#voltage musings

[winterune]

Yea... Ended up getting Toru's MS1, Shu's S2, and Rin's entire S1...

I just miss Toru's story. It's that kind of disturbing but very well-written story. Like, you hate the guy and everything he did to MC, but you cannot deny how well-written he is.

[playingwithstarsabove]

It's a bit of a shame that they didn't use the Miku trainers for any of the music videos so far. They would have been very cool and match up with the pokemon types if they got their own songs. Maybe the outfits can be featured in a future Miku game or maybe they can have their own Nendoroid models. At least we keep them alive in fanart.

[lys-lilac]

Aw.

These genius men and their absolute stupid shenanigans :')

[keo6323]

hear me out guys.

[pikatrainer99]

Mitchie M's Project Voltage song

So, who here has heard Mitchie M's Project Voltage song, "What Kind Of Future" sung by Hatsune Miku...? Personally it's my favorite Project Voltage song so far because of how upbeat, catchy, and full of Poké-puns it is! In fact, I love it so much that I wrote my own English lyrics for it...I tried to incorporate the Poké-puns and references already featured in the original the best I could, and I also wrote some of my own as well. I worked really hard on my lyrics, and I was thinking about sharing them here, but I know that there are people who don't like puns so I decided to ask you guys first. I'll leave the original song here for you guys if you haven't heard it yet (there's English subtitles, don't worry), so you can see what it's all about.

If you like the song, and if you're interested in seeing my own English lyrics I wrote, please let me know in the comments below and if I get enough positive feedback, I will post my lyrics for you guys!

[frankie-stcin]

T A G D U M P . . .

[miscxllany]

im tellin u now i have plans that i cannot share w/ u rn bc the haters will sabotage me /quo

[stardusted-hearts]

familylightfox asked:

"alt!"

Meet Another Muse - Accepting

Snowy (Sonic): “Untitled” AU | Currently RP’d on discord

      It would be so easy to miss the white hedgehog against the snow, the only chance of spotting him being when he moved. Or when he turned enough for the pink on his nose, ears, and muzzle to be visible. Not to mention the bright pinkish-red eyes that had yet to notice the presence of others.

      Snowy was far too busy enjoying the weather, and his freshly grown winter coat that allowed him to continue enjoying nature even in these cold temperatures. He couldn’t stay out for too long, but a few hours at least. Of course, he could stay out even longer if he wore anything, but the tall hedgehog didn’t want to. Not right now.

      The hedgehog lifted a hand toward the snow covered tree tops and whistled. Not a moment later an albino owl gracefully swooped down from the branches and landed on his hand. The bird seemed to notice they weren’t alone first, and tilted its head all the way to the side as it chittered.

      Long ears rotated in the other’s direction before Snowy’s head followed, looking a bit like a rabbit startled into freezing. What were the odds of someone stumbling upon him out here? Those ears twitched and rotated repeatedly for a few seconds as Snowy observed his visitors, subtly sniffing at the air a bit.

“Hello?” he questioned in a friendly tone, offering a somewhat sheepish smile. He didn’t have the best eyesight, and was doing his best not to let that be too obvious, but colors and shapes easily stuck out against the snow.

“You’re not lost out here, are you?”

[creepling]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ dating digger harkness headcanons

this is a very specific reader because i love the idea of this grimy hobo having a cute, smart girly partner that is the candy floss to his raccoon energy OKAYYY. also tcm shenanigans will be back shortly, i just had to give some love to a dc rogue like the old times<33

tags: feminine reader (wears dress, skirt, heels, mild makeup and has breasts and v) but gn pronouns. sugar daddy digger if you squint. reader is a jailbird. cuddling. pet name: birdie. smut under the cut - minors dni. polaroid nudes. (m) masturbation. thoughts of: oral (m receiving) and cowgirl.

If you were to ask Digger the first thing he noticed about you, his caveman mind would be objectifying. But your ass did look very flattering in your skirt and the smile you shot his way was the cherry on top. He likes them sweet and innocent, you like them rugged and dangerous. It was a match made in hell heaven.

After a few dates spent in dingy pubs and lover’s lanes, he was enamoured by you. He’s never had someone look at him the way you do. Eyes full of light, glistening at the sight of him. You always welcomed him with open arms, practically throwing yourself at him. He liked how easy you were to pick up, and the way you wrapped your limbs around him. How your soft skin blushes red against his scruffy neck. No matter the setting, you sat so close to him that you were more or less on his lap. He wraps his arms around you, or has a hand on your thigh, letting nearby acquaintances know you belong together. Digger thinks to himself, “I got so fucking lucky.”

