#smart document creation

[pdqdocs]

Streamlining Business Processes with PDQ Docs: The Future of Document Automation Software

In today’s fast-paced business world, companies are constantly looking for ways to improve efficiency, reduce errors, and save valuable time. One of the most significant advancements in business technology is the use of document automation software. PDQ Docs is a leading solution in this field, designed to automate and streamline document creation and management processes, enabling businesses to operate more efficiently. Whether you are a small business or a large corporation, PDQ Docs can revolutionize the way you handle documents.

What is Document Automation Software?

Document automation software refers to tools that enable businesses to create, edit, and manage documents automatically using pre-set templates and data input. Instead of manually generating each document from scratch, automation software allows you to streamline the process by populating templates with necessary information. This reduces the likelihood of human error, saves time, and increases consistency across documents. PDQ Docs is a prime example of how automation software can transform document management into a seamless process.

Why PDQ Docs is the Ideal Choice for Businesses

PDQ Docs is designed to handle a wide range of document types, from contracts and invoices to reports and proposals. What sets PDQ Docs apart is its ease of use and flexibility. The platform enables businesses to automate both simple and complex document generation tasks, adapting to the unique needs of any organization. Whether you need to create personalized documents for clients, generate internal reports, or maintain compliance, PDQ Docs provides a solution that fits.

Increase Efficiency and Productivity

The use of document automation software like PDQ Docs significantly improves operational efficiency. By automating repetitive and time-consuming tasks, employees can focus on higher-value work that requires their expertise. Instead of spending hours formatting and customizing documents, employees can rely on PDQ Docs to handle the routine aspects, speeding up document creation and reducing bottlenecks.

PDQ Docs also ensures that the correct documents are produced each time, following company standards and compliance requirements. This is particularly crucial for businesses that must adhere to strict regulations. With document automation, you can ensure that all documents meet legal and regulatory standards without the need for constant oversight.

The Future of Document Management with PDQ Docs

As businesses continue to evolve in the digital age, document automation will only become more essential. PDQ Docs provides a glimpse into the future of business document management, where automation, efficiency, and accuracy are prioritized. By adopting PDQ Docs, companies can save time, reduce costs, and improve the accuracy of their documents, ultimately enhancing their overall business operations.

In conclusion, document automation software like PDQ Docs is no longer just a luxury for businesses but a necessity. It simplifies document creation, reduces errors, and increases overall productivity. With its user-friendly interface, customizable templates, and seamless integration with other business systems, PDQ Docs is the perfect tool for businesses looking to streamline their document management processes. Whether you are in legal, finance, healthcare, or any other industry, PDQ Docs can help take your document workflows to the next level.

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival Part 6

Prowl comes up with a grim but viable theory, misses his ESP (Emotional Support Pterodactyl) and Jazz has a “cultural exchange” with Bluestreak.

Credit to @keferon for creating the AU!

———————————————————————

The cascade of Prowl rapidly drumming his fingers on the console was the only sound in the room. His gaze was fixed a million miles away, boring a hole through the far wall.

Hypothesis: Jazz, and possibly others, were secretly cold constructed by the Functionalists for the sole purpose of fighting Quintesson forces.

Many of Jazz’s eccentricities fell into place within that framework. He lacked a subspace, which would make it very difficult to hold onto personal items or contraband. His anatomy was was entirely specialized for battle, all curved angles, narrow gaps and thick plating. Likewise, Jazz’s subdued reaction to injuries could be accounted for if the Functionalists had removed a large portion of his sensory network and replaced his extremities with non-living metal prosthetics.

Prowl shuddered.

He turned from the physical to the mental. Jazz was smart, undeniably, but also severely starved of information.

The Functionalists were exceedingly well practiced in the art of secrecy and subjugation.

Keeping their custom soldiers in the dark about the greater galaxy would significantly reduce the chances of their mechs trying to escape or revolt. The muting, or possible removal of Jazz’s EM field would prevent him from easily emotionally connecting with other mechs and would hamper his ability to detect malicious intent from any handlers.

That alone could account for Jazz’s extremely tactile extroversion. It could be a form of compensation or maybe just a coping method for the loss of sensation. Add a manufactured language barrier, and even if Jazz had had previous brushes with mechs other than his handlers, he wouldn’t have been able to communicate with them. A perfect isolation tactic ensuring total control.

Until now.

Prowl finally straightened, creating a task list to execute once the ship arrived.

- Get Jazz seen by Velocity immediately. Both to treat his injuries properly and to document any evidence of prior abuse. He trusted her to catch and catalogue details only a medic would know.

- Debrief Elita One. He would need to phrase things carefully to ensure Jazz isn’t unfairly imprisoned or executed for possibly being connected to the Functionalists.

- Awake Green from hibernation. Despite his initial reluctance to interact with his therapist mandated “work-life balance tool”, the organic had grown on him. Further more, his Flyt afforded him an entirely neutral sounding board for times when speaking aloud was the best way to sort his processor.

The theory was good, but Prowl could still feel an itch in his processor. He was still missing something. He rubbed at the heat beginning to build under his helm.

Prowl tacked on a fourth task:

- Stick entire helm inside tub of coolant.

The tactician almost quirked an irritated smile as he made his way back towards his brother and the walking processor ache.

At least the likely hood of Jazz dropping us off another building was lower.

(14%)

Marginally.

For now, the Functionalist Creation Theory was still just that. A theory. He needed more information on where Jazz came from, and for that, they’d need to overcome more of their language barrier.

Thankfully, Bluestreak had offered to assist in catching Jazz up to speed on more Common.

Prowl keyed the door open.

“Frugg!”

Primus help him.

Jazz had his back turned to the door, free hand waving away Bluestreaks mispronunciation.

“Na, no R sounds. It’s Fuck.”

“Fugg!” Bluestreaks face was the picture of determined ambition.

“Getting closer! Now drop the Guh and replace it with Kh.” Jazz nodded encouragingly.

“Fruck!” His brother shouted, servos slapping on his knees.

“Nope, you’re putting an R back in there again. Like this: Fuck. Fuh-uck.” Jazz moved his hand through the air like a conductor, enunciating each Phoneme with clean cut clarity. “Try again, you got this man. Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Jazz turned around at the perfectly pronounced cuss word.

“Heeey! What’s up mother fragger! How’d the meeting with your slag head boss go?”

Prowl turned on his brother so slowly you could have mounted a telescope on him. “Adequately.”

Prowl continued his one sided stare down with Bluestreak, who was lightly clapping his hands together while seemingly fascinated with the far wall.

Jazz was laughing again. “Don’t be too disappointed in him. I do have a much better understanding of Common now.” He stood taking the anesthetic tape with him.

“Aight, it’s your turn, sit down.” Jazz patted the bench.

Prowl broke his stare down and cycled his optics. Bluestreak stopped pretending to stare at the wall.

“That is unnecessary.” He said automatically. “We need to be ready to leave in one breem.”

Jazz crossed his arm over the sling, cocking his head to the side. “Well then you better sit your shiny ass down so we aren’t late.”

Bluestreak kept silent through sheer force of determination to not ruin this moment.

Prowl couldn’t move Jazz, and Jazz knew it.

He sat. Glowering.

“Thank you!” Jazz sang, warbling across the vowels. He tossed the tape to Bluestreak. “I’m pretty talented but handling sci-fi duct tape one handed isn’t for me.”

Bluestreak sputtered briefly, before going to work tearing off small strips.

“How. How? It took us VORNS to get Prowl to take care of himself even a little bit! And you pull it off in less than a cycle? I had to get blown up before he’d even step into a normal med bay AND Smokescreen had to basically drag him in! You could not BRIBE this mech into self care if you had all the shanix in the entire galaxy!”

Bluestreak talked and worked quickly, knowing he was on a time limit before Prowl would try and escape.

“Hah, I feel that. Whenever I go back to the {Shatterdome}, er, “base” they basically gotta corner me to do any kind of check up.” Then Jazz sounded almost nostalgic. “{Ratchet} had it down to a science before he left.”

As the small aches and pains began to dull, Prowl took lead of the conversation for some subtle information gathering.

“So Jazz, how many of your kind are there?”

Prowl ignored the hard flick Bluestreak gave him. However, Jazz seemed unfazed by his bluntness.

He leaned against the wall, looking up slightly in thought. “Uhhh let’s see. The base I’m from has five mecha. There’s me, my little brother {Ricochet}, {Hot Rod}, {Blurr} sort of, aaaand {Vortex}.”

He counted off on his fingers. Then made a so-so sign.

“Well, Vortex isn’t the uh, the person? The real Vortex died a long time ago. Now it’s just a uh.”

Jazz struggled to translate something, unaware of the Praxians steadily growing looks of confusion.

He snapped his fingers, “Dead-Not-Dead location stay? Some people think the Dead-Real-not-Real Vortex is still in there. I think it’s just a {Death trap.} Dangerous to be near positive-positive-positive.”

Jazz made a gesture above his head. “Vortex kills more quintessons than people though, so the high-important-leaders won’t get rid of the thing. They just,” he shrugged a little uselessly. “Keep feeding us to it.”

Is he… Is he describing what I think he is?

“You live with a Sparkeater?” Bluestreak broke the silence.

“Spark-eater?” Jazz sounded out the syllables. “That sounds like a good word for it, yeah.”

At least Prowl could finally confirm Jazz couldn’t detect EM fields. His and Bluestreaks horror saturated the room.

“…You guys okay?” Ah. Just dulled then.

“Yes.” Prowl reeled in his field and elbowed Blue to do the same. “Simply surprised.”

“And concerned.” Bluestreak chipped in. “Is your brother going to be okay? I mean, he’s alone with that thing! Are your leaders going to feed him to the vortex next? Is that what happens to mechs that don’t perform well enough?!”

Jazz startled upright, quickly shaking his head from side to side. “No no no! He’s fine! They won’t do that to Rico, he’s already proved himself plenty and it’s just new fighters they send to Vortex.”

“They don’t always die either, sometimes they just go crazy.” Jazz made a circling motion with his index finger next to his head, stopping awkwardly mid gesture.

“That.” He put his hand down. “Sounded better in my head.”

Bluestreak clasped his servos together behind his helm. Mouth pressed into a thin line.

Prowl twitched as he received a ping from their ship. “Our transport has arrived. We can discuss that later.”

Later.

Yes, let’s discuss the horrifying implications of your entire existence later. Perhaps over some lightly warmed energon?

Maybe he likes Flyts. Jazz can pet Green while they both have mental breakdowns.

With a consciously steady ex-vent, Prowl stood, dipping his doorwings in thanks to Bluestreak. “If you would follow us, I will see to it you are comfortable until we are able to..”

Prowl briefly struggled to find the right term. “Sort out. Your… management situation.”

Jazz nodded, “Right, right. You mentioned transport?”

Gratefully, Prowl gestured for Jazz to follow him towards the airlock.

Before the partial vacuum could cut off their voices once more, Prowl nodded to the narrow window facing the landing strip.

Curiosity pulled visored mech over and when Jazz reached the window, he gasped.

Prowl lifted his doorwings and held out one servo, presenting their ship.

“Welcome aboard the Lost Light.”

———————————————————————

Jazz pov: “Huh. Spark eater. I get it, cause it metaphorically snuffs out peoples spark of life. Cool analogy for a death trap.”

The Praxians pov: “whaT Do YoU mEaN THERE’S A VAMPIRE IN YOUR HOUSE?!”

Little be of extra short hand, these {} denote a word being spoken in English. So Prowl is hearing the sound of the word but doesn’t know its meaning.

Extra bit of world building, the Shatterdome Jazz is from was the one that originally housed all the Combaticons, which is why it has specifically five mecha cradles. It’s also the number one Research and Development Shatterdome which is why you’ve got stuff like Blurr’s turbo fast mecha housed there.

In addition, Ricochet is a fairly normal pilot, but he’s housed there specifically because of his relation to Jazz. You know those tests they run with twins where they’ll send one into space for a month and keep one on earth to compare the differences? Basically Rico is the control group and Jazz gets to try the crazy shit.

- SSTP

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

Cubfan135, DocM77 and Zedaph were all mad scientists.

Not necessarily at the same time or even at the same place but most importantly not even in the same way.

Doc is a product of mad science. He came to one day and did not recognize himself or anything around him or what had happened to him. He's smart though, and started putting it together. And himself. Quite literally. But the fact that he doesn't know what exactly was done, easiest rant to set him off on is one the lack of documentation on scientific experiments, means he has to keep testing the boundaries. Of the world, others, and himself. Its worked quite well though. Hes now known as an innovator, and despite reconnecting with the Hivemind that he's still slightly a part of, this is the most anchored in 3 dimensions hes been in in years.

Cubfan is a mad Scientist. He does not ask why. He does not ask if he should. He only really asks if he can. The answer, if the materials are provided or if he's allowed to go about it in his own way is often yes. These questions are often facilitated by one of several large corporations that want to use the results for their own means. Sometimes he doesn't care. Sometimes, he cares a little too much. Like the Heterodynes of old, whats his is his and he WILL take care of his creations.

Zedaph is a Mad Scientist. That's what he studies. OR well, more specifically, he studies their methodology. Can it be replicated? If it can be replicated, can it be done better? Was it already done or proven? Not in that way due to some reason or another? Sign Zed up. He'll get the materials and run the trials to make sure that the results are in fact consistently repeatable and not just a random fluke. And then Publish the results. He is a Scientist after all. Now, are these things that hes testing humane? Are they safe? Do they violate the laws of nature? Yes, yes and of course they do, he is a MAD Scientist after all. But if the answer to any of those questions was no, would it matter?

Get all three of them to work together, and reality better watch out.

-Mod Mleem

[colibrie]

Fang AU: Infection

Sooooo this is yet another extension of scene I wrote for the Fang AU created by @trilobitepunch, based on a request from @psychologicalwarclaire. Its starting to become something of a trend for me. Anyway, hope you all enjoy. Props and thanks, as always, to trilobug for letting me play around with her amazing creation, and curly for enabling me.

