nor for singing. But he could feel the approach of his own melody- a song he shared with another.

He had not seen Vraska since the Arena. He cringed in shame at the thought of how he had, for the first time in years, been afraid to meet her gaze. He had been flawed, then. But no longer.

Vraska felt, somewhere deep within her, a pang of longing. Though it intrigued her, she ignored the sensation, choosing to focus herself on the task at hand- the forces of Ravnica, fleshbound as they were, were formidable foes. Soon, they too would join her in perfection.

No longer would her people be ostracized, assaulted for the mere act of existence. The Azorius, the other guilds, even the might of dragons and gods could not destroy the spirit of her kin. As Phyrexians, the Golgari would rise, strong and unified, and they would throw off every one of their oppressors. First, she would free them from their flesh– and then, together, they could rise against Norn and her blasted Orthodoxy. Vraska, while a daughter of Phyrexia, had no love for the self-proclaimed mother of Machines.

Again, Vraska felt that creeping desire within, and she felt her thoughts drift to her beloved. Had he reached compleation yet, or did he still resist her gift? Vraska found herself frowning at the memory of their last encounter. She had granted him perfection, yes, and he would soon be grateful for that… but even now, the terror in his face, the betrayal, haunted her. She did what she had to do, but… she had hurt him.

Standing amid the fray of clashing blades and bodies, Vraska felt herself come to a standstill, the chaos around her fading away. Before she even knew what she was doing, she felt the caress of the Blind Eternities as she planeswalked away from Ravnica.

Keeping most of his eyes trained on the progress of the armies that marched onward through realmbreaker’s tendrils, Jace took a moment to examine his new form.

His body had taken to completion readily, his weak flesh succumbing to the glistening oil before anyone had bothered with surgical replacement. He’d never liked that flesh. It had always felt, to him, like nothing more than a shell, a tool for his own use. It had been a tool for others, too, in more ways than one. Before this, before Phyrexia, he had begun to finally feel at home in that body.

But now, as Jace ran his fingers, plated in shimmering chrome and laced with steel rigging, across the hard planes of his chest, he couldn’t imagine inhabiting any other.

Over the last few cycles, the skin and flesh that remained had peeled away from his body. He had allowed his tattoos to remain, flashes of white that danced across his silvery casing. But the scars were gone. Mostly. He had tried to smooth away the ridges on his arms and back, but found his form, perfect as it was, still carried a memory of the manablade’s touch. But perhaps, in time, that too would heal.

Vraska marveled at the carnage as she passed through the Blind Eternities. The great and terrible branches of Realmbreaker forced themselves across the multiverse, pushing into countless planes to spread their Phyrexian gift. Vraska had no need to travel within the massive tendrils, using them instead as a guide, taking her back to their roots. Home.

She emerged from the Blind Eternities at the borders of the Mycosynth Gardens, pausing to survey the progress of the great invasion. Thousands of Phyrexians still streamed toward Realmbreaker from across the plane, heeding the call of conquest. Here, the Hosts stood proud and distinct, their own perfect materials unsullied by the touch of blood or gore. Vraska knew, having led these same armies beyond New Phyrexia, that it would not be long before their orderly ranks dissolved into a crushing swarm of bodies, porcelain and metals intermingling. In battle, there was no Orthodoxy, no Hosts– nothing but the perfection of the Machine and the weakness of the flesh.

Floating above the armies, a lone Gitaxian kept watch over Realmbreaker’s gate, surveying the march of progress. Even if it weren't for the tattered blue cloak, somehow surviving his transformation, Vraska could feel the pull in her heart, the melody humming in her mind.

She had been afraid—though she marveled that she was even capable of the sensation—that he would have fought compleation, but clearly he had finally accepted perfection.

For all the pride her new form brought her, Phyrexia had neglected to grant her wings. This was of no concern to the Queen of the Downtrodden, as she had always made the earth and the dark her home, and this form was excellent for traversing caverns and fighting in close quarters. However, Jace was currently levitating, graceful, ephemeral, and utterly out of Vraska’s reach. She would have to bring him closer to her.