His love languages are primarily gift-giving and physical touch. More times than you can count, Digger has fallen asleep on top of you. Either on the couch, while watching a movie or he found a way to snake between your legs while sleeping, he has a habit of using you like a pillow. You developed a kinship in moments like this where you play with his hair, massaging your fingers into the nape of his neck or twirling the strands that curtain his temples. You muse at his sleep-full hums, watching this rogue unwind under your touch, satisfied like a dog receiving pets. The gift-giving is when his rogue side is on high voltage. He wants to give you the world, shower you with jewels, let you wear the best of gear. “You want diamonds? Yeah, I’ll get you diamonds,” He’ll muse, mixing his pleasures with yours. When he robs a bank, the majority of his stolen dollars has been spent on you since you met him. Did your car get towed? He bought you a new one, along with the insurance. Need a new dress for the weekend? He’s got you sorted, along with heels and a bag to match. “Can’t have my bird in peasant clothes!” He protests, “Not with that cracken’ bod.” Queue the wink.

He loves showing you off, chuffed that he proved his doubters wrong that he could settle down and have a gorgeous significant other. “What they see in you, I don’t know . . .” They say, whether that be Deadshot, King Shark, heck even Amanda is amazed by it. He keeps candid polaroids of you in his pocket on the job, looking at them when he misses you. He squeezes the unicorn plushie you gifted him when he is stressed, anything to feel your presence when you’re half the world away. A shit-eating grin on his face when people tease him about his love for you, using it to embarrass him. “Awh, it’s puppy love,” Harley cooes, and Digger nods, all chuffed with himself.

Digger gave you the nickname “Birdie” because well . . . You’re a jailbird. He is in prison for heinous crimes, after all! Oh, is he touched-starved when you’re standing there, pretty face to the phone, separated by glass and talking in your voice that melts him like butter. His eyes are eating you up, desperate to have his hands on you. He’ll do all the suicide missions going to shred off the jail time, to get closer to the day his lips are kissing yours. Blackmailing Amanda to get you the best of the best, pay off college debt, holidays abroad, and spoil you when he cannot. “Oh, Birdie, when I get out of here I’m not letting you out of my sight, you’re stuck with me.” He groans, drunk on love. All you do is smile, sliding a pack of Polaroids under the screen when the guards aren’t looking. “Have these to tide you over in the meantime,” you tease. Digger rushes back to his cell, flipping through the photos. First were of you in dresses that were his favourites, the type of ones that are flowy and floral, framing you so delicately. They get more desirable as he flips them over, and his eyes lull in lust.

Digger loves the dirty photos you send him, it drives him fucking insane. It’s good to keep you fresh in his mind, but it borders on teasing just having you to look at. He didn’t have the brightest imagination, but this was good practice. Imagine how soft your thighs are under his callous hands, what your lips taste like with the lipgloss you have on. Your delicate hands trace his bulge, your touch replacing his heavy-handed grasp. Bucking into your hands as he sucks your breasts, teasing your nipples, muttering how perfect you are. His sweet little birdie, all belonging to him. Your eagerness proves your devotion. You take his infamous size so well, your spit coating his cock as your tongue swirls around his pulsing tip. As he wanks himself off, muffling his groans, he has the faintest memory of your cunt. How wet you always were for him, how eager you bounced on his cock. His eyes closed as he pumped his cock faster, edging to the echoes of past moans you chanted in his ear.

[winterune]

Downloaded love 365 again. Been a couple years since I changed my phone. Tried downloading it before but I couldn't transfer my data??? Still can't :/ but I kinda miss some of my boys after talking about it w a friend. So I guess, hey, welcome back to voltage hell? XD

[sehtoast]

The Mentor and The Mirror (Homelander x Reader)

700 words, similar powers!reader, gender neutral reader.

Ask prompt: What if Homelander was "given" someone, by the higher ups of Vaught, to mentor? They have powers like his, but are a bit weaker and different. What Homelander doesn't know is that they are from the lab like him.

If he found out this person grew up like him, do you think he'd be meaner or sympathetic to them?

“Someone could kill you with a sneeze.  They really think you’re worth training?”  He asks bitterly.  You two have been out in this field for hours now, and he’s fucking over it.

Well, for the most part.

There’s something endearing and fun about teaching your pet new tricks.  See, they’d told him flat out that you were his to mentor, but all he heard was you’re his. The sentence stopped there.

You’re a peculiar thing, equipped with all of his same abilities, except that you lack invulnerability.  You’re a liability for crime fighting, but those fucks on the board of directors already made their choice.  Besides, either he trains you or Stan will be an ever present thorn in his side.  Last thing he wanted was to deal with that asshole.