Hamato Leonardo knew himself to be a turtle of many enviable talents. Out-of-this-world charisma, rugged good looks, hilarious, a tactical mind and a resourceful field medic. The whole package. Except, he was not a scientist. He'd never had the patience or the attention span for fiddly formulas, obsessive note-taking, and tedious repetition needed for an experiment to be successful. As the team’s leader and face man, Leo thrived in the gray, mixing information and spontaneity, tweaking and twisting to ensure the outcome he wanted came to pass. Science was Donnie's world. His egg-headed twin thrived in black and white; relying on repetition, craved clearly defined variables, delighting in percentiles and predictability. That was what balanced them in the end, what made them tick as twins. Brainiac and face man, street smarts and book smarts, innovation and invention.

And maybe that was why he was struggling now, sitting hunched over his secret pile of medical books, scowling as he compared them to the ones April had brought from the library. Squinting at tiny, cramped print as his head pounded, forcing eyes crusted from lack of sleep to open to absorb the paragraphs detailing anatomy, herpetology, and epidemiology, alongside pictures that were various degrees of uselessness. This was Donnie’s world, and maybe he would have enjoyed this torment. Maybe, his twin could make sense of these "viral counts" and "impact percentiles ". Maybe, if his twin weren't strapped to the bed behind him, delirious and writhing in pain, they could have already fixed whatever this thing was.

"Shell," Leo groaned, throwing down his pencil as one hand rose to rub his tired eyes.

He was going to get crow's feet and fine lines from glaring at these useless books, things he could (loudly) tolerate if they were to result in a solution to whatever plaguing their purple brother. But they hadn’t so far. Days of effort, nights of burning well past the midnight oil, and all he had to show for his efforts was a splitting headache and a massive collection of unwashed tea mugs. None of Donnie's symptoms matched with anything detailed in the textbooks, or CDC and WHO websites. Given the creepy level of the lab they'd wreaked, it wasn’t truly that surprising, even if it was frustrating. There was, shockingly, not a lot of published research on mutants, let alone their illnesses or immune systems. But, illnesses didn't just come out of nowhere! He didn't need a fancy piece of paper or a Donnie-level IQ to know that. Whatever was ailing Donnie had to be documented somewhere. But he was a field medic for pizza's sake! He knew how to set bones, sew up cuts, and head off infections. Not cellular biology!

Throwing his hands up in defeat, he slouched back into his desk chair. Maybe Mikey was right. Maybe it was time to call in Draxum, much as Leo would rather eat a bucket of nails or light fire to all his limited-edition JJ comics than say it out loud. Mad scientist psycho or not, the Yokai understood a lot more than Leo did, in this one area anyway. And while they were at it, maybe they’d been looking at things all wrong. If a science-based solution wasn’t available, maybe a mystic solution could help? It would be the most delicious kind of irony, given Donnie’s historic skepticism of anything mystical or magical. Maybe their father could take a trip to the mystic library, or they could send one of the Casey’s to Witch Town. So long as they didn't drop Donnie's name in any conversations it would probably be...

A pained snarl cut through his thoughts, and he whirled the chair around to find Donnie bucking against his restraints, head thrown back in a terrible arc as he gasped for air.

"Whoa! Easy D!" Leo exclaimed, jumping out of his seat to reach for the oxygen mask and tank that April and Casey Jr had kindly "liberated" from April's school following the Krang invasion. "Just keep breathing man, in and out."

His twin hissed in response, pants deepening to a guttural growl as Leo approached and attempted to press the mask over Donnie's nose and mouth.

"Come on man, you're doing great. This is going to help you do even better, so chill out a little and I'll-"

Faster than lightning Donnie struck, neck muscles stretched and strained as he ducked around the mask and sunk his teeth deep into the flesh of Leo's forearm.

"OW!" Leo yelled, the oxygen mask slipping from his fingers as they spasmed open in shock. "Dee, let go!"

Donatello snarled in reply, sharp teeth sinking and shredding as his jaws clamped down on Leo's limb.

"Get…OFF!" Leo bellowed, jamming the thumb of his free hand into the pressure point just behind the soft shell’s jaw. It took way longer than it should have for Donatello’s teeth to release him, too many long, painful seconds before Leo could pull his arm away and stumble back a step from the bed, cradling his injured limb close. Torn flesh burned against the open air, pain licking out from fingertip to elbow while small crimson streams braided into rivers as they raced across his skin to follow gravity to the floor.  

“What the shell?!” Leo snapped, free hand clamping down over the injury as he stumbled towards the cabinet that held their stock of bandages. Donnie hissed again in reply, and Leo had to fight the urge to cringe away from the way his blood smeared across his brothers lips and chin, the way it painted his sharp teeth when said lips peeled back in a snarl. Dark eyes followed every jerky move as he fumbled with trying to disinfect and wrap the wound with one hand, breaths hitching as the pain in his arm built, creeping like the most agonizing ivy towards his shoulder. Slitted predator pupils zeroed in one the…wait…Donnie didn’t have slitted pupils. None of them did. Their eyes had always been human…

“What the…”

He didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. Between one breath and the next the pain exploded, lancing up his neck and spearing deep into his chest. His jaw snapped shut around a cry as every nerve in his body seemed to simultaneously go up in flames, numb and useless legs folding like a house of cards as he hit the concrete floor of the med bay. He tried to break his fall, but his body failed to respond to any desperate command his brain tried to send. He tried to call for help, or maybe just scream, but his lungs couldn’t pull in the air he needed. He was trapped, a silently writhing vessel slowly filling up with pain.

 Words dissolved. Not just words, but the very concept of speaking drained away, skewered by pain and caught by an strange continuous croon that kept pulling him in. Dragging him down, down, down, a silent and deadly riptide wrapped around his ankles. It hurt... it hurt...

Hurt. Pain! Painpainpainpain! Scared. Alone. Alonealonealonealon-

Here.

The crooning grew louder, building and rebounding until it vibrated in his bone marrow. It rushed in to smother his scalded tissues, knitting into his nervous system. It was all around him. It was him.

Fear!

Here.

Fearpain!

Comprehend. Herecomfort.

Here? Comfort?

Affirmation. Herecomfort. Heretogether.

Together…

Like a lighthouse in a storm the notion split through the chaos, neatly severing his mind from the inferno still warping his flesh and bones. It reeled him in, no longer a rip tide but a now a much welcomed life line that he clung to. The crooning became a pleasant hum in his mind, stripping away the burden of thought and feeling, wrapping his synapsis in cotton wool before pressing him down, down, down…

 He was not alone.

No

They did not need fear.   

Never

They were…

Together.

Like a key in a lock it fell into place, cemented and unshakable as the very cosmos themselves. For a while all they could do was be, ignoring bodies that distantly stilled their writhing. Together ran in an unending circuit between them, euphorically triumphant as each rebound grew louder and louder.

Togethertogethertogethertogethertogethertogether.

Togetherhappy!

Agreed. Togetherhappy. Togethercomplete.

Completecomplete…Complete…Complete?

Like a grain of sand in an oyster, the question grew, streaking their prior enthusiasm with jagged lines of frenetic frustration.

Not complete.

Not complete!

Need…Needwhat?

Needmore…moretogether…

Moretogether. Moretogether! Moremoremoremore….

Whatmore?

Compute…

Like a flower blossoming in double time an image appeared before them. Red and green. Green and Orange. Silver-Brown. Smooth scales, soft fur. Love…Family…

Family…

Familytogether.

Needfamilytogether!

As though by invisible cue, two familiar scents hit their noses, bodies inhaling synchronously. Red and orange. Close. They needed them. They needed to complete together. They needed to-

Needsearch.

Needbite.

Bitebitebitebite!

They both froze a new scent hit their noses. Sweeter than Red and Orange. Warmer. Softer…

Human.

Slitted eyes opening simultaneously, the world kaleidoscope into prisms as they looked at each other from above and below. Humans. Humans were near together. Unacceptable.

Hunt. Kill.

They rose from the floor on silent legs, making their way to sever the ties that held them bound to the bed.

Seek. Bite.

They rose, bodies fluid and soundless as the slunk into the gloom beyond the door. Their objectives were clear. It was time.

Go.

[newtonsheffield]

Molly, I hope you realise the service you are doing with this new AU. A fluffy ass tale in which Kanthony are both properly unhinged and Anthony spends dumb amounts of money on Kate every day and she's just like, "You're an idiot, gimme my present" is exactly the kind of wish fulfilment I need in my life. I love this so much.

Oh Anthony will buy Kate whatever she wants. Because she’s really pretty, and smart, and she likes art and she never buys things for herself. She never treats herself so he is absolutely going to spoil his girl.

There’s a document on his computer that’s a draft of a petition for the national gallery to just hang a photo of Kate because as far as he’s concerned Kate Sharma’s face is a work of art. A Masterpiece. Blessings to Mr and Mrs Sharma on their creation of an absolutely perfect person!

Kate mentions needing to buy new shoes? Daphne says these are the nicest shoes.

New scarf? This one was hand woven from Scottish wool!

Earrings? Cartier have a tab for him now.

Kate’s colleagues can’t stop staring as once a week some sort of luxury good gets delivered to Kate Sharma’s office and Kate rolls her eyes and then tuts to Anthony on the phone. Truth be told they’re all jealous. Auction house employees are famously underpaid considering they deal with items worth millions every day. Kate Sharma’s walking around the office in head to toe luxury goods now AND she has a handsome boyfriend who worships the ground she walks on and takes her to lunch every second day??? Some people are just God’s favourites.

Kate meanwhile does little things for Anthony. She realised pretty quickly that his love languages are quality time and acts of service and a healthy dose of words of affirmation. So she makes sure she tells him every day how happy she is with him. She makes sure he takes time for himself, for them together, she organises little trips for them to go on. She made him a cake for his birthday and watched him swallow down his tears when she presented it to him in bed with a kiss to the end of his nose.

“I love you.”

Anthony took a long time to answer with his eyes pressed closed, swallowing thickly and still his voice shook. “I love you too.”

“I’m really happy that I met you. And I’m glad you were absolutely balls to the wall insane.”

Anthony huffed a laugh, “I think I actually owe Greggy a really big birthday present this year.”

“Eh we probably both do.” Kate sighed, handing Anthony one of the forks she was holding. “Now, take a bite and see what a good wifey I’d be Anthony.”

“Is that a hint?”

“It can be a hint if you want it to be. Start saving for a ring though.”

“You make it sound like I don’t already have one picked out.”

“Do you?!”

“You’ll just have to wait and see. Don’t be greedy, Kate.”

She rolled her eyes, “Still insane.”

“You love it though.”

“I don’t know what it says about me but I actually do.”

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer General Profile

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, heavy manipulation, threats of violence, threats of assault, mind breaks, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of non-con, non-consensual touching, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of cum, threats, Chrollo has a god complex but what else is new, Uvogin is mean to you but he doesn't mean it I promise!, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

DARLING PROFILE:

Smart

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius or anything like that, but they do need to posses a certain degree of intelligence.

Chrollo considers himself a well-read, cultured man, and he feels that his partner needs to match his level of worldly awareness, of cognitive ability. It doesn’t need to necessarily lie in the same fields as his own (though he can’t deny that it would be absolutely wonderful to have a darling who enjoys the same types of literature as him, the same philosophers, the same composers), but they must have a certain area that they hold an above average amount of knowledge in.

He finds intelligence attractive, and what initially causes him to develop an interest in his darling is largely due to the showcasing of this knowledge and smarts. He’s entranced the moment his darling opens his mouth, eagerly hanging onto their every word and nodding along, actually finding himself enjoying speaking with them.

He doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in their words for his own gain, rather finding himself genuinely wondering about their opinion on this or that, curious like a child.

He finds his darling fascinating, and a smart darling will get him falling faster, harder, deeper, to the point where Chrollo develops into a love-starved, desperate man who wants to learn more and more and more, aching to become an expert of his own in his favorite field; his darling.

Creative

Similarly, a darling who leans more on the creative side is a perfect match for Chrollo. It doesn’t matter where this creativity finds its medium – perhaps his darling is particularly artistic, enjoying expressing themselves with the arts.

Maybe they love to paint, watercolors and acrylics seeming to come alive under their fingers. (He’d melt if he found a work of him, the colors making him sigh and dreamily trace the lines, joy swimming in his heart that they painted him, that he means enough to them that he’s taken a starring role in their hobby.)

Perhaps they enjoy photography, documenting small, beautiful moments in life. (He’s always trying to look his best around his darling, keeping his neck tense and posture strong, so that if they did take a sneaky, candid photo of him, they’d enjoy what they see.)

Perhaps they play an instrument, melodies ringing out and making Chrollo smile and nod along. (Learning his favorite pieces would make him struggle to not reach out and place a gentle kiss to their forehead, letting his hands wander down their shoulders and cupping their breasts, telling them he’d love to repay the favor and learn their favorite things as well.)

Maybe they enjoy knitting or crocheting, making all kinds of creations that Chrollo finds endearing. (He’d expect them to make him something, of course, subtly demanding he receives something so that when he’s away, he’ll be able to keep a piece of them with him, something made with love and care and specifically for Chrollo Lucilfer himself.)

Cooking, sewing, writing, anything and everything can fit into this category – Chrollo really just likes that his darling is thinking of him, that they spend their time doing something that makes them happy, and if he gets to be involved, all the better.

He’ll even push his way into their hobby, learning all that he can about it with eager fingers, wanting to impress his darling and make the activity into something they can bond over – a way to spend time together, a way to get them all by his side and happy, never, ever wanting to leave.

He just loves them so very much, after all.

Observant

While it would be difficult to find someone more calculating and cunning than himself, there’s something alluring about a darling who is more observant than those around them.

He likes the idea that his darling is just able to pick up on things, their eye more trained to assess those around them, to understand their motives and notice the things they do.

It’s a sign of intelligence, and once Chrollo’s obsession has formed, he’s purposefully doing things he’s hoping his darling will notice, all with the hope that they’ll spend time wondering why he’s always fiddling with his ring finger, or letting his eyes flick to them. It’s like a game to Chrollo, and he finds it beyond entertaining to watch his darling in action, seeing their expressions flit across their face as they try to interpret his odd behavior.