Vraska sunk her hands into the malleable pores of the mycosynth, and began to call out with her mind.

There. He could feel it, rising above the simulacrum’s melody. Her song. Their song. He felt her, reaching out through the Machine. She was here for him.

Jace quickly reached to weave an illusion, dodging the porcelain honor guard that hovered beside him (a flight of Norn’s dolls, watching the watcher in case he tried to reject Phyrexia once again). They were mere puppets, easy to fool with a duplicate and an invisibility charm.

Although he could find her by thought alone, several of Jace’s eyes began to scan the area, picking through the masses to find her impressive form. Soon, one of his receptors caught a glimpse of her serpentine tail, leading up to an armored body, her shoulders, ashy and smooth, her eyes—her beautiful, terrible eyes…

He released his invisibility as he approached her, gliding down, beholding her glory. He stopped a few feet from her, and felt himself compelled to sweep into a bow. She was a commander, soon to be a Thane, and she was deserving of the utmost–

The subservient thoughts were expelled from his wandering mind as Vraska pounced on Jace, surrounding him with her deliciously sharp embrace. She held him close, and the machinery that bound his ruptured heart together buzzed with pleasure at the touch. Holding her was nostalgic in a way that only someone who had lost his mind twice over could know- it was something entirely new, and yet, he knew it was familiar.

“I feared I might lose you,” purred the gorgon, her voice resonating with the Phyrexian language. She spoke in tune with the melody of her mind, a proud and righteous tune that rode above the chorus of armies and drones.

I thought I had whispered Jace, his message dancing across her mind. He had no need, in the great Machine, for speech, easy as it was to share thoughts with his fellow Phyrexians. Vraska’s mental circuitry attuned to his own as their minds met, embracing as their bodies did, as the steel tendrils branching from their bodies met and twisted together. Their minds sang, not with the song of Phyrexia, but with their own. No, they certainly had no need for speech.

#mtg #mtg fanfic #jace x vraska #Jace Beleren #vraska #otp #no beta we die like kallist rhoka #new phyrexia

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untilteddocument · 10 months

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After-Action Archive Caves of Qud - The Warmonger

Welcome again, one and all, to the After-Action Archive! This one is going to be a little different, in large part because I didn't think to get screencaps in the thick of it and, as Caves of Qud is a roguelike with only one save file allowed per playthrough, I can't go back and correct this. There will be screencaps just to communicate the graphic style.

Also bear in mind, these will be nowhere near plentiful enough to count as a full LP, but consider it a sort of highlight reel. With that in mind, let's get to the action.

For the Lucky 10,000, Caves of Qud is a roguelike set in a post-apocalyptic sci-fantasy world, where the ruins of unimaginably-advanced precursors have given way to humbler infrastructure. Villagers harvest watervine, the only way to get reliable drinkable water in the salt-suffused climate, and in between these havens lie jungles, salt marshes, rocky canyons, crumbling ruins, and chrome caverns filled with scavengers, stowaways, and ancient technology waiting to be rediscovered, for good or ill.

My foray into this world is as a humble Tinker, a collector and artisan of technology both current and ancient. While I do have some ability in direct combat, such encounters being all but unavoidable, my skills lie more in being able to find or harvest useful items, identify them, and either put them to use or disassemble them to make something else.

My mutations were intended to aid this (though this is hardly an "optimal" build, at least not intentionally so). Psychometry gives me the edge in properly identifying artifacts I find and learning how to build them. It also means that most security doors will do nothing to impede me. Electrical Generation serves as a high-damage "panic button" and, later on, will be able to provide emergency power for any number of properly-modded gadgets. Photosynthetic Skin and Regeneration work together to keep me solvent, letting me survive encounters intact and travel without having to pay as much attention to food supply.