“Why the fuck can’t you fly yet?  Just do it,” he gestures with his hand, “like a… I don’t know, a normal person?”

“Sorry-”  You blurt out, accidentally flipping upside down.  “I uh, they didn’t let me practice much in the rooms growing up.  Ten foot ceilings, you know?”

He blinks rapidly at that, cocking his head slightly.  What rooms? 

Homelander stores that little bit of information away for later, chuckling instead as you plummet to the ground and land on your ass.

You groan pitifully.  This has been absolutely awful.

“I don’t think I can do it…” You murmur dejectedly, sitting upright.  “It’s hard.”

Now that bothers him.  No student of his is going to fail and make him look bad, and you’re certainly not going to make him have another fucking meeting with Stan.  He rolls his eyes in exasperation before leaning down to lift you.

“Wh–”

You’re weightless in his arms as he spins, winding up to–

“N- NO, NO, NO!”  You shout as he hurls you into the sky.  You flap your arms and legs, begging your powers to work as you ascend past the clouds, further and further until the air gets thin and the world below is square patches of various greens.

“Always gotta do these things the hard way,” Homelander muses, clicking his tongue below.

You continue falling, tears spilling as you plummet faster than you can gather yourself.  You see your life flash before your eyes until–

Oh.

You flex your shoulders back and suck in a breath, and suddenly…

“About fucking time!”

He’ll never admit it, but the excitement on your face and the hug you give him makes him so fucking proud of you.  

Later that night, he delves into your files.  Madelyn’s access codes still work, and he finds your full file with ease.  Your record is squeaky clean.  No past employment, no education, no family records…

There’s nothing. 

And that’s how he knows.

He knows exactly what you meant earlier, and he knows exactly where you came from.

He knows because that’s how his file looks, too.

He knows because he came from there, too.

The next day, when you excel with laser practice, he’s proud, but he’s also resentful.  You’re not just his student now; you’re him.  You’re a physical reminder of everything he’s gone through.  

He hates you for it.

But he hurts for you, too.

It breaks his heart when you pass the medical ward and shuffle closer to him.

He used to do that, but there was never anyone walking with him.

The next time you two are out in that field, he’s much more patient despite how much it grates his nerves to watch you flounder in the air again.

He looks at you and suddenly he’s back there.  Remembers when the doctors would correct his mistakes with enough electrical voltage to actually hurt him.

It always made the lights flicker.  Made the room smell terrible– all hot and rotten.

He hears Vogelbaum’s voice.  

Not good enough, John.  Do it again.

He’s angry that you clearly weren’t subjected to the same. How the fuck was that fair?

And yet…

He’s so fucking happy knowing you weren’t.

If nothing else… they clearly didn’t hurt you as much as they hurt him.

This time, when you fall, he catches you.

Just like he wished someone would have done for him.

[jasmines-library]

batfam with the youngest robin (prob 12-13) who gets kidnapped by the joker during a mission and a year or so later the joker reveals the kid who is now brainwashed to be the joker jr

i was thinking like maybe how they’d react and maybe that they can rescue y/n and un-brainwash them and like comfort them and stuff

if not that’s fine i don’t mind!!! i can also like explain better if needed lol

The Stranger In The Mirror.

Note: You guys literally send in the best requests, I took inspo from Batman Beyond where this happens to Tim but I also added my own little twists as always.

Warnings: Torture (graphic), brainwashing, manipulation, drugging, breakdown basically hurt not comfort (poor reader is going through it all in this one.)

Word count: 2.5k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

“Help! Somebody please!”

You heard the cry before you saw what was happening. A female voice begging desperately for help, pleading for mercy as the two men backed her against the wall of the alley. They stalked towards her menacingly and you could see the way her face contorted with a fear that gripped her so tight as she moved feebly in an attempt to get past the two men. But they were large and between them took up most of the alley so that it was nearly impossible for her to slip past, and even if she did they would be on her in a second. 

Using your grappling hook to secure a line on a nearby railing, you propelled yourself down from the rooftop. Before your feet hit the floor, you took the crooks out with a well placed blow that sent them crumpling to the ground like a sack of flour. Resheathing your hook, you turned to the woman. 

“Are you alright, Miss?”

She smiled, looking at you from under the brim of her hat with an all too familiar smile “Much better now you’re here.”

A brief flash of recognition crossed over your face, obscured by your mask as you realised who those brown eyes belonged to but you had no time to act on it before she hit you on the back of the head. Hard. With a manic laugh. 

“Night night, Birdy.”