There’s just something that attracts him towards darling that are able to perceive their world for more than it is – he views himself as better than everyone else, a sort of God among men, but a darling that has this trait rises above the countless below him, standing out alone as a superior being, someone worthy and perfect for him.

He’s egotistical, after all, but a darling that can at least kind of match his observation skills is something that will attract him to them – whether that’s good or bad, one can’t say.

Witty

His darling certainly doesn’t need to be a comedian, but someone who can keep up with his thinly veiled banter would cause his interest to spike.

His words are almost always tinged with just the slightest amount of snark, the slightest bit of condescension that seems to be present no matter who he’s talking to.

Perhaps it’s a result of his own pride or self-confidence, but regardless, a darling who can not only pick up on this but also respond with a bit of snark as well would make him momentarily pause, before laughing a bit and wondering just how far he can push them. It excites him to have a darling who can keep up with him, bantering back and forth, and once his infatuation develops, this is one of his favorite things about his darling.

He loves that speaking with them is endless entertainment, hence how often he tries to goat them into conversations. He’s always, always asking them questions, often designed to get them speculating, philosophical questions that he’s genuinely curious to know their answer to, and in the process he gets to have a sort of playful discussion, something that makes his heart race a bit in his chest.

He just likes his darling’s ability to think on their feet, only reinforcing their intelligence and making him fall deeper, harder, more soundly.

It makes him want to keep that wit all for himself, to not let anyone else have the pleasure of indulging in his darling’s words – they’re his, and the longer his obsession festers, the more he believes in that sentiment.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Dependent

Much of what fuels Chrollo’s obsession for you is selfish in nature.

Initially, he’s interested in you because you make him feel something, some strange emotion he can’t quite place. He’s running through all the possibilities early on, wistfully trying each emotion on before discarding it.

Does he want to use you? No, you wouldn’t be especially useful - you’re not all that developed of a nen user, if one at all, so you’d just be wasted effort.

Does he want to steal something of yours? No, you don’t have anything of particular value, nor are you an important individual.

Does he want to kill you? No, something about the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He’s stumped at first, genuinely unsure of what you’re making him feel, but it’s not until he spends more time with you that he begins considering options that are more foreign to him - that is, that he may have developed more positive emotions towards you, less manipulative and more yearning.

He contemplates whether he’s fallen in love - the books he’s always perusing make love sound so obnoxious, virtuosic, grandiose, and Chrollo can’t quite say he agrees. What he feels for you is ultimately overwhelming, surely - but it’s also much more subtle, slowly taking root in every aspect of his life seemingly without him even noticing. What used to be hours spent searching out new heists and items to steal becomes twinged with just a hint of your presence.

Small thoughts in the back of his head wonder whether you’d like the diamond necklace displayed in this gallery, or how it’d look against your pretty skin, sitting in the hollow of your throat.

What used to be solitary evenings spent reading in candlelight become small daydreams about what you’d think of his current philosopher’s theories, whether you’d indulge him in hours of philosophical discussions, what your opinions on the perception of self are. What your perceptions of yourself are, and, more importantly, what your perception of him is.

It’s not too overwhelming at first; he’s mostly able to control himself, that ever composed stature of his kept carefully in place.

The thoughts are mostly just fleeting, odd off-handed curiosity about you that he doesn’t worry too much about. It’s interesting, mostly, that you’ve gotten to him at all - and it’s this, really, that drives his desire to learn more about you. The fact that you continue to become more and more intertwined with his thoughts leaves him anxiously aching for more, wanting to see the extent to which you’re able to make him feel - something he’d always thought was more or less impossible.

And what you make him feel is so, so very good; his palms are a bit clammy when he sees you, gaze raking over your figure and noting how well your shirt fits your curves, dark eyes eagerly scanning the title of the book you’re reading out of. He’s a confident man, of course, but at the prospect of approaching you and discussing the literature, he can’t help but swallow, tongue sneaking out to lick over his lips.

He feels a strange sense of peace when he’s looking at you, taking in the way the sunlight shines off of your face, the way your clothes frame your body, how your lips quirk up into a smile when you see the little bunny that hops along the grass in the public park. It’s small things, mostly, that get little butterflies fluttering in his chest – and it’s these little fleeting moments of happiness, of contentedness and fascination that lead him to believe what he’s feeling for you could be the ever famous love – or, at least, some variation of it.

Is it love when he’s letting a smile cover his features as you scrunch your brows and huff when you can’t get that stupid jar open? The way you stick your tongue out in concentration and squeeze your eyes shut is  honestly adorable, forcing Chrollo’s eyes to linger on your face just a tad bit too long.

(He can’t help but imagine how you’d thank him so profusely if he opened it for you; he’d even go so far as to roll up his sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms that he knows women can’t resist. Do you fall into that category? Would you be transfixed by his strength, his physical appearance, his smooth voice when he tells you that next time call me first, please, I wouldn’t want you to struggle…)

Maybe it’s the way you look so disheveled in your oversized t-shirt and ill-fitting lounge pants as you shuffle about your apartment, completely unaware of the camera he’d had Shalnark place in your living room. You look comfortable, and there’s something about seeing you so vulnerable, so raw that gets him breathing a bit heavier.

(More than once a thought has, seemingly out of the blue, surfaced where you’re starring and wearing a dress shirt of his – white, stiff material just barely hiding the outline of your breasts and the curve of your hips, tantalizing and looking so very right on you. If that were to happen, Chrollo has already made peace with the fact that he’d hold out on washing that particular shirt – just until he’s gotten the chance to slip it on himself, occasionally sniffing the collar and getting something heavenly, something that can only be described as you and him together.)

Chrollo honestly isn’t sure what it is about you that’s gotten to him to develop feelings - he’s intrigued, earnestly trying to understand it, but as time passes and he finds himself spending more and more time simply thinking of you, he finds himself caring less.

It’s happened already - he’s in love, he’s certain, and now that he’s in that position, the only logical thing to do is pursue you. And while he tells himself it’s all because he wants to learn more about how you’ve managed to trick him into falling for you, really it’s all because he absolutely has to. The longer his infatuation goes on, the less time he can spend away from you, and the less he can justify the strength of his feelings.

He becomes restless when you’re not in his sight - his hands are shaking slightly, thin brows pinched together, every muscle in his body flexing involuntarily. His temper is heightened, irritation brewing in his chest even if he doesn’t mean it – he’s snapped at Nobunaga by accident, his words just a bit harsher, a bit more clipped when telling him the meeting time for the next month.

When he’s not been around you for long periods (a day or so), he just feels like something’s missing, something he can’t quite place. There’s a you shaped hole in his chest, and it turns Chrollo into something of an addict going through withdrawals - he’s become too dependent on the way you make something warm bloom in his chest, and the moment he’s without it, he’s counting down the seconds until he can return to you, return to the calmness and serenity of being around you.

And when you smile at him, answer his questions, brush your hand against his when he hands you a cup of tea, Chrollo can’t help but shiver slightly, his content smile twitching up at the corners ever so slightly. It’s addicting, the way you make him feel so alive, so strangely happy, so light and bubbly and horribly enslaved to his emotions. But while he’s never known himself to a weak man, he thinks he’d be okay with you being his Achilles heel - as long as you smile at him, let him stare as you talk away about your day, let him brush his knuckles against your cheek and whisper that you’re so warm and frail, Chrollo could care less.

He could care less about most things, really, once you step into his life - as long as you don’t leave him, that is. As long as you don’t abandon him, taking you and the feelings you ignite within him with you.

You wouldn’t dare, he’s sure of it. 

Possessive

Tying into his desperation for you to stay under his thumb and by his side, Chrollo can’t seem to shake the way anger flares up inside him whenever another man interacts with you. He knows it’s irrational - it’s possible to have interactions with the opposite gender without ulterior motives; he regularly speaks with Machi, Pakunoda and Shizuku without any goals aside from Troupe business.

And yet, he just can’t forget the way he knows some men are - viscous, disgusting, cruel, vile in a way even Chrollo isn’t. He may be a mass murderer, mentally unstable, unhealthily in need of being in control and a pathological thief, but he’s never harassed a woman before. He’s never sneered at one, groped or touched them in a sexual way without their consent, and he’s only ever seduced a woman with the intent of getting information out of her.

But others?

He knows others are probably just as in love with you as he is - you’re beautiful, intelligent, sweet and oh so perfect, truly a naive, painfully unaware little bunny in a world full of wolves. And wolves will pounce, even if the bunny is already in another’s jaws - just the thought of another man attempting to intervene and seduce you themselves is enough to get Chrollo’s jaw clenching ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit and his fingers clasping around his nen book just a bit tighter.

He’s territorial, unwilling to share the way you make him feel with anyone else - only you can bring him the happiness he craves, so therefore only he is allowed to be on the receiving end. He hates the idea that another man could start chatting you up, throwing false compliments and sweet words your way, buttering you up and trying to steal you from right underneath his nose. It makes his fingers itch, the sense of control he harbors over you slipping slightly. It scares him, if he’s being honest – an emotion he hasn’t felt since he was very young, scavenging the streets of Meteor City.

He loves the way you’re able to make him feel, but this particular emotion he very much doesn’t like, nor does he enjoy the way jealousy pricks at his heart when another man glances at you. It leaves his blood boiling, every inch of his body feeling unbelievably hot, his muscles tensing up over and over.

And yet, Chrollo is a man of opportunity – while it may be torture to see you with another man, something excruciating in ways Chrollo has never experienced before, this is a good chance to paint himself in a better light. It’s a good opportunity to sway your perception of him – particularly if the man isn’t wooing you successfully.

Before he’s stolen you away, he’s quick to observe how men approach you, with suave smiles that make you visibly nervous, your high pitched responses to his questions vague and obviously constructed for your escape. It makes some weird sort of protectiveness spring up into him, but he holds himself back. He wills himself to wait just a tad bit longer, to elongate the discomfort you’re feeling because this will only really work if you’re desperate for an escape route. It’s torture, watching, but Chrollo holds on – until he decides you’re fearful enough, his long strides towards you not nearly as quick as he’d like.

Words will slip from his tongue before he can even really think, always placing himself in between you and the man, physically separating you as he quietly but firmly tells the man off, mentioning something about how unchivalrous it is to corner a defenseless woman.

Honestly, as shocked as you’ll be that Chrollo just emerges from the shadows so often, you’ll be incredibly grateful for his presence and intervention - which is exactly what he’s hoping for. He doesn’t like the way his possessiveness eats him up, but there’s something to be said about making sure that he saves you, making sure that you perceive him as your protector and someone to trust.

It’s an insurance thing, more than anything, because there’s nothing that calms Chrollo quite like knowing that you like him, that you’re associating positive emotions with him. It makes pride swell in his chest to think that you perceive him as some sort of guardian angel to you, and while it almost makes him pity you, it just makes his job easier.

It makes it easier to constantly be trailing you (you’ll never catch him, however), and to get you falling for him just as strongly as he’s fallen for you. If you hold him in a position of power, he will be exploiting that power and control - he’ll be subtle when he starts isolating you, the power trip making him giddy because now no one will talk to you. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch up when he sees that notification on his phone, your contact flashing across his screen.

(It’s just your full name, though sometimes he’ll play with the idea of adding a star next to it, or perhaps a diamond or crescent moon - it’s too childish for him, but he’ll often type it out and quickly delete it, only to retype and repeat the process.)

It makes him feel good to know that you’re contacting him, that you reached out to him, meaning you’re thinking of him and not someone else. He’s leaving small hints of his presence in your apartment; a copy of his book that he ‘accidentally’ left there last time you invited him over for dinner, a watch of his (that he stole, of course, but you don’t know that) that you keep neatly on your dresser and glance at every morning, marveling at how pristine and silver it is.

He’ll leave his leftovers in your refrigerator from nice evenings out, internally cooing at the way you finish them off yourself, liking that you’re wanting to finish his food, obviously not disturbed by the fact that his mouth may have touched a bit of it. He’s trying to stake his claim on everything around you, no matter how big or small it may be, just to get you thinking of him.

(Of course, he’s also a fan of staking his claim in ways you’re less knowledgeable about - he’s even spent nights at your apartment, dark eyes appraising your pretty, sleeping face, spending hours simply staring before wandering around your room, picking things up and digging through your drawers. Sometimes, on days when Troupe business has him feeling just a bit stressed, or he has to deal with particularly important but irritating individuals, he’ll even settle himself beside you, sitting in your desk chair and letting his black slacks fall to his knees, palming himself and shakily exhaling. He’ll caress your cheek with one hand, letting a strained, breathless smile slip across his face while his other hand relentlessly tugs and flicks around his cock, eager to see the way you’ll look with white splattered all across your pretty face. He’ll clean it up afterwards, mostly – it can’t hurt to leave a bit on your lips, right? Just so that you’ll taste him in the morning? Just so that he’ll be with you all night, all day tomorrow, so close?)

He’s possessive in the worst way possible, and while it manifests itself as seeming chivalrous and even a bit endearing, it’s anything but. There’s nothing cute about the way he religiously thinks of you, his every free moment spent watching you or speaking to you with the smoothest, most attractive voice he can muster.

There’s nothing sweet about the way his hand lingers on the small of your back, just a tad bit too insistent when he's guiding you through the crowd, making sure you don’t stray far enough away from him to let air flow between your bodies.

There’s nothing flattering about the way he gazes at you as you slowly wake up in his hold, with no memory of how you got there, no memory of where you are, no memory of how you’d changed into a pretty, billowy nightgown, and no memory of him, at least of the tattoo across his forehead or the carnal look in those eyes.

He’s a possessive freak, and once he decides you’re his target, there’s really no chance of escaping. So don’t even try.

Manipulative

He’s good at getting what he wants, and that mixed with his natural charisma leaves pretty much everyone he encounters susceptible to his charms. He’s spent his whole life studying human emotions, interactions and what drives people, and as such he’s got a pretty good understanding of how to exploit others, how to find the cracks in their armor that leave them putty in his hands.