I was traveling through the desert canyons, with no real objective in mind aside from finding what I could find. What I did find (or more accurately, ran into nearly-head-first), though, was an immediate cause for alarm.

The Putus Templar are an antagonistic faction in the setting, a genocidal group of True Kin (un-mutated humans who live in distant arcologies) who see any such mutations or sympathy for them and their bearers as an intolerable stain that must be cleansed. Even player characters who are of the True Kin themselves are regarded with disdain, tainted in spirit if not in body.

Furthermore, I saw a name shaded purple in the activity log, indicating that this band was being led by a legendary member of their people. In this case, it was a legendary Infiltrator:

Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True.

Threat Rating: Impossible.

So any given reader would understand why, when I saw the flurry of activity, including ripples in the fabric of reality as Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True and his entourage started teleporting at me, I turned around and ran the other way in blind terror.

From the map above, I fled south, trying to outpace my would-be killers. To this end, the trees were a boon, allowing me to break line of sight with the Templar squires, but the infiltrators, including Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True, kept pace easily, nipping at my heels and even casually teleporting me around with them. Even my recoiler (a teleportation device that can transport me to a predetermined area, in this case the village of Joppa) was of no use, because I couldn't get far enough away from my pursuers for it to be usable.

With no other options, I steeled myself and turned to make my stand.

Now that I wasn't scrambling to figure out how to get away, I could focus on figuring out how to survive. After a bit of thought, I realized that I had the advantage that infiltrators are built for reconnaissance, and are of little use in direct combat. Even with their Average challenge rating, I was able to crush the regular Infiltrators with little trouble.

However, this wasn't as much of an advantage against Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True due to its inflated stats and its having picked up an iron long sword during the chase. The stats in particular meant that I would still lose out in a fight.

Luckily, I had an answer for that.

In my earlier travels, I had managed to scavenge an intact Issachar rifle, a reliable workhorse of a gun that used less ammo than the chain pistol I started with, useful given how little ammo I had at the moment. With my expression grimly set, I decided to see how an enemy used to being the one to confound and disappear would react to a response in kind.

The tree cover was instrumental in my battle plan, letting me break line of sight and get precious distance for the rifle's advantages to tell. I would trade blows with Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True until it began to get the upper hand, then run into the trees before whipping around and giving it a taste of atomic number 82.

To my delight, I confirmed that most of my opponent's defenses lay in agility and dodging, so when a bullet did connect, the impact was devastating. HP peeled off in chunks of 20 or more, but even then, Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True kept coming, undeterred. This was, however, more of a product of programmed devotion than any sense of inevitability, because my plan held. With a final groan, the legendary Infiltrator shuddered and ceased to be more than artifacts and scrap. To the victor go the spoils.

A hoversled (one of two that it was carrying!) is a boon for heavy loads, and it would see much use. However, it wasn't the most welcome surprise.

Eaters' Nectar is a fantastically rare tonic, a relic of the precursors from whom both mutants and True Kin claim descent. Its benefits are likewise rare to find and, despite the warning, it is safe to use consecutively, since its benefit has no set duration. Even with the squires still there searching for me, I'm ready to give them what I gave their boss. It's safe to say that the juice, in this case, was well worth the squeeze.

#after-action archive #caves of qud

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alter-soup · 4 months

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Okay here is our request! Apologies in advance for the sheer length of this message JSIFDOGJSDOF

So we've been feeling one of our sidesystems splitting an alter introjected from the song "Baby Turns Blue" by Virgin Prunes and we have some details we can already guess about them but would like you to make! (Including neopronouns, especially ones that aren't nounself pronouns. Picrew is optional.)

Based on stuff we know about the sidesystem they'd be splitting in, they're at least 48 years old, probably somewhat older. Also probably an (aro)ace-spec gay man (mspec gay is an option!) as well as some kind of agender and/or gender neutral masc/man, but you can choose the specifics of that! Feel free to add xenos and soforth too, especially kenochoric genders and/or xenos related to goth or to music in general.