~

When you awoke, you were laying on something cold. A piece of metal that you had been bound to by ropes that burned against your wrists and feet as you struggled to free yourself. The table was tilted at an angle that allowed you to squint against your throbbing head to take in your surroundings. The room you were in was well lit and seemed surprisingly sterile given the situation. Strange concoctions of colours that made you grimace hung on the walls and bubbled away in tubes on one of the many workbenches across the room. The tools made your stomach churn. But then you saw him. 

Perched all high and mighty in a chair opposite you the Joker had sprawled himself out across a chair, flashing you one of his sickening, signature grins. 

“Hiya, Birdy!” He stood with glee, making his way over to you with a spring in his step-almost like he was skipping. 

“Why the hell am I here, Joker?” You spat at him, baring your teeth. 

“Can’t a guy just hang out with his favourite vigilante?” He mused, turning away from you as he began organising things on the desk that you couldn’t see, you tugged in the restraints to try and catch a glimpse of them.

“Cut the crap.”

“You all really are no fun.” He rolled his eyes “Not to worry that’ll all change soon when I morph you into the perfect weapon. Me.”

“What?” 

“Well, what’s better than one of me? Two of me. And you little bird, know all the ways to destroy your pesky family.”

“I’m not going to tell you shit.”

He shrugged, turning back to you with a pair of jump leads in hand. “We’ll see.”

Walking towards you with a grin he attached them to the table before reaching towards the dial. You thrashed desperate to break free but the ropes securing you in place allowed no leeway for you to move. When his fingers brushed the dial and the voltage came flooding through the wires, you let out a blood curdling scream. The pain was everywhere as your body arched, twitched and writhed against the rope. It burned at your skin, drawing blood and forming blisters against your wrists and your ankles. When the current finally stopped and you fell slack against the restraints your diaphragm jerked and spluttered against each pain filled gasp. 

“Are you ready to talk now?”

~

They realised very quickly that you were missing. You hadn’t returned home after your patrol. They tried not to let the worry get the best of them, but this was Gotham. They waited, watching the seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, but there was no sign of you. You were gone. 

Everyone was on high alert. For three, agonising weeks they searched every inch of Gotham, using every possible connection they had but no one found any leads. Tim was growing frustrated, hacking into every database he could find as Bruce and the other boys scoured the city. But you were gone without a trace. That was until one tedious Wednesday morning, the batcave received an urgent call. 

~

Your head was fuzzy. Whatever the Joker had dozed you with this time was really taking a toll on you. 

Your head hung low resting against your chest as you breathed slowly, trying to push away the fuzziness in your brain. Your entire body had grown numb; now too used to the pain it had been put through, too weak to hold yourself up as you lay slack against the table and although all dosed up now you may not be able to feel anything, you would never be able to forget the endless torment he had put you through; that would forever be etched into your mind. 

The screams still seemed to ricochet off of the walls, burying themselves into each crack just to resurface once it went quiet. The feeling of your skin being torn apart still lingered, the pinch followed by the burn as the Joker slashed you with his weapons, screaming at you to tell him all that you knew about Batman. Of course, you refused at first. Oh how you were so brave trying to hold your tongue. But you couldn’t help the screams that ripped from your mouth and left your throat raw and soon when they layers of your mind had been peeled away by the cruel hallucinations he put you through with his serums and his words, you soon began to crack; your fragile body unable to take anymore of this torture. 

Your wrists had been burnt red raw; the trails of blood tracked down your arms and mixed with dirt and blood, showing where it had beaded down your forearms as you struggled. Burned with tears your anguish was clear amongst your struggle and you were pretty sure that you had at least three broken ribs and four missing fingernails. Maybe more. 

But you were growing to like the pain somewhat. Because it meant that you were still alive. It meant that your family was on your way…or… had they stopped looking for you. 

The Joker's cruel words rang through your hazy mind. He had told you about the video he had sent to them. How there was no response. They didn’t care. None of them did or you would have been home right now. He had injected you with something as he said it, but you swatted off the prick of the needle as though it were a pesky mosquito bite. 

“Soon,” He told you as the drug settled into the numbness of your body. “You will realise that I am helping you. That I am the only one that cares for you. Not Batman. Not any of those pesky Birds. Me.” he hovered in the doorway just before he left. “I’ll be back, Junior.” Junior.  He had stopped calling you by your name recently. 

And as much as you didn’t want to agree with the man who had put you and your family through so much…you were beginning to believe it. The Joker had dragged you away from a life cycle of patrol and ending crimes. He was giving you a place to stay when your family had so clearly given up on you. The Joker had