It’s almost fun, in a way, like a puzzle Chrollo becomes extremely skilled at solving flawlessly. But when it comes to you? Well, no matter how adept you are at seeing through people, no matter how levelheaded or careful you are, Chrollo will be getting you wrapped around his little finger, completely bending to his will.

You are certainly no exception to his charms, if only because Chrollo is trying extra hard with you, the genuine drive to get you visibly bashful at his compliments and craving his touch nearly driving him to insanity. And honestly, you probably won’t even realize it – he’s subtle, giving you a small push here or there with little comments about the people around you, or about habits he wants you to break.

When you’re out together shopping around at stores much too expensive for you (courtesy of Chrollo smiling at you and requesting you let him buy you something, because it would mean so much to me, and I know you’ve secretly been yearning for that new dress), he’ll gently chastise you about how you shouldn’t talk to him anymore – don’t you see the way his eyes are on your chest rather than your face?

(The sales clerk who had been helping the two of you was most certainly not ogling your breasts – but even if you bring it up to your companion, he’ll just sigh softly at you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and murmuring that he knows men better than you do, that he can see right through them, just trust me, he would’ve given anything to have you alone.)

The comments will be small but plentiful, designed to get you listening to him and coming to think of him as right, as much smarter and more observant than yourself, something that Chrollo will use to his advantage. He does love you, in some twisted, sick way, but Chrollo’s idea of love is distorted, warped and made ugly by the way he treats you.

He knows it perhaps isn’t the classic method of wooing you, but there’s nothing wrong with twisting the situation just to make sure that his desired outcome sees fruition. He doesn’t like lying to you, and would prefer to always be truthful (to an extent, at least), but he understands that it’s what has to happen in order to make his long term plans a reality – in order to get you unconditionally devoted to him, just as he craves.

It’s unhealthy, but Chrollo doesn’t mind; which is why he’ll be putting to use every possible tactic he can think of to get you returning his feelings, all twinged with just a hint of manipulation, just to get the right seeds of thought planted in that pretty little head of yours.

He’s buying bouquets of flowers every week, sent to your address by hand with a note attached in big, loopy cursive detailing how gorgeous you are; haikus he writes describing your eyes, your hair, your figure and your laugh that get your neck and cheeks feeling warm, the flowers always your favorite colors. (The note also generously makes use of the word ‘my’, preceding nearly everything pertaining to you – my darling, my beloved, my angel, my future.)

He's dressing himself to the nines, with his shirts and pants always pressed and pristine, his cologne noticeably but not too intense, just the slightest touch of gel in his hair, all just to make sure he look as attractive and presentable as possible. He knows women find men in casual business wear attractive, and he’ll purposefully choose white dress shirts with the sheerest material he can get away with – just so that when the light hits just right, you’ll see the hard lines of muscle underneath, his abs and pectorals standing out and straining against the fabric. (He’s always making comments about how other men dress when he’s out with you – claiming that there’s wrinkles in their clothing, that wearing such bright, obnoxious colors are unbecoming of a true gentleman, that their watches and jewelry are obviously fakes, even that he’s seen that shirt for sale and it’s a laughable price – some men must not care much for beauty, and if they’re willing to purchase such low-quality items, imagine how poorly they must treat their partner.)

It’s a constant with him, as if he’s actively looking for every opportunity he can to make himself look better compared to those around him – call it a result of his possessiveness, or maybe some weird, unhealthy craving to get your praise and admiration.

Regardless, it’ll eventually have you slowly seeing what he means, finding yourself nodding along and agreeing with his words, even if you’d never have independently formed such a thought. It’s a slow process and will take a while to work, but Chrollo watches with intent, bright eyes and bitten lips, satisfaction oozing out of him because he’s got you right where he wants you, and sweet little you doesn’t even know.

Of course, once he’s stolen you away and permanently attached you to his hip, his manipulative tendencies don’t just magically disappear. Oh no – if anything they grow stronger, because now that you’re truly isolated, it’s just so much easier to mold you into the perfect version of yourself, all needy and dependent on him just as he wishes. It’s easy to get you believing things about those on the outside, using tactics like ignoring you or limiting your freedoms in order to get you caving to his desires, to get you listening and hanging on to his every word like it’s God himself speaking.

And really, Chrollo likes that imagery – that he’s your god and you’re his devoted little follower, worshipping everything he says and making him feel good, important, wanted in a way he’s never experienced before. (Although, in reality, the roles are more flipped – you’re his god, the one thing he comes crawling back to no matter the situation, his unending devotion to you rooted so deeply inside him that not even his soul is unaffected by you. He’s written poetry about the idea, entertaining it through writing, but he’s always quick to rip the pages out and crumple them, not enjoying the uncomfortable sense of truth in the words.)

So while Chrollo’s feelings for you do resemble love in some ways, his methods and expression very much doesn’t – he’s not afraid to lie t you in order to receive the results that he wants, and really, it’s best not to bother fighting him. He will prevail, no matter how to try and keep your head on straight, and it’s just easier for the both of you to not try, to not attempt to make sense of the mixture of lies and truth he feeds you. It’ll save you both time and energy, and Chrollo would really, really appreciate your cooperation – you’re cute when you’re being defiant, but it grows old.

And while Chrollo would never lose interest in you, he’s not above making you believe that he has – if it gets you obeying and letting him rest his hand on your hip (dipping down to firmly grip and squeeze at your thigh too, if he’s lucky), Chrollo will do anything it takes, no matter how depraved or violent.

Anything at all.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Chrollo, while liking to view himself as being above other men, is only human. He’s still a man, one with an intense, disgusting obsession with you, and the moment that your attention is threatened, the human side of Chrollo becomes very apparent.

It’s difficult to look at him and see it, but internally he’s simmering with jealousy every time another man approaches you, to the point where it becomes difficult to focus on anything else except you, except the way that you’re looking at someone else, talking with them and breathing the same air as them. It’s horrible, and even more so than the idea that you’ll be stolen away from another man, Chrollo doesn’t like the fact that this scum thinks he has to right to even be in your presence.

You’re perfect, in Chrollo’s eyes, and he hates the fact that others get to be around you so freely, even when that privilege is something should belong to him and him only. It angers him how other men don’t seem to understand that you’re already taken and claimed, your fate decided the moment Chrollo decides he wants you.

You’re better than everyone else, a breed above, and he's always just a bit worried that you’ll somehow be tainted by talking with other men, like your perfection will become marred when others look at you.

So, Chrollo does what he feels he must – he must interfere, even if getting closer and closer to the scene has his heart pounding, anger swimming through his veins in amounts he’s never, ever experienced. It’s cathartic, in a way, to have such sudden bursts of emotion, but as his dark gaze focuses on you, he decides that what you make him feel, all the warmth and dizziness and disorientation, is much better than the jealousy sitting heavily in his gut.

He’ll, of course, take his time; he’s opportunistic and wont’ simply waste the chance to further build his positive image in your mind, but waiting is absolute torture. He’s digging his nails into his palms with every moment he’s forcing himself to wait, dark gaze unblinking as he stares at the two of you, mentally berating the man and thinking of the thousands of ways he could torture and kill him. And once he thinks it’s finally, finally time, he’s not wasting a moment and approaching the two of you as fast as he can. It's easy to enter into the conversation, picking up something the man has said.

His voice is smooth and sure, a complete contrast from the stranger attempted to pick you up – your head turns sharply when you hear him, relief flashing over your features at a semi familiar face.

He’s maybe a regular at a café or diner you enjoy – you’ve seen him around, chatted lightly a few times, only really knowing his name and a few of the books he’s always reading.

And while Chrollo knows this, he can’t help the way his heart practically soars when he sees how visibly relieved you are for his presence. His fingers twitch with the intention of reaching out and cupping your cheek, but he refrains himself.

The man, however, doesn’t seem nearly as pleased by his sudden arrival – he’s scowling slightly, brows tucked inwards as he growls out sorry, but we’re having a private conversation.

Your relieved and awed expression suddenly returns to a grim and fearful one, and internally Chrollo feels his anger flare. His face is still neutral, however, as he responds carefully and calmly that he’s making you obviously uncomfortable, and it’s the chivalrous thing to do when I see a woman being harassed. The man splutters slightly, shocked at Chrollo’s forwardness.

He tries to argue back, claiming you were answering his questions, being polite, so evidently you must have wanted him, right?

You’re unimpressed, shrinking back further away from the man and instead subtly getting closer to Chrollo, something he notes with a distinct sense of pleasure. Chrollo doesn’t let up, however, continuing to inform the man that you don’t want to be there, that you aren’t really interested when he offers to show you his apartment that he swears is the best thing you’ll ever see.

You’re grateful, and as weak and lame as it makes you feel to have Chrollo fighting this particular battle for you, you’re glad he showed up. He always seems to show up, really, just when you need him – it’s almost magic, you think, how he seems to know when you need help. The image of him as your savior makes your cheeks feel warm, the girlish thought embarrassing but oddly accurate.

 Eventually the man leaves, huffing and muttering under his breath about how you weren’t even all that pretty anyways, and Chrollo feels his eye twitch, a small flick of the wrist inserting just a bit of nen into his shoulder.

Not enough for the man to feel it, but just enough so that he can keep track of his whereabouts. You’re immediately thanking him profusely, embarrassed about how inept you’d seemed, some small part of you hoping you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt.

But he doesn’t seem to mind – if anything, he’s silent, allowing your rambling to continue on, those dark eyes meeting yours and holding your gaze. It’s intense, but as your voice dies off after the fifth ��thank you’, he only softly smiles.

Of course, his voice is low and nearly demure, making a shiver roll down your spine, it’s no trouble at all. I’d help you out anytime you need me.

He can tell you’re flustered, and while he wants nothing more than to revel in the sight of you looking bashful, twiddling with your thumbs and stumbling over your words, he knows he has to leave. He needs to leave, really, so that he can check over his book of nen, flipping to the page where that the location of that piece of scum that had bothered you was.

He bids you farewell with a twinkle in his eye, looking over his shoulder as he turns and walks away. You look so pretty, standing there and staring at him, trying to hide the way your mouth gapes open, and Chrollo bites his lip ever so slightly, closing his eyes and reveling in the way his chest feels all warm and airy from just the sight of you. Soon he’s turning off the street where it had all happened, immediately stepping into an alleyway and flipping open the book.

The nen signature leads him to a dingy apartment – surely not the beauty he’d been boasting to you about – and Chrollo nearly snorts as he sees the man throwing back his head, drowning the beer bottle in hand. No one else is in the apartment, he finds as he slips through the front door, which is ideal. He’s quick to conjure up his giant nen fish, a smile slowly spreading across his lips as the man suddenly freezes, unable to move as a fish moves to nibble at a toe, teeth biting and crunching through bone.

It doesn’t take long – maybe ten minutes or so, but Chrollo enjoys every moment of watching the man slowly get eaten alive, those dark eyes wide and excited. It’s euphoric, really, and as he remembers the way the man had nearly had the audacity to touch you, to touch what was Chrollo’s, he can’t stop himself from chuckling slightly.

It’s only after the fact, once all is said and done, that he notices his hands are shaking, his cheeks a bit sore from smiling for such a long period of time. It’s only then that he hears how his heartbeat is loud in his ears, blood pounding as the excitement and satisfaction of seeing the sofa now empty, not a spec of blood ruining the upholstery.

He wishes he could have killed him by his own hand, perhaps stabbed him a few times, burned him alive, maybe even drowned him – but this is better, because now when you watch the news you won’t see some horrible, mangled body.

And once he’s stolen you away, it’s better if you don’t see the gruesome ways that he’s killed – how will you continue to look at him with such adoration and love in your eyes if you do? And Chrollo couldn’t stand to not have you gaze at him with anything short of fondness, admiration, desperation.

He closes the man’s apartment door, making sure to lock it, before tapping into the nen wedge lodged into your own shoulder – seems you’re walking home now. Perhaps you’d like some company from the shadows.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Chrollo is extremely methodical with his approach towards seducing you.

He’s careful to present himself as a gentleman, a classically chivalrous man with his dark features and smooth voice. He’s never tried to genuinely make someone develop feelings for him before – it’s only ever been for a job or to place someone into the palm of his hand, but with you it’s different.

He’s actively trying everything he can think of to make you like him, pouring through romance novels to find common themes, trying all manner of approaches and tactics so that you’ll only associate him with happiness and nerves.

And frankly, Chrollo will absolutely get you falling for him. By the time that he feels he’s ready to steal you away, you’ve probably developed a massive crush on him, your feelings strong and difficult to ignore. Really, you can’t be blamed – he��s a master manipulator, and while his romantic experience is dismal, it’s not so hard to find out your favorite flower and leave a bouquet at your door. It’s not so difficult to send expensive perfumes or jewelry to you, attached with a note detailing what it is about the piece that makes him think of you.

You’ll nearly be in love, something that he’s worked extremely hard to cultivate. It hasn’t been easy, holding off all this time. There’s been more opportunities than he can count where he could’ve so easily swept you into his arms and took off into the night, never to have you seen again by anyone but himself.

He’s had to physically restrain himself more often than he’d care to admit from reaching out and grabbing you, tucking you so tightly against his chest that you can’t breath as he boards the airship, the Troupe standing guard outside your new bedroom to make sure you don’t get any funny ideas. You’re laughably weak compared to him, and while it sometimes causes Chrollo to worry for your safety, it’s ultimately an asset to him.

Because now that you’re completely under the impression that Chrollo is the perfect man for you, it’s all so much easier to relocate you without a fuss. It all happens much faster than Chrollo had expected, however – all too soon you’re seeing blurry images on the television news one night, the cereal you’d been eating forgotten as you take in the familiar earrings, the dark eyes, the forehead tattoo he’s always written off as a family tattoo.

You’re in shock, eyes wide as you listen to the anchor list off the multitudes of crimes the Troupe has been accused of, and for a moment you refuse to believe it’s true. That’s not Chrollo – not your Chrollo, the man who picks you up at 7:00 sharp for the dinner date he’s reserved at the fanciest restaurant in town.

That’s not your Chrollo, the man who opens doors for you and pulls out your chair, almost placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through large crowds. He could never murder someone – could never be the cause of the some hundreds of lost lives the TV claims he’s responsible for.