For names, ideally something neutral-coded that's not a "typical" name for a person (the other members of the sidesys are called Mori, Ransom, Chrome, and Nix, to give you an idea of what would fit in with the rest of them). Masc names are fine too though!

Roles that members of their sidesystem tend to have include: symptom holder (addiction, depression, anxiety, and intrusive thoughts), social alter, anger holder, spiritual alter, and trauma holder (the last of which we would definitely like you to include).

Knowing the rest of the sidesystem, this alter would have some connection to writing, horror, singing/performance, and/or death, as well as music genres like goth (this is definite given the genre of the source song), post-punk (also very adjacent genre), new wave, and metal. Also maybe "regular" punk too. But it'd be cool if you gave them other random interests too!

Hope this wasn't either too much or too little info! (Also hope that sending a request for elaboration on an alter we've felt splitting is within the scope of this blog's work.) Thanks for reading and for doing it if you do this request!

HEADMATE INSPO

Name(s): Lucid

Role(s): Trauma holder, addiction holder

Pronouns: Name, they/them, he/him

Neopronouns ideas: Ix/ixs, dy/dys, um/ums

Xenogenders: Voidcattic Demonmascic Valicanic Gothgender

Gender(s): Demiboyflux

Orientation: Gay Aegosexual

Age: 50-53

Species: Unknown but presents as human-like

Source: Baby Turns Blue by Virgin Prunes

Personality traits/details: Somewhat careless, a bit reserved, independent

Kins: Ghostkin

Likes: Slashers, short horror stories, goth music, skatecore playlists, metal, post-punk, two sentence horror stories, angler fish, stories of real “haunted” locations, movie adaptations of books they like

Dislikes: Really intense eye strain, loud dogs barking, feeling forgotten

Signoff: - 🪦🫐

Appearance: Really deep blue fluffy hair, red scleras, pale-dead looking skin

Everything can be modified and added upon! :D

Picrew and appearance are just for fun and to give ideas btw :)

Faceclaim:

(Picrew)

#take all of this with a grain of salt #but i at least hope some of this helped a bit :)#endo safe #build an alter #build a headmate #endo friendly #created system

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visibleclosedeyes · 2 years

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Sevika Cyberpunk 2077 Solo AU

Rescue

Sevika hates this side of Night City, the NID that is—a district of lightness, strangely silent with an occasional steady hum of factories run by machines. With choices, she wouldn't set her feet anyway near Northside—unfortunately, this gig pays well and Sevika isn't a woman known to say no to some easy eddies.

Kidnapped case, need solo for a rescue, Maelstrom as our culprit, no stealth required—sounds like free money to her. She pulls out her phone again, looking at your photos—the girl who she was supposed to rescue. Clean face, nice clothes, has some chrome in your body but very minimal and done rather tastefully. Hmm, looks like some corpo daughter, whose last name is Fischer. Probably running away from home, having fun, and being rebellious on Friday night, then the shit hits the fan and gangers go too far—Sevika thinks filling in the blank of the basic premise of what might happen. It might not be the case but who cares? The solo was only hired to retrieve the girl then delta with eddies.

—--------------+-----------------

"So where should we chrome her up then? "

"Remove her arms and chip her in with the one we got from that cyberpsycho bitch yesterday, that would be funny as fuck, "

"Ugh, her 'ganic eyes' are so watery when they move. So fucking annoying, we should pluck it out first,"

"Hey, be careful with the brain this time. If you fuck it up and she went brain dead, it wouldn't be fun otherwise,"

You hear a digitized human voice that seems to come right out of second-grade metal synth vocal cords. It took you several minutes for you to realize it came from one of the female Maelstromer. They're chatting among themselves about where exactly in your organic body they should replace, which part should be the most fun—most painful for her.