But then you hear a sigh, that familiar voice murmuring out that it’s really all just so unfortunate, I was hoping to gain your favor a bit more. Alas, the façade is up, I’ll make sure to pack that sweatshirt you love so much. Please, love, don’t struggle too much. There’s a pinprick in your neck, those dark eyes the last thing you see before blackness surrounds you. Chrollo can only mournfully look down at you, having caught your unconscious body in his arms.

It’s a good opportunity to run his fingers over your lips, to trace the shape of your nose, to press a surprisingly sweet kiss to your forehead. It was inevitable, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me eventually. We’re made for one another, after all.

Once you’re trapped with him, a few things will become very apparent to you very quickly. Firstly, Chrollo is a criminal – the dashing man you thought you knew is not real, his true personality slipping out almost immediately. He’s no longer attempting to hide the reality of his work, discussing new jobs and elimination plans over the phone in the same room as you, not mincing words when he tells the mystery man to make it messy, the more blood the better.

Second, he’s a very important man. He’s constantly being phone called, stepping out for this or that meeting, making decisions you don’t even understand. The very few people he’s ever let you meet almost seem to revere him, unconditionally bowing to his word and only addressing him as Boss.

Third, he’s much stronger than you’d realized, the odd pressure he seems to radiate growing and ebbing at various points in the day. You’d seen the way he’s merely flicked his wrist and a man that had seen the handcuffs initially around you was suddenly headless, sliced clean off without so much as a sound.

Lastly, Chrollo Lucilfer is desperate. Despite being kidnapped, forced to jump from hotel room to hotel room firmly attached at his hip, there’s never been a lull in the way that he demands your attention. There’s never been a free moment where he’s not looking at you, that same small smile quirking on his lips that used to fluster you but now only makes your gut twist. He’s always asking you questions – some are easy, surface level and don’t require effort on your part. He’s asking what your favorite color is, what your favorite breakfast foods are, if you prefer to wake up early or sleep in.

(He already know the answers, but he likes hearing you say it.)

Some are more difficult, making you consider your words before you speak them. He’s asking you whether you’ve ever dreamed of what your wedding venue will look like (he of course pushes for details, mentally noting everything and imagining it alongside you), what you would name a pet cat (either solid black or solid white fur, you pick), asking you to jot down a few of your favorite songs so that he can compile a playlist for you, as you have limited electronic access (the playlist is really for him, so that when he’s away on missions he can still feel like he’s with you, but that’s besides the point).

And then there’s the ‘why’ questions – these are the hardest, his eyes boring into you as he asks you why you claim to love your friends, why you’re fighting him so hard, why you think life itself even exists. They make you think, and while you don’t want to answer, Chrollo will keep pushing and pushing and pushing, using your words against you and slowly taking away any privileges you’ve managed to earn.

It’s not worth the fight that ensues if you ignore any of his questions, so you’ll answer as succinctly as possible, choosing your words carefully and watching for his reactions. Mostly, he just likes to hear your voice – knowing there’s no one else in the room, so you’re talking to him and only him, thinking of ways to respond to what he asked you.

He likes to know your opinion on things, each and every word you utter only furthering his fascination with you, contradictions in your thoughts popping up right and left. Mostly, as a captor, Chrollo is really just omnipresent. He’s always there, dark eyes trained on you and listening to every little thing you say, watching every little thing you do, commenting on what feels like every thought you have.

It’s exhausting, the way he’s constantly hovering, the way he’s constantly on the look out for any kind of interaction with him, and at first you’ll find yourself growing tired, afraid, frantic to be alone.

You’ll eventually explode, yelling at him and telling him to leave you alone, to disappear, to just get away from me, you monster! He’s silent as your words sink in, his face carefully neutral, before he laughs softly, shaking his head a bit.

If that’s what you wish, he’ll ominously tell you, walking out the hotel room door and locking it behind him. It’s wonderful, the first few hours without him – finally some time to yourself, to really cry or scream or just ponder your new life.

But after a day or two passes, thing start changing – you don’t like Chrollo, you promise, but it’s sort of lonely without him. The hotel room is big but empty, his missing presence louder than the silence. You’ll slowly find yourself starting to miss him, wishing he’d come back and continue asking those stupid questions of his, to brush his fingers against your cheeks and thighs, to gaze at you with that deranged but enamored look in his eye.

By day five, you’re frantic for him to come back, taking to sitting in the corner and staring at the door, persuading yourself that he’ll have to return sometime, that eventually he’ll come back to you, that he won’t just leave you alone to die.

And when he does, ten days after leaving you fully alone (minus the cameras placed in the room), he’s shocked to feel the way you rush in for a hug as the door swings open. You’re wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest, and Chrollo can’t help but blink widely down at you, lips parted but no sounds coming out. He knew the loneliness was getting to you, but you’d never initiated physical contact like this before. Was it an act of desperation, or was it because you were missing him?

 Did you ache for human contact, or did you ache for his contact?

He’s not sure, but he finds himself humming and returning the gesture, letting a hand pet your hair as he asks you if you missed him, if you’d gotten lonely, if you’d like to lay down for a bit with him. You’re not as clingy after you pull away from the hug, but Chrollo doesn’t care – you lay with him, a good two feet of space between your bodies, but it’s progress.

You’re more open after that, not flinching away and snapping at him when he reaches out to touch you. Instead, you’re almost leaning into his touch, enjoying it – which leads to another key aspect of being Chrollo’s captive; the touching.

He’s not invasive with it in the beginning, but as time passes you’ll notice the way his hand is always lingering at your waist, his fingers drumming against your skin. You’ll realize he’s always shuffling closer to your body, dissatisfied with the space between you. You’ll get used to the way he asks for a kiss before you both fall into slumber, his arms snaking around your middle and pulling you back against his chest as he sighs into your ear.

The rational side of you is enraged, disgusted by his attempts at romantic and intimate touches, but a part of you that grows larger with every passing day stops caring, slowly accepting that Chrollo is all you have left now, and that you should take advantage of every ounce of affection he’s willing to show you. It may not be real (though the obsession that gleams in his eyes certainly is, as is the blood that sometimes stains his pale chest when he returns home from a few days away), but it’s something.

It’s enough that you can almost overlook the way he keeps you trapped in the hotel rooms, stuck by his side, with only your books and himself to entertain you. You can almost forget the way he’s freely admitted to killing for you, nonchalantly threating family members if you try to escape, telling you he’ll hear about anything and everything you do because nothing can hide from him.

Eventually, you’ll stop caring – your life is easier now, all the stress and worries of independence gone, and Chrollo couldn’t be more pleased that you’re settling down, or mellowing, as he likes to say. You’re closer to realizing your true purpose with him – to continue to give him that warmth he craves, to continue to let him kiss and hold you, to let him steal every ounce of your attention and time.

He’s a thief after all, and now that you’re his, he’s entitled to take whatever he wants.

PUNISHMENTS:

While Chrollo is, overall, a somewhat lenient captor, he does have a few strict guidelines.

Firstly, you are to never ignore him. To ignore him would mean a rejection of his feelings for you, and while Chrollo is normally a cool, level-headed man, the second you even encroach on any actions that could be considered a rejection of a his love, of him, he’s clenching his jaw and doing his best to not lash out, keeping his temper and check and calculating ways to make you recognize the consequences of your actions.

Secondly, do not try to escape. He’s lucid enough to understand that once you’ve first been kidnapped, you’re likely to try everything in your power to escape. It doesn’t matter how deeply your feelings for him have formed – it’s only human nature to not enjoy being trapped, which is why he’ll have to train you, to make sure that you correctly acclimate to your new life with him, to your new future.

And lastly, you must never attempt to hurt him. Of course, you could never do any real damage, but the sentiment will hurt him more than he’d care to admit – by reaching out and wishing him harm, you are, once again, rejecting him. You’re displaying a desire to wound him, and he absolutely cannot have you thinking that you’re in any position of power or control in your relationship with him.

(You are, of course, because Chrollo’s dependence on you is really quite pathetic and sad, but you won’t be aware of the depth of his feelings for you until very, very late into your time with him. He’s good at hiding this, if only because letting you see him vulnerable would mean letting you have a sliver of control over him, a concept that terrifies him to his very core.)

Those three things are really the only ways to set Chrollo off – he’s generally pretty adaptable, able to read you like a clock and understanding what you’re thinking merely by watching your facial expressions, and because of this he won’t often punish you. He doesn’t like the idea of disciplining you, instead preferring to simply manipulate you into thinking and feeling the way he wants you to. But, if any of the three rules are breached, Chrollo finds himself resorting to more extreme measures, doing what he feels is necessary to garner the results he’s looking for.

Even so, he won’t ever rely upon physical means to punish you – he doesn’t like the idea of you being injured or hurt, and it would be a hassle to mend the damage hurting you would cause.

So, Chrollo defaults to more manipulative measures, punishments he knows will leave you crying and terrified, inflicting more psychological rather than physical damage. It’s the only way he can get what he wants, after all, and Chrollo has always been determined to get his way – even at the expense of you, his most prized possession.

When you’re staring at him with such hard, pained eyes, it almost makes him feel bad for a moment. Almost, if only because your words are replaying in his head, the tone and wavering in your voice making pause for a brief moment.

You’d said you hated him, that he was a monster, that you were unhappy being with him. It was all things Chrollo had already known, of course, but it certainly didn’t feel good to hear them come from you, nonetheless.

He just sighs, looking at you with that same belittled, heavy gaze, telling you to calm down, darling, don’t say things you don’t mean.

This just angers you more, it seems, because soon you’re nearly screaming, throwing a pillow or two at him as you yell that you’re not lying, you sick fuck! I hate you, I will never love you, I will never need you! Please, you have to let me go, I can’t stand being with you any longer!

What you’re saying isn’t even particularly harsh – he’s heard much, much worse from his victims over the years, searing words insulting his intelligence, his appearance, his morals, his past, everything and anything. And yet, there’s something about hearing the words coming from you that makes him flounder a bit, a sinking feeling in his gut making him stand up straight, appraising your shaking, heaving form across the room. It’s silent for a few long moments, before he simply adjust his jacket, pulling the lapels slightly and turning his back to you. Very well then, if that’s how you feel. As you wish, my dear.

And with that, he’s slipping out the hotel door, disappearing to who knows where. You’re left trembling in anger, your breathing unsteady, but before you can think you’re rushing to the door, wiggling the handle violently and sucking in a sharp breath when you feel that it’s unlocked, practically begging you to throw it open and leave this godforsaken hotel room.

As you rush away, sprinting down staircases and down never-ending hallways, you’ll distantly know that this is probably a trap. Chrollo wouldn’t just let you go, you’re sure, especially with such suspicious time. But you can’t stop yourself from taking advantage of the opportunity, deciding that even if it is a trap, the few brief moments of freedom that you’ll have will be enough to warrant it all.

And yet, as you push through the front doors and take a look around the busy, bustling street you’ve stumbled upon, you nearly sob. You have no idea where you are, the landmarks totally unfamiliar, but you’re free, feeling the sunlight on your skin without Chrollo’s presence pressed into your side, his cold fingers pushing into your hip or shoulder. You don’t have any money and have no idea where to go, but your legs are moving faster than you can think, wandering through the city along back roads and side streets.

Hours quickly pass by, exhaustion beginning to settle into your bones as the sun dips back behind the horizon, leaving the city in shadows and quiet aside from the hum of cars and the bustle of city goers. It’s only once you’re stumbling through an alley that you hear it – him, to be specific.

At least, you’re pretty sure it’s a man – the footsteps are obviously trying to be quiet, but they’re not doing a good enough job to go unnoticed by you. He’s breathing loudly, too, and as you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide and scared, you don’t see anyone.

You’re sure there’s someone there, that they’ve followed you down this alleyway, and as you press your back against the slightly wet brick wall of the building behind you, you feel your heart practically about to beat out of your chest.

Who was there?

 It’s silent for a moment, before a short laugh is barked out, the man emerging from behind a dumpster. Shadow falls over his face, making it impossible to see his face, but you do see his size. He’s a monster of a man, bulky shoulders easily above your head, muscles bulging along his arms and under his pants. A wild bed of hair sits atop his head, and you feel yourself freeze, fear eating away at your heart.

You can’t move as the man comes closer, face still hidden in the darkness, and it’s only when he comes down to punch at your stomach do you realize what’s about to happen, panic engulfing your senses as his fist comes closer and closer and closer – It sucks the air right out of  your lungs, making you wheeze and gasp for breath, knees slamming into the concrete below you as you gasp and struggle to regain your breath.

The man laughs, a timber, horrible sound, but stops abruptly at the distant sound of sirens. He curses under his breath, and you feel his eyes on you, daring to look up at him in between your fits of coughing.

You’re lucky, bitch, he starts, voice gravelly as he begins backing up. Next time I’ll get you, the cops won’t be coming and I’ll show you why weak little things like you shouldn’t be in alleyways late at night – makes it hard for me to resist ya, and I think you’d look even better without that ugly ass nightgown you’ve got on.

And with that, he’s sprinting down the alley, running away even as the sirens get further and further away. You’re left to lay on the cold, wet ground, having regained your breath but letting tears stream down your face. You don’t want to admit it, but you’d been hoping that Chrollo would magically appear, just like he always does. You’d hoped that he would’ve stopped the stranger’s punch, that he would’ve saved you just like he used to.

The thought of Chrollo makes you flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from wondering if maybe he was right. Maybe he’s right that you can’t take care of yourself, that you’re too weak for this world, that you’re better off with a monster like him (quoted directly from him, with that signature smirk of his) rather than the everyday men.

You curl up, knees to your chest for a while, before your up again, wandering and trying to retrace your steps back to the hotel you’d run out of only hours ago. Eventually you’ll make it back, and as you wait in the lobby, rubbing at your now dirty and bruised body, your eyes will flick across every person entering and exiting, before you begrudgingly make your way to the elevator, riding up tot eh floor you knew your room was on.

It takes everything in you to knock on the door – his door, but eventually you do. And when he opens it, a small hello trickling past his lips, you can’t help but let out an ugly, gaspy sob, rushing forward and wrapping your arms around him. It feels horrible, disgusting, so very good to feel how he returns the hug, gently patting your back and smoothing down your hair, a soft hello my dear making your shoulders shake.

He won’t ask too many questions, letting you inside and nearly forcing you into the shower, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Even when he’s got you wearing a fresh set of soft, lounging clothing (with a neckline just a bit too low to cover your collarbone, something his eyes are often drawn to), you can’t find it in yourself to ask. He’s talking to you, after all, asking you if you enjoyed your time in the real world, if it was as grand as you’d hoped.

 His eyes are twinkling, and although the apology you offer up isn’t as loud or insistent as he’d hoped for, it still makes him smile, his throat bobbing as he loudly swallows.

The conversation is over for the evening, and it’s only after you fall asleep (in his bed, he notes with a somewhat shy smile and a shaky exhale) that he pulls out his phone, pressing the contact name and smiling at the dial tone.

Thank you, Uvogin, he starts, letting a hand run very lightly over your leg under the sheets. This favor won’t be forgotten.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The thing that makes Chrollo a dangerous yandere is less his violent tendencies, and more of the way you nearly won’t recognize yourself after being with him for long enough.

Of course, he loves you – a sick, messy, disgusting love that he quickly grows addicted to. He finds you irresistible, fascinating and growing drunk off the way your body fits with him, but he’s still a criminal. He’s still a mass murderer, singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of more than he can count, and he will not be suddenly listening to commonplace morals once his feelings for you form.

There’s no such thing as bad to him – he views you as his woman, his partner and his most precious, cherished possession, and as a result he has absolutely no qualms about doing what he wants to you. He’s manipulative, lying to you just as often as he tells the truth, making you feel as if you’re going crazy because you have no idea what’s real and what’s fake.

He’s possessive, slowly isolating you and barring you from any contact at all with anyone he deems a threat to your future with him, or anyone at all, really. He doesn’t want you to grow feelings for another man, and has no issues with cutting off your contact with everyone in your life that you hold dear. He’s always got that same look on his face; a small, prideful smile, his dark eyes so impossibly wide and sparkling as he stares at you, every ounce of his attention focused on you and only you.

He’s terrifying, and while you’ll more than likely develop feelings for him before you know of his true self, you’ll begrudgingly find those feelings doesn’t entirely dissolve even once you know that he’s a crook and a perverted, horrible man who’s stolen you away. You’ll probably still find him charming, still thinking his hair looks soft enough to touch, still finding his hands (littered with a fair share of veins) drool worthy, even when you realize how many have likely died because of them.

You’ll hate yourself for it, but you will eventually find yourself growing just as dependent on Chrollo as he is on you – and really, that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to need him, to yearn for him and crave him, if only because he feels all that for you and more, and he needs to make sure he has you under his thumb, so that your pretty smile and lovely voice and heavenly body are never not by side.

Things would grow ugly if you were to ever be snatched away from him, corpses piling up and his own sanity slipping away until he can hold you in his arms once more, pressing his lips messily, desperately against yours, hearing you say his name with that lilt you always do.

Chrollo needs you, and it’s best if you just give in – you may essentially be ending your own life, but you’re giving meaning to his and saving so many others. So, so many others.

[signanothername]

Was nereid actually the cause of ccino’s alternative timelines being destroyed??? Because I know we haven’t really seen error but error… tends to not be one to leave a job unfinished

You’re completely right, it isn’t like Error to leave an Au without making sure it’s completely and utterly extinguished

But see, the trick is that, this is Nightmare’s guess, that it’s Error, and he’s right.. partially

It was Error who destroyed those alternative timelines of Fluffytale, Error worked his way up till the main timeline is all that’s left, the problem? Fluffytale’s main timeline’s code was already corrupted way before Error destroyed any of the alternative timelines

With Frisk missing, and resets were no more, Fluffytale existed in that sort of a limbo state, where the timelines that were created before Frisk went missing stayed there, but the creation of other timelines completely stopped, and with the supposed “main character” of the story gone, Fluffytale’s code ended up scrambled as it tried to repair itself, except there is always that hole in the code that the universe couldn’t patch up

But I think it’s important to explain how I see codes working in universes for this to make sense xgxhhdhd

The code of a universe that attaches to the multiverse as a whole is only truly attatched to the main timeline, and any other timeline has a code of its own that attaches to said main timeline of the universe itself

But other timlines are “copies” of the script, so when the corruption of the code happened, the code of the main timeline is the one truly affected, it didn’t affect any other the other alternative timelines

Think if it as a word document of the same subject, you make the first document and save it to your computer right? Then you decide you want to edit on the document without changing the og one, so you “save as” and put the new copy of the document under a new name

If you go and edit the og document, the copy won’t change cause of it, and if you edit the copy, the og document won’t change either

So when the main timeline’s code got corrupted, none of the codes for the alternative timelines changed

So Error didn’t face any problems (unless you count Ink a problem hchchcch) with destroying the alternative timelines, one by one, went in, “cleaned up”, went out

When he finally reached the main timeline, he tried destroying it, it didn’t go so well, his strings couldn’t even leave a single scratch on any of the code of the timeline, Error tries every trick in the book but nothing works

Eventually he realizes the problem, the code of the universe is corrupted, that of course doesn’t stop Error from trying to erase it, only whoops!! Turns out corrupted anomalous code (Error) dealing with corrupted anomalous code (Fluffytale) isn’t a smart idea

Fluffytale’s code deals with Errors code as a sister code, it wrongly identifies and recognizes it as part of its own code, and boom, it gains immunity to Error’s powers, and until Error’s able to find a way in which that mess can be dealt with, Fluffytale survives

Of course Error threw a tantrum over it, but there’s nothing to be done, so he left the universe alone and went to eat chocolate and talk to anomaly #13 to cope chhcchhcfh

———

Context

[phone4pills]

Can I just say a massive thank you to everyone who’s ever read my work. From the random user to my awesome mutuals who keep me motivated to keep writing. Not just by interacting, but by releasing work that inspires me beyond anything else. You guys are my muses !!

@hearts4werka you are a fabulous writer with an even more fabulous heart. I love talking to you and sending gifs and pictures back and forth. I may not know you in real life but you are a genuine friend. This app would not be the same for me without you, you stimulate my brain and hype my ideas so I feel comfortable with what I write.

@chrislilcumslvt you have supported me from day one and there hasn’t been a day that you haven’t liked one of my posts. you have such a fun sense of humour and I will forever stay stalking you because you bring so much to the app as I’m sure many other writers will agree.

@chestersturniolo you were one of my first mutuals and your writing is beyond amazing. the talent you have is double the talent I could ever hope to have and your works are imprinted on my brain. I love you to shreds and I hope you know how much I appreciate you.

@sturnioz you write some of the most luring pieces ont he app and it’s no wonder that so many people interact with you, including me. your account is like the forest where all the Chris girls unite to build shit together and I love you for that. At the beginning of my account I was all over your stuff and for a good reason too so you definitely have impacted how I write and made my works more appealing to the readers on here.

@strnilolover you have no idea how much I look up to you. there is no accomplishment that you don’t deserve fully. you are so gifted and have a special place in my heart. being beautiful, smart and kind at the same time is not very common these days but you are an anomaly because you are truly all that and more.

@nikolastrn you support me so fucking much and have no idea how much it means to me. even if we don’t communicate as much tho is my way of telling you that I acknowledge all that you have done and still do for my account. I love you for that and more, you’re fucking wonderful.

@pr3ttyf4wn you are my bestest yap friend on the app and I love what we’ve built between us. you bring so many unique ideas to the table and your account is so interactive. I feel like I can head over there whenever if I’m bored or need to let something out. Usually I’m not very good in people’s inboxes but it’s so easy to talk to you and I truly appreciate that.

@its4lyric you are the reason that starting out on tumblr wasn’t too difficult for me. you’re constant support and spreading of my content has made me the writer I am today with such an abundant following. my heart goes out to you for building me up to be what I am today. thank you for everything.

@55sturn you work so hard to make things happen and your creative mindset and drive are just two of many reasons why you are so widely respected. my debut on this app was raised up by users like you who hype up smaller writers and make everyone feel valued. you helped me find my place here and feel comfortable with being myself on this app.

@delilahsturniolo you have been here for my entire journey and never one have you looked down on my creations. you are such a deserving account and I can’t make an appreciation post without including you. your lively soul and soft presence are like a gift to our community and I’m so glad that I can call you my mutual.

@muwapsturniolo you have such a flaming passion that makes your work cling onto my soul. whenever I see you on my feed I can they’ll but wonder how different the fandom would be without you. anything you say or do is interesting to me and the little life documents make me feel like a friend of yours who can trust you.

@mattslolita you have made history on this app with your one-in-a-million talent. I couldn’t possible imagine my life without the inspiration that I’ve taken from so much of your stuff. not to mention, I’m sure many who enter your inbox feel like your account is a second home because you are so approachable and attentive. You are a household treasure for loads of us, so thank you.

@bernardsbendystraws you have so much skill that I strive to replicate one day. a lot of this fandom thrives off your creativity and I am an avid enjoyer of your work. you inspire me on the daily to keep pushing until my name is known across the fandom for my hard work. I hope you know that you are appreciated on here.

@fallbhind you and your cut skittle account can come and kiss me because there is nothing on there that I won’t willingly read when I have the time. you are a huge inspiration in my eyes and I really can’t wait to get to know you more and grow out mutuality. shine bright bitch.

@sturniolossss you deserve my utmost gratitude for keeping me posted at all times as well as being the least toxic, least problematic queen on here. something about your account makes me comfortable and it’s a nice getaway when I’m stressed from writing or trying to to come up with new ideas. never lose that little spark of humour you got because it does make my day better for one.

There are SO MANY MORE that I could add to this list and I know for a fact that there will be another part in due time. But thank you so much for these amazing users and now…

A special thanks to YOU the reader of you have ever read anything of mine I appreciate you so so much. If you have done me the honour of making the the step to interact in any way I’m blowing you kisses. 1K followers doesn’t seem like such a far stretch to me anymore because of how much everyone on here has done for me. And if you had any part in that, I love you so much! Thank you so very much from me.

[erc20tokengenerator]

ERC20 token generator

Ever wanted to create your own cryptocurrency? Thanks to the ERC20 Token Generator, it’s more accessible than ever. Dive into the world of blockchain and see how simple it can be.

What is an ERC20 Token?

ERC20 tokens are digital assets built on the Ethereum blockchain. They follow a specific standard, allowing them to interact seamlessly with platforms and other tokens.

Benefits of ERC20 Tokens:

Interoperability: All ERC20 tokens adhere to the same protocol.

Widespread Acceptance: Many platforms on Ethereum support these tokens.

Developer Support: Extensive documentation and community support.

How Does the ERC20 Token Generator Work?

Creating a token might sound complex, but the ERC20 Token Generator simplifies the process. Here’s a step-by-step guide:

Define Your Token:

Choose a name and symbol.

Set the total supply.

Access the Generator:

Use online tools designed for token creation.

Input your token details.

Deploy to the Blockchain:

Confirm your details.

Launch your token on the Ethereum network.

Key Features of ERC20 Tokens

These tokens offer various features that make them attractive for both developers and investors:

Standardized Functions: Such as balance checking and transfers.

Smart Contract Integration: Seamlessly integrate with smart contracts.

Security: Built on the robust Ethereum blockchain.

Why Create an ERC20 Token?

Creating your own token can offer several advantages:

Fundraising: Launch your own ICO (Initial Coin Offering).

Community Building: Reward loyal customers or followers.

Innovation: Develop new applications and uses for blockchain.

Potential Challenges

Despite the ease of creation, there are challenges:

Technical Knowledge: Basic understanding of blockchain is required.

Security Risks: Vulnerabilities can lead to exploitation.

Regulatory Issues: Compliance with local laws is crucial.

Best Practices for Creating ERC20 Tokens

To ensure success, follow these guidelines:

Audit Your Code: Ensure there are no security loopholes.

Engage with the Community: Gather feedback and make improvements.

Stay Informed: Keep up with blockchain trends and regulations.

Conclusion

The ERC20 Token Generator opens doors to the exciting world of cryptocurrency creation. Whether you're an entrepreneur, developer, or enthusiast, it offers an innovative way to engage with blockchain technology.

Final Thoughts

Creating an ERC20 token can be a game-changer. It empowers you to participate in the digital economy and experiment with new ideas.

FAQs

1. What is an ERC20 Token Generator?

An ERC20 Token Generator is a tool that simplifies the creation of custom tokens on the Ethereum blockchain.

2. Is technical knowledge necessary to create a token?

Basic blockchain understanding is helpful, but many generators offer user-friendly interfaces.

3. Can I sell my ERC20 tokens?

Yes, you can list them on cryptocurrency exchanges or sell directly to users.

4. Are there costs associated with creating a token?

Yes, deploying tokens on Ethereum requires gas fees, paid in Ether.

5. How do I ensure my token is secure?

Regular code audits and following best practices can enhance security.

Source : https://www.altcoinator.com/

[lovezbrownies]

🐟 Anon continuation!

Peak idea from fish anon! This time im just gonna do random selection! Whoever pops up in my head first kinda thing yk? ANYWAYS! Lets say the plushie is handmade btw :) Link to the original ask. ALOS PHEWWWW TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS ALL UP BUT I LOVED IT OMG

Red Ludenhart: Clueless.

Red spots the plushie almost immediately, his gaze lingering on it for a moment too long. “Huh, looks like me,” he says casually, picking it up with a raised brow. “Must’ve been a real coincidence that it looks this much like me. Maybe someone on the design team is a fan, huh?” You stand there, panicking, muttering weakly, “Yeah… haha, no idea how that happened…” while internally you’re kicking yourself for being so obvious. It was no accident—this plushie was purposefully modeled after him, and you’ve been carrying it with you for weeks. It’s small enough to fit into your backpack, and you’ve taken it into work every single day. How you’ve gotten away with it for this long, you have no clue.