You slowly gain more consciousness, and the brain starts working again, taking all the sensory stimulation far from anything nice. Fuck, well—should have actually gone back home when things started getting rougher, should have listened to your friends who still had some in that chrome skull of hers. But that's just that—shoulda, coulda, woulda. Your fate here is sealed—daughter of the Fischer family, died at the age of 22, stuck with ugly scavenger-grade cyberware by Maelstromers lunatic. Oh, yeah—you can see the headlines now. Actually, you might not be discovered at all. Nah, there's no way, you're their sole heiress—you're important. So, whoever sent by your parents better be hurried then 'cause you're about to be ripped apart—literally speaking.

" Sleeping beauty 'wakes," one of the gangers announces as she sees your eyes rolling frantically in desperation for an exit. Then you hear something—like the sound of something getting hit hard by a blunt object, the other 'borg fuckers immediately lost focus on her to focus on whatever is attacking them right now. You're praying, whoever that is will not consider you a target as well.

You look from beyond your tired body on a ripper chair to see someone who appears to be a muscular and rather well-chrome individual, she is an edgerunner that's for sure. She dressed rather…plainly, just a simple shirt with leather pants and a jacket. Then it all happened in a span of a few seconds, the first ganger was dropped to the ground by the sheer force of the woman's fist into their guts. The other Maelstrommers come to their comrades' aid but the results are pretty much the same. Soon enough, no one was left standing against her anymore.

"You Fischer?"

"And you? A solo? Did my kins send you?"

"Yeah, and we should delta quickly. Before more will come, " the woman with a dark and the most handsome features you have ever seen on women extends her arm to you. You take it, take a mental note on how toned her organic arm is—although the other one seems to be just a regular prosthetic that was a few decades behind the current market. Damn, She was a really fucking good fighter then—underchrome but yet highly effective. Badass.

----------------------------

I'm sorry this is really short and not of the best quality I could write. I have been struggling to even write anything for some time now and I feel like I have to get something out there for my own sanity.

#cyberpunk 2077 #crossover #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x you #sevika x reader

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am0rt · 2 years

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Random Eldarya HC

I'm french so if my english is miserable yeah... It's just a list with a bunch of ideas !

If Eldarya had access to the anime, Leiftan would totally watch Evangelion and kin Rei.

Valkyon is warm, like yes he's a dragon, but this is always something nice to think about, i'm in love with him

Miiko would love plushie, teddy bear and shit. She loves it, it remind her the idea of a sweet childhood

Ezarel is scared of big noises.

Nevra would let Karenn plays with his hair, even if he ends up with colorful hairclip.

He also make gay jokes to Ezarel and Valkyon. Ezarel want to kill him, Valkyon just laugh.

Kero is often tired. Why ? He spends all his night reading...

Valkyon and Nevra are flexibles asf but Ezarel and Leiftan are stiff. Like, ofc they fight ect but they can't touch their feet yk.

Karenn and Chrome would listen to K-pop.

Erika have hot hands, people hold her hands because they're just so warm.

Even if Leiftan have a fcking abs window in the game, I think he would really don't like to show his body.

Alajea wants to know everything about Erika's world. Erika says everything Alajea want to know.

Valkyon love spring.

EZAREL WOULD BE CANCELLED ON TWITTER LMAO.

He also have white hairs due of stress

Nevra loves hugs

When Miiko is stressed she touch her tails.

Erika plays hide and seek with Mery ! She loves kids, Nevra often play with them. :)

#eldarya #Beemov #Otome #leiftan #eldarya ezarel #eldarya nevra #valkyon #eldarya miiko #Alajea eldarya #Kero eldarya

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demon-dm-22 · 3 months

Note

OC asks: Mask, mistake, monster, nightmare. For Chrome or Korey, whichever you'd like :)

I can do both!

Chrome:

Mask-I don't think Chrome's one for hiding her feelings especially after the ordeals she went through at the Empire. If anything she's the one encouraging others to drop theirs.

Mistake-the worst mistake she's made? Killing the daemon that became her mom. Not fighting the Empire when she had a chance, but she was afraid of being killed so she picked the 'better' option.

Monster: Sort of? She's got a big reveal in a later chapter where she changes drastically but otherwise she's fairly normal.

Nightmare: Killing/hurting her friends and family. Re-living awful experiences she had at the Empire Facility.

Korey:

Mask: While Korey can't hide his emotions well, he does hide his true feelings under a mask. He tends to deflect or blame rather than take responsibility and it can make him come off as abrasive/rude.

Mistake: THERE was a time where he and Kin-Kin fought a LOT as kids. He accidentally hurt her really bad and still feels awful for it. that began his journey as a "paragon of light" as he claims to help combat the darkness within him.

Monster: Korey's all human all the time

Nightmare: Being alone, being abandoned. He is terrified of not having someone around, and tends to stick with others due to this

#oc asks #chrome #korey

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sillyscenekinblog · 9 months

Note

hi- can you do prn ideas for a christopher pierre (the distortionist) kin? if not thats totally cool :)

Here! Thanks for the request :D

* Shatter/Shattered

*Twist/Twists

*Blur/Blurs

*Shard/Shard

*Reverse/Reversal

*Mono/chrome

*Mirror/mirror!

#ghost and pals #christopher pierre #sillyscenerequests #pronoun ideas #fictionkin

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morrisonrs · 1 year

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The World's Calling Chapter 3: Rally

The 60-something candidates that were still left over were already nervous as hell about meeting with this kind of man. Outside of the building sat 30 Animalia, 20 Humans, and 10 standard Mechanoid units. While the weight of the camp was tense, the man who sat in front of them certainly didn’t match that tone. He was known as Viare Diamo. While he was known within the Union for fulfilling a more “hands-on” niche, his skin was as fair as any piece of silk, and his eyes were as blue as any sky. Auburn hair wrapped in a ponytail and a sharp smile looked out at the crowd of novices as he twirled a butterfly knife in his hands, in suspense for some fated moment. As Lucia pulled up a chair next to him, a look of disappointment entered his eyes, while a look of barely restrained annoyance entered hers.

As the two stared at each other with disdain in their eyes, it was at that moment that a lagomorphic beast-kin raised his hand.

“May I ask what we’re supposed to-”

Before the rabbit could even finish his sentence, an ashen gray blur flew between the paw gap of the lagomorph, and with a small buzz piercing through the air, it landed in the wall of Lucia’s former office space. The rabbit could only look down at his paw with gratefulness that it wasn't skewered.

With a simple whistle and look at the distance his blade traveled, Diamo could only say -

“God, I love doing that.”

Lucia responded to this statement by smacking her coworker in the back of the head.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days.”

Diamo could only look at her with a sly smile. “What? By some bolt-action idiot? It’s just a bit of hazing, Lucia. They’ll face worse as a Runner.”

“You’ll face worse if you don’t sit down and shut up. And stop with the knife throwing, we’re renting this place still.”

“I’ll have you know that these are premium steel throwing knives and they’re worth more than you’ll ever make.”

Lucia put a hand on her chin in thought. “How much do you think they’ll sell for if I melted them down? Since you love tossing them around so carelessly”, she sarcastically queried.

Diamo hugged himself and his sleeves rattled dramatically.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

As the both of them argued over the merits of decorative knife work over welding it to the owner's head, Rhys looked around at her fellow potential coworkers. The chrome heads were definitely the best out of all of them, outright reflective by how much they shined. She was also sure one of them was buzzing which did not help soothe the tenseness of the overall situation. The other species were wearing scraps and some looked about a day away from keeling over. Humans and beast-kin were known for being mangy and while not feral, they were certainly desperate. No one was completely sure what a Notary job required but with how the Union was going all in on advertisement and the meeting of the Heads, it was bound to be important. Jobs like this with this kind of security didn’t come often and they certainly weren’t going to be picky. While the Runner’s Union accepted everybody, their numbers and turnover rate were certainly something that turned people away. More of the sentient populace would’ve joined but they had their reasons.