The tension builds later, though, when Red catches you asleep, cradling the plushie to your chest, nuzzling into its face as if it’s him. His eyes narrow, a slow realization creeping in, and that’s when it clicks. He’s smart, though maybe a little slow, and now it all makes sense. With a quiet sigh, he gently pries the plush from your arms, careful not to wake you, before slipping into bed beside you. He doesn’t even need to say anything. Slowly, he settles in, putting himself between you and the plushie, wrapping his arms around you. “I want that,” he mutters with a playful but possessive tone, pulling you closer until you’re spooning him instead of the damn doll.

Julie McCanister: Destroys it.

You were so excited when Julie finally came home from work, talking about having a special surprise you made. Pulling her forcibly towards your shared bedroom as she tries to get you to slow down enough for her to take off the very contaminated lab coat she has on. Yet as her words go in one ear and out the other, Julie decides she’s just disinfect the entire house after seeing whatever it is you made.

Except for the only thing on her mind once she did see your creation wasn’t to disinfect, it was to destroy. You made a plushie. That looked exactly like her. Julie isn’t one to sugarcoat so when she began to question why you would make such a thing and your response being “Well, you spend a lot of time at work and I get that I do, and you always make it up to me but it still gets lonely during those mornings so I made a mini you! To keep me—“

Rage blazes within Julie as you describe essentially wanting to replace her with a glorified clone. “You’re not keeping that. If you want me, call me, hand it over.”

“What? No, why?”

“I’ll put it in the incinerator. Give it to me, darling. I’ll take a month off, work’s slow now anyways.”

You were rightfully upset but it didn’t last long as she spoiled you both with her presence and gifts, of course none of those gifts were plushies but you’ll take what you get.

Siolis Ludenhart: Loves it.

One of the few who’s oddly chill about the whole ordeal, Siolis finds out after you both get assigned to stay inside the palace for a full week—thanks to some visiting king from a land you couldn’t even pretend to care about. The workload is brutal, with both of you scrambling to make sure everything runs perfectly, and Siolis, ever composed, definitely did their research—mostly to prevent Nia from blurting out something wildly offensive and accidentally starting a war. To stay on top of everything, you and Siolis book separate rooms in the palace—less time wasted in morning traffic, more time to cater to every noble’s impossible whim. The perks of assistant life, really.

The night before the chaos begins, Queen Nia drags you into helping her “rearrange documents” at 9 PM—four stacks, all mysteriously needing urgent attention. By the time you crawl into bed, it’s well past midnight. So, of course, you sleep through your alarms, three servant knocks, and every attempt to wake you. None dared enter, instead reporting to Siolis, who—two hours into your absence—cut their own break short out of rising concern. “[Name], are you there? I’m coming in,” they called, before stepping inside and freezing.

There you were, fast asleep, curled up around a plushie. But not just any plushie—a miniature version of them, with black hair and green streaks. Siolis blinked, stunned, heart pounding at the sight. A smile twitched at their lips before they knelt by your side, brushing your hair back with a gentle touch. And though they’d have loved to stare longer, they knew how mortified you’d be if your boss woke you up while you were cuddling a soft, chibi version of them. So, with uncharacteristic mercy, they quietly slipped the plushie from your arms and tucked it beneath the bed—making it look like it simply fell. “Hey, good morning. You overslept a bit—get ready and meet me in the office.” Still, the image lingered in their head all day, impossible to forget. Soon, you’d know just how much they adored you. How deeply, how fully, how utterly theirs you already were.

Nia Bloodwen: Cries until you throw it away.

“What. Is. That.”

Nia had expected to be welcomed back from a mind-numbing meeting with warm kisses, dramatic “I missed you”s, and maybe even a little bed-bound celebration. What she hadn’t expected was to walk in and be stared down by a life-sized, fluffy version of herself, its beady hazel eyes glinting with terrifying intensity. Worse yet, you were perched comfortably in its lap, laughing like you’d just found paradise while she had been suffering through endless discussions about trade routes and treaty clauses. You looked up at her, beaming. “Isn’t it great? Hilarious, right? Some luxury brand sent it as a wedding gift—took them two whole years to finish it!”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her brain simply shut down at the sheer nerve. But then, to your shock, her eyes welled with tears, and that familiar pout set into her face. The image of you relaxed in that thing’s arms—its arms—ate her alive. You never looked that comfortable on her lap. Every time she offered, you’d fidget or squirm or laugh it off, but now here you were, nuzzled into polyester betrayal. “Why don’t you just marry it, then?!” she wailed, before storming off and locking herself in your shared bedroom, leaving you stunned and plush-wife still staring.

Hours later, she emerged, face red and puffy, mascara streaked despite her efforts. Her voice was hoarse and deadly calm. “Burn it. I don’t care how much it cost. It dies tonight.” You didn’t argue. Not when she looked like that. And as she watched you drag the fluffy effigy of her doom toward the fireplace, she clung to your arm in silence, refusing to let go until its soulless gaze was finally reduced to ash.

Lauren McCanister: Bullies the shit out of you due to jealousy, then snuggles it too.

Lauren McCanister absolutely loses it. She walks into your room like she owns the place (because of course she does) and sees it—a plushie that looks exactly like her. Same snarky smirk, same messed-up ponytail, even the damn genetic eye bags she got from her mom. You’re just sitting there, all cozy, hugging it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, unaware of the tantrum she’s about to throw. A weird mood swing is about to be taken out on you and there you are, none the fucking wiser.

Her face goes red instantly. Not the cute kind of flustered, but the “I’m about to flip your mattress and throw hands with a stuffed toy” kind. She’s yelling before she even means to—“What the hell is that?!” Like you’re the weird one for owning it. She snatches it up, absolutely scandalized, calling it “creepy” and “obsessive” while also secretly kind of smug about it. But you can tell. She’s jealous. So jealous. She’s not mad you have it—she’s mad it gets to cuddle with you more than she does.

Ten minutes later she’s curled up in your bed, death-gripping the plushie and refusing to admit she likes it. Every time you tease her about it, she threatens to burn it. She never does.

J

Lorelai Marlowe: Depressive episode about how you prefer a doll than her.

She wasn’t supposed to be watching you tonight. Not really. But her hands had moved on their own, drawing open her balcony door, slipping past the railing with her little black notebook clutched to her chest and the magnifying goggles strapped neatly over her face. Just one look, she told herself. One glance to soothe the ache of not being near you. She was so careful, always, so quiet. And then she saw it. Nestled against your chest. Tucked lovingly in your arms like it belonged there. The plush—her plush. Her clothes. Her tired eyes. Her. You were sleeping with it. Stroking its hair. Smiling in your sleep.

Lorelai nearly dropped her notebook. Her breath hitched, body freezing against the railing as a thousand thoughts ran screaming through her head. You never held her like that. Not even once. You always pulled away, always flinched from her touch, and now here you were, clinging to a soft, stitched-together replica of her like it meant something real. Something safe. Her goggles fogged from how hard she was breathing, and for a moment she just stood there, gripping the metal so tightly her fingers turned pale. It wasn’t fair. She could never be that version of herself. You wanted a Lorelai who didn’t cry, didn’t beg, didn’t need you more than you could handle. That plush didn’t ruin things by needing too much. That plush didn’t stare into your window every night, wishing you’d just love her back.

The next night, you woke up to find the plush gone—just a single strand of black thread left on your bed, like someone had pulled it apart at the seams. No note. No explanation. Just your locked window, slightly ajar. And from her room across the street, Lorelai sat shaking in the dark, curled around the plush she’d taken back, whispering apologies to it between broken breaths. “You’re the only version of me they’ll ever love, aren’t you?”

Gen Ludenhart: Rips it to shreds in front of you, then smothers you with aggressive kisses. (Basically you cause cuteness aggression.)

You barely had time to react. One second you were showing off the cute little plush of her you’d mad as a joke—same green eyes, same pretty brown hair—and the next? RIP. Fabric flying. Stuffing torn straight out like she was gutting a rival. Gen didn’t even blink. She stood over the shredded remains with wild eyes and panting breath, like she’d just won some kind of primal battle for dominance. “What the fuck is this, huh?” she barked, grabbing your face in both hands like she was about to yell some more—except she didn’t.

No. She devoured you. Slammed her lips against yours like it was a punishment and a reward in one. Her nails dug into your back as she kissed you again and again, laughing breathlessly between each one. “You think that is cute? That?! I’m cuter. I’m better. You want soft? I’ll give you soft. I’ll ruin you.” Every word came between kisses, every kiss hotter and more chaotic than the last. She didn’t even give you a second to process the violence before it turned into suffocating affection.

By the time she was done, you were breathless and dazed, blinking down at the demolished plush. Gen just smirked, grabbing your chin to make you look at her. “Don’t replace me with some stitched-up imposter ever again,” she said, tone sweet but her eyes still feral. “You want something to cuddle? Use me.”

Yuna Claire: Loves it at first, then becomes pathetic and jealous, begging you for your attention.

At first, Yuna is delighted. Her whole face lights up when she sees it—your plush version of her, perfectly made down to the eyeliner and little mic headset, seated beside your pillows like it belongs there. “That’s so cute,” she says, laughing softly, voice syrup-sweet. “You really sleep with me every night, huh?” She takes pictures of it. Kisses its forehead. Muses about getting one of you for her own bed. For the first twenty minutes, she’s charmed, glowing with that effortless, radiant warmth that makes you forget she’s ever done anything wrong.

But then you keep hugging it. Laughing with it. Propping it in your lap like a cherished little companion. And Yuna starts to wilt. Her eyes stay locked on you, glassy and wide, smile stiffening at the corners. Eventually, she sits beside you in total silence—just watching. Until, barely above a whisper, she mumbles, “Do you… like it more than me?” She tries to laugh it off, but it’s brittle, almost pained. Her hands reach out slowly, trembling just slightly as she sets the plush aside and climbs into your lap herself, curling into you with the desperation of someone starved. “Don’t ignore me,” she whispers against your shoulder, breath shaky. “I’m real. I’m here. Just—just look at me, please.”

She won’t let you move for hours after that. Clings to you like she’s afraid you’ll replace her with the stitched-up version. Kisses you softly, obsessively, with trembling fingers tangled in your shirt. And if you even glance at the plush again? Her voice drops low, honey-smooth and cracked. “You wouldn’t rather sleep with that… right?”

Grim Ludenhart: Loves it so much, gets two professionally made.

When Grim first sees the plush, there’s a moment of stunned silence. He just stares at it for a while, fingers lightly brushing over the soft fabric as if he’s trying to process it. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at his lips. “You made this?” he asks, voice low and warm, the hint of a fond laugh escaping him. He doesn’t make a big fuss, doesn’t yell or jump around—he’s far too composed for that. But there’s a softness in his eyes, an unspoken affection that speaks volumes. It’s a simple gesture, but it hits deeper than anything else. His gaze lingers on the plush version of himself for a moment, and then on you, as if he’s piecing something together. “I never thought I’d see myself like that.”

The next time you see him, it’s with not one, but two professionally made plushes—larger than the original, more detailed, a perfect replica of the two of you. They’re both holding hands, thanks to magnets sewn into their hands, so they’ll never let go of each other. Grim’s voice is steady as he explains, “I had these made. They’re… for us. So they can always stay together, just like us.” There’s no need for grand gestures with him—just a quiet understanding. The plushes are more than just cute to him. They’re a symbol, a reminder that even in his most stoic moments, he holds you close, just as these little versions of you both do. And you can tell by the way he carefully places them side by side on the shelf that he feels exactly the same way about you. Always together, always by his side.

Selene Varrow: Acts like she isn’t bothered, next day the plush is gone.

At first, Selene barely even acknowledges the plush, her sharp gaze skimming over it with nothing more than a grunt of indifference. “Huh,” she mutters, like it doesn’t even faze her, as though she hasn’t noticed how it looks exactly like her—sharp eyes, messy hair, and that smug little smirk. She doesn’t comment on it. Doesn’t touch it. It’s just another thing in the room that she doesn’t care about. Or at least, that’s what she wants you to think.

The next day, though, it’s gone. No explanation. No words. The plushie you had carefully placed beside your bed, once a soft reminder of her, has vanished, and Selene doesn’t even flinch when you ask about it. “What plush?” she snaps, too quick, eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and something you can’t quite place. It’s the kind of cold response she gives when something does bother her, when she’s hiding how much it really gets to her. But Selene? She won’t admit it. Not in a million years. She’ll just take it away and pretend like it was never there, and you’ll never quite be sure if she was angry, jealous, or maybe a little hurt.

[the-pagan-crow]

Where to Begin?

I was thinking about how daunting it can feel when you first dip your toes into the world of heathenry. We don't believe there's a one size fits all answer, but we're going to hopefully provide some beginner advice and resources! Always remember to do what works for you!!

Things to Consider

Learning isn't the same for everyone, so what might work for us might not work for you. This is why it's so important to consider how you're best going to absorb information. Below are some questions to ask yourself before diving too deep into research!

Am I am auditory learner?

Am I a visual learner?

Do I need pictures or other exciting elements to keep me engaged?

Can I focus on difficult texts without getting distracted?

What is my general reading level?

What knowledge do I already have?

What kind of things do I want to prioritize learning?

What resources will I have access to?

However you answer these questions is fine, there's no right or wrong! However, these should help guide you when selecting resources, especially starting off.

Another thing to consider is where you're going to keep notes. Whether this is a virtual document, a notebook, flashcards, or something else, keeping notes will help immensely!! Don't make our mistake of not taking notes and having to do the research all over.

One final consideration that I think is often overlooked but extremely important: do you have anyone who you can talk about your research with? I'm not saying to find a "coven" or group of some sort, but being able to talk about what you're learning can really help retention of information and will help you stay motivated.

Resources

Below are some resources, please note:

We are not affiliated with any of these links. We may not even like the whole website or everything the author says. IT IS ALWAYS IMPORTANT to use critical thinking, to cross reference, and to utilize more than one source!

This should be used as a starting point!

We like the episodes we've listened to of this podcast!! If you can learn through audio only, it's great to have on in the car!