One by one, the representatives of the major populace, save for the Mirepods, were put between Lucia and Diamo. All of them stood together, but at differing heights and different levels of presence. While Frida held her same energy of discipline and focus and Reimos a pillar of fear and respect, Ivy stood taller than them all, and eyes focused on her lacked respect or fear. The Mutts, the Lagomorphs, and all other subspecies looked at her with the oddest yet most familiar emotion to Ivy. Inherent Rejection. Finally, the pillars of the community properly gathered as the next man approached the stage. Vig Hartland.

One of the major issues of Mash-Al was that the different bickering societies that had crashed onto the planet’s seemingly endless surface had found themselves irreparably divided. Distance certainly played a factor of course, for it it's much easier to dehumanize a being when you are not within shooting distance. Numerous other factors played a role in strained relations between the species: the Mirepod Landpools, the Vegas Brigade, the Dran Damo catastrophe, and everything to do with the landing of the Mechanoids amongst other things. To put it simply, there was no shortage of issues that plagued any sustained attempt at diplomacy. However, among the few connecting threads that kept the Spheres attached like a patch among a patchwork quilt of conflict, there was Vig Hartland.

In the most basic terms, he was a larger-than-average man. Above average build, someone made for the hard labor and lifting heavy crates. Hartland radiated physical strength but he seemed to hold something more than that. Humankind and to an extent, the Animalia were all comfortable with him. However, it was his connection with the more sapient Mirepods that led to him holding a foothold above the average leader and his relationship with the Mechanoids that was his bridge to the elites. Yet above all, it was not his connection to these races but instead his disconnection from their interests. No matter the species, his services were free and no matter the job, he was willing. There was little magic in what he did and little enhancement other than pure strength, but that helped make him a pillar. He was as close to a hero as the world could get. A big man who walked softly with a big sword on his back. No.. no self-respecting blacksmith would ever call what he wielded a sword. What he carried on his back was an impossibly large hunk of jagged metal strapped together with a cloth hilt and enough steel wire to create 20 swords over. It was a walking time bomb for whenever the scrapyard steel would fall apart and the wire would explore and decimate whoever he was around. As he strode onto the stage, the eyes on him were some of respect, reverence even. He was defined by a solid darkness atop his hair broken by white streaks, an x-shaped scar crossing his right cheek, and within his eyes came a confidence of an unbreakable will. He need not speak, nor make a grand gesture. Simply a look out to the meager crowd and even those of a metallic persuasion somewhat understood the meaning of his presence. If he was here, either they would succeed, or they would perish. Both by his hand.

Shoa was less than impressed with the sight of him. A human but slightly bigger, he had seen that before back in the Metro but judging by the sight of people around him, other than the Mechanoids, they were all enraptured by him.

“Does it really take someone big to impress these people?”

If this Vig person was worth knowing about, he would’ve been informed but to be fair, with the amount of polio-stricken yeomen that were surprisingly prevalent during his journey outside the Mechanoid sphere, new developments were possible. As the large human took his seat, Shoa looked out to the rest of his associates. Other than the Mechanoids, they were unkempt, malnourished and some seemed to still contain oil and other greases on their person. Whatever matters they sought to accomplish here, they wouldn’t last too long. But they didn’t matter at this point, not right now at least.

From the gathering of the reps came the head. As Ivy approached the podium, and her people looked at her with a mix of respect and rebellion, her voice came with no hesitation, no doubt, and no sway. Only confidence and a cold professionalism matched only by the assurity of nature escaped her maw as she spoke.

“Animalia, Humans, and Mechanoids. We of the Runner’s Union thank you for volunteering your services to come here and be a part of a larger whole. For some of you, the trek here risked much more than employment and we will not waste that investment you’ve put into this effort. The journey you’ve taken was proof enough that you have the will and this will be the last trial you will have to undergo to prove you have the character to follow through.” As she extended her hand to gesture to the meat mountain behind her, Hartland stood up and the heft of his pressure seemed to resonate through the ground.

“You will accompany Hartland on a full journey to a Co-Op that has not been reachable as of late through the usual means of communication. The assumption is that this will be a matter of recovery. Reimos has fortunately provided multiple means of storage and transportation once you reach your location.

For Survival and For Love, may your journey resolve peacefully.”

As soon as she finished, Reimos stood to his feet and approached the board, pushing out Ivy in a way that was both dignified yet undercutting.

“For clarity, you will be walking with Hartland. Food, water, and temporary shelter will be given out per person after a headcount. Due to budgetary concerns, proper transportation will be delivered after your location is confirmed by your management. You are not disposable. If anything goes wrong, recover what you can while prioritizing your health and structural integrity.

For our Order and For the Future, you will succeed.”

The news hit like a hot wind to the face of a fever-ridden man. Discomfort spread through the crowd faster than a plague as the idea of such a walking so far began to truly set in. Many were only able to reach Waning Rock through a shared carriage ride from their respective major cities. This feeling was not assayed when the distance was pointed out to them by Frida.

“The journey will take 2 days at the minimum. Judging by the number of you, we have enough supplies to last for 5 if things get bad. Diamo was the last one there and according to his information, the path’s more an issue of length than quality. As long as you stay the course, nothing will happen.”

With that explanation out of the way, Frida shifted her position on the podium.

“Regarding your duties after with the Notary, it is with a pure belief in their decision making that you will be under their purview. The common Runner will act as government-sponsored guardsmen, tradesmen, to fulfill a swiss army knife’s worth of jobs due to the necessity of governmental cooperation.”

The mention of the swiss brought a more cheese-lined thought into the heads of those more unfamiliar with the expression.

“To be clear, A Runner holds no inherent loyalty to their government and their government holds only as much power as they cede to the Union. You are - by definition - a contractor. A Notary position is no different, only more consistent. To record information from the people as you are deployed among the spheres and beyond. To write, record, dictate, and whatever else to ensure that the common history stays away from the opinionated and stays as current as need be. People will try to mislead you, leave you high and dry, and for what you offer to the world, they will try to bury you. When we all found ourselves in this land, we were in disarray, self-destructive, but most of all divided. The fact that Union has held for years is proof that we grow not in synchronicity but instead as a group. Our strength is our unique skill set and our faith in our organization. For Tenacity and For All, we will all exceed ourselves!”

As Frida’s portion of applause came down, Vig Hartland began to approach the front of the crowd. Suspenseful eyes focused on the man and all sentient noise quickly ceased.

“... I understand some of you may be mad about the walk, but I assure you, it wasn’t my call.”

A small amount of chuckling rifted through the audience with the levity of an interrogation.

“I don’t really see myself as important to Union business as everyone else does but I’ve been given the platform, might as well use it for something good. Fact is, most of you weren’t prepared for a journey for what sounds like a desk job, but I know that you’re capable of it. This journey is not only proof of your commitment but your introduction to what the Union does within society. This journey isn’t about your Strength, Speed, or any one being’s quality. It is about our collective will to never give in to our own self-doubt or our own failures. We are all the pillars that hold this organization up and by our Strength, our Intelligence, and our Will that we continue to hold ourselves high. I promise that by my will, you will make it to our destination and by our will, you will return stronger than you were before. “

A hand as rough as sandpaper beat against a darkened chest. As Hartland’s black pupils looked out into the small crowd, they looked back into unwavering obsidian. Even with the joke, his words were as firm as the steel on his back. There was not a droplet of doubt in his voice nor overconfidence in his motions. If he stated at that moment that he would hold back every evil that existed, no argument against his ability would ever be able to form.

“For all of us, I swear myself to you.”

#The World's Calling #original fiction #original writing #adventure #robot #robot people #speech in fiction #speech #original character #original content

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