We've used this website for years! Very good information, though the writing style may be difficult for people who struggle reading text that is more academic in format.

Also a good site! More relaxed in tone, but still full of information!

We have yet to watch any of Crawford's videos. However, we're reading his translation of the Poetic Edda now, and he is a highly recommended scholar!

Hopefully some of this can help you! Always do what works in your life! We are but one heathen, and we don't know everything. Learning is a process. If you'd like to reach out to us, please feel free!!

Happy Learning!

[beesmygod]

i had my mom edit my bloodborne thing up to the latest release (shes smart and great at editing) and told her "i know this is all gobbledygook and makes me look literally insane" but apparently she loved it so far and is raving about it to anyone who will listen o_o

she reads a lot of sci fi and fantasy so its not totally out of her wheelhouse im just kind of surprised it wasnt like trying to decode the rosetta stone

anyway:

this is only 4 chapters. i had to re-adjust my timeline bc i realized i had the castle cainhurst raid all wrong and i spent a stupid amount of time trying to crack how teleportation is supposed to work. i think ive got it.

but: i havent really dug into the 4th chapter yet (logarius part needed a lot of work) and the 4th chapter is now the research hall. which is not exactly a straight forward area lol.

this is turning out to be a "THIS is how you critically analyze media" document as well . _. i intend for this to be the ultimate bloodborne post demonstrating how i got from point a to point b. authors notes before chapters to explain information outside of the game that influenced its creation. a section entirely on blood and its qualities. it even has a stupid glossary so i dont have to type out "new game plus" every time

my magnum opus. i will die immediately after its release. maybe turn into a dog or something

[shiftertech]

"You are the firewall."

Do you remember making paper airplanes as a kid? How you would take a sheet of pristine white paper, from some orchard habitat within your trade region, and begin to fold it. Each crease another step in a standarized process, building towards a final goal. Maybe you thought your creation should be unique in some miniscule way, so you added a fold here, made a cut there, bent something assymetric to the other side. You made it yours, but it's still the same design underneath, passed along to children from century to century.

And then the time comes to launch it. You know the goal well: go the furthest distance, or avoid an obstacle, or some other idea of a fun challenge. You ready your arm, dialing in your angle and second guessing how much force you need to throw it, assessing the airspace ahead, prior to loosing it. Everything is perfect, your creases and folds, and your posture, and the very energy of the air, anticipation and excitement rolling off you.

You let your creation free.

An invisible gusting downdraft dips the nose hard. A teachers hand, batting it out of the sky with a scold on their lips. A door suddenly opened and obstructing its path without warning.

And in every instance, your creation lands gracelessly on the ground with some manner of damage. It strikes you that nothing you could have done would have avoided this outcome after the moment it left your hands. Despite your little bends in the wing to control flight dynamics, or your shouts to not disrupt its maiden flight, it happened anyway.

(or maybe you got lucky, and it did exactly what you wanted it to do. Congrats, by the way. I'm proud of you.)

Either way, you only had the ability to set the initial variables. That was the extent of your control, during creation. It was its own agent once it left your loving clutches.

If someone wanted to knock it out of the sky, there is nothing you could do to stop it.

If someone wanted to knock an autonomous Mechanized Battle Unit out of the sky, there is nothing we can do to stop it, if they have enough resources and smart minds. Our enemies have this in abundance.

We've done this song and dance before. It starts with them dropping a whole assault fleet. We dump resources to strengthen our security and they pour capital into breaking that in under a month. We build our own counter-drone teams and they redouble efforts to close the holes in their security. Rinse. Repeat.

It was and always will be a stalemate. There's always going to be an opening. No connected system is free of holes. No firewall can protect against fallible minds.

Yeah, open that unassuming document on your workstation baby—I promise it wont bite! If you do, you wont have to worry about anything ever again.

You see the problem, right? No one side could field a drone unit without it dropping like a rock sooner than later. Our prized angels were relegated to hangers, lest we throw them to be swatted down effortlessly by terminal wizards.

So we start fresh with our sheet of paper to fold anew. This time we make it a closed system, no longer receiving commands from an orbital relay connected to some grunt operator in a frigate's frigid battle room. Rather, we carve a space beneath the alloy hull and its angular folds, and put a flesh and bones pilot-operator there, and hook them up to a neural rig directly connected to the existing mechanized intelligence. We establish communications solely with the pilot, and the pilot works with the mech to execute on orders. A biological transciever between strategic commands and machine. The wetware firewall.

So when we throw our angels into the skies, we aren't throwing disposable toys up with the expectation to eventually crash and burn. We're sending predators, who don't fall over with a simple enter-key push, and have deadly instincts, and a strong desire to seek & destroy. There is however some things we didn't anticipate...

You know when you throw your paper airplane, and it does an extra twirl you didn't intend or design it to do? What if the airplane also spoke back to the wind which carried it? What if it became incomprehensibly entwined with the wind.

Fold and crease. A new creation, far off of what centuries of consensus dictated how a paper airplane was to be made. Who even cares about consensus when it flies higher than any one that has come before it.

Will it ever come back down?

[pinetreepilgrimage]

Post about the ugly Chainsmoker because I’m full of thoughts, just like this guy is full of noxious fumes

First off, I dislike this guy. It’s not about how the character works or is written, that stuff is all fantastic, however hearing him in game gives me a headache knowing if I time it wrong, he’s going to get me and the run is over because of THIS. THING.

He reminds me of The Clown from Dead by Daylight. They look SO SIMILAR

yuck, gross, get it away from me. The Clown’s power is also based on throwing colorful smoke bombs at you so that does NOT help. I do not wanna think about his death scene ANY MORE. But anyway

Chainsmoker is one of the angler variants that appeared after the facility went under, like Froger, Pinkie, and Blitz.

He’s characterized as a green blobfish with empty holes in place of it’s eyes and a massive gaping mouth spewing green smoke that causes you to exit your locker earier due to the increase of cleithrophobia.

Chainsmoker is connected to Paranoia’s Box, which is an item in the lore that constantly emits green fumes from inside. These fumes emit chemicals that increase strange phobias in those who inhale it. It is said in documents that the containment procedures for Paranoia’s Box must have a ventiltion system above it to suck up any excess fumes. Though since the facility is in ruin, these fans failed and the fumes have spread accross the facility. This is why your character cannot get in a locker too early, if they stay in one too long they become faint and panicked, jumping out. When you die to Chainsmoker, you are sent to a pocket dimension full of rolling green fog and a thin strip of land to walk on, where a massive version of Paranoia’s box sits at the end. There’s also chains in the fog, constantly moving. If you approach the box, it will immediately kill you.

There’s a lot to think about here. How is Chainsmoker so strongly connected to Paranoia’s Box? Was this variant changed by the box when it appeared or was it a creation of the box itself? The other anglers have at least 2 glowing eyes, whereas he has none. Why is that? This leads me to believe that Chainsmoker is dead.

First off, Chainsmoker is based on a blobfish. “Blobfish” aren’t actually a real species of fish, from what I know they’re fathead sculpins. The reason they look so strange and gross is because they’re not dense at all and live in the extremely pressurized water of the deep. Bringing one to the surface basicallly destroyed it’s mass and caused it to look horrendous. This is what they actually look like.

I strongly Believe Chainsmoker is a vessel of Paranoias box that could have once been “alive” or at least untouched and more like a regular angler. Basing him off a blobfish was really smart because not only is the area Hadal Blacksite very depressurized, it gives the appearance that he’s been bloated by the fumes. Whatever Chainsmoker once was has been corrupted by Paranoia’s box. I notice that in his audio, you can hear chains moving and clinking. In the pocket dimension, there are shifting chains everywhere. I think getting too close to Chainsmoker doesn’t have you killed by him specifically, but sends you to this pocket dimension via proximity. I don’t think he’s actually aware of anything going on, given the fact he’s shown no signs of conciousness. He also lacks the black smoke that surrounds other anglers, being replaced by green smoke instead. Though he does keep the fish appearance and electro field that flickers and kills the lights. I feel like he would smell awful ingame, oh my god. It’s said the fumes contain sulfur and the fact he fills rooms full of his awful smoke, I cannot imagine that would be pleasant. If i had to navigate Hadal Blacksite and fetch the crystal, I’d think the worst part of it would be Pandemonium and Chainsmoker due to how terrible they’d both smell.

Let me know your thoughts of you’d like to add anything, I might make a Pandemonium post.

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

Top 10 Diamond Dick comics?

1. Old Castle’s Secret. This is the only one where we see Dick’s handsomeness physically, which makes it instantly the best Dick story.

2. Only A Poor Old Man. Listen to em brag

3. Il doppio segreto di Macchia Nera. A very good spy thriller that just gets a little bit taken down by the appearance of Eega Beeva at the end.

4. Dick’s revenge. This story was never published, but Barks’ original concepts were found and his ideas to bring back the Dick and go deeper into his backstory were shown te be really profound. It’s only lower because it doesn’t exist.

5. The Midas Touch. The events of this story were actually set up by Diamond Dick as shown in the later story “Origins of a Witch”. Little things like Scrooge giving his dime to Magica so spontaneously were caused by Dick’s smart plan to put an antidose for the memory bettermaker into his cuppa coffee while being invisible. The entire story shows a very fun and smart and mischievous side to our Dick.

6. The Snowmen Robbers. Taking from the two Doctor Who serials: “The abominable Snowmen” and “The Snowmen”, known fan of referencing things Lars Jensen puts a spin on it by having Diamond Dick be the Snowmen in this recent story. Having cloned himself to be many, and also better invisible so his shadow even cannot be seen, he controls multiple Snowmen to rob the money bin. A great and creative story.

7. Amazing Fantasy #15. In this story we see a different side of Diamond Dick, where he takes a more heroic role and saves people. Being explained by taking place before the traumatic experiences in the last great time war that he had to undergo, this closer to his teenager years Dick is quite the amicable person. Great at showing a different side of our favorite comic book character, who has many layers.

8. Invisible Man. Writer Ralph Ellison takes a deep political intrigue into many facets of Dick’s life and the environment in which he lives. Showing real world dark sides to American society and its relations to racism. A very new and interesting take on Diamond Dick.

9. The Book Of The War. Being a documentation of the war times of Dick’s life, it shows a really profound, deep and profound look at the character’s life, showing him to be more than a one dimensional villain. It’s a really profound book, told in a non-lineair order to reflect Dick’s struggles to keep being himself. It’s the story where we’re shown how he meets the scientist from whom he will steal the potion with which he becomes the character we know today, and him getting so lost that he doesn’t know himself, and such decides to not become anymore and be invisible instead. The way it draws parallels with H. G. Wells’ “The time machine” are also marvelous. Furthermore, is it in general an excellent read that, even if it goes on detours to explore other characters that have been involved in Dick’s wartime-life, is still very much worth reading for its profound looks at these characters. A very deep and profound book.

10. Batman The Animated series: See no evil. This episode contains many sneaky references to show that the titular evil that shall not be seen, isn’t the only ‘invisible man’ in the story. Hints like the code 32194718902 which is shown on the floor barely readable in an alley scene. This being an obvious reference to the page count, creation year, and code of our number one greatest Dick story of all time, Old Castle’s Secret (The). Or, one of the places the characters vist being Edinburgh, which is a reference to Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh, who shares a name with the French version of Sir Swamphole McDuck, whose armor first appeard in Old Castle’s Secret. (The). Pretty Leip, if you ask me. The scheme Dick concours up is amazingly deep and profound, and shows another look at him. The reveal that this takes place during his time in the war makes it even better, and explains how he even managed to turn up in Batman The Animated Series.

And now for some honorable mentions:

Uncle Scrooge And The Infinity Dime. The story of the ¢entury.

I hope you enjoyed my top 10 list. If you want more, you can give me money. This won’t do anything, but would make me richer, like Diamond Dick, *wink*.

[pitchforksraised]

hey guys. kinda an elaboration post on this AU concept I made but.

not 100% sure what this is exactly, but I wanted to make it, sooo. hehe!!! :3

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Hacker: The hacker is very swift and can easily confuse people, being able to glitch (teleport) around. They are also very smart and quick strategizers.

Wicked: The wicked is very destructive and deceiving. They are willing to damage, alter and destroy things just to get their way. They are also very independent compared to other roles.

Keeper: The keeper is, usually, very caring person, wanting to restore what’s been broken despite not being able to create. They prefer everything to be at least relatively orderly, making it their objective to keep everything organized.

Joker: The joker is, well, the joker. Their whole role’s definition is to joke around and just be an asshat, though some find a way to make their deceiving qualities useful.

Drifter: The drifter is usually a very causal and easy-going person. They’re chill going solo, yet can pair with a team pretty well. They’d be a good addition to a party or group.

Patron: The patron is a creator, being very determined to restore things, sort of like the keeper. The patron is different, though, as they can actually create things, often working with the keeper to keep (no pun intended) things orderly.

Archon: The archon is probably the most confusing role. The archon is hard to understand and unpredictable, being able to create two-way portals that others may access and use. The creation of these portals and where they end up, however, is quite hard to master.

Spectre: The spectre is a rare type of role to see, as it takes a lot of time (similar to the Archon) to master. Though not too confusing, the ways someone may use these powers can be difficult to navigate at times.

Thief: The thief is a mischievous role similar to the joker; their whole role was made to steal and, overall, be a relative menace. Just like the joker, though, they can find a way to turn their deceiving qualities useful.

Heretic: The heretic is an independent-yet-good-for-teaming-up role (similar to the drifter). They often curse things into their own favor in some way, yet complaining when they get cursed.

Chameleon: The chameleon is a combination of all of the roles shown above; just in fragments. Not much is really known about this role due to the lack of documentation and people who are familiar with the role itself.

Muggle: The muggle is…a normal person. Muggles just have a faster than average running speed and higher jump height. There also isn’t much about this role due to its lack of documentation. There also isn’t really much to say about them in general.

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aaand that’s it!! :3

I’m pretty proud of this tbh.

please give me some feedback on this, I’ve never actually created an AU before and I’m not 100% sure what I’m doing. feedback helps me improve! /nf of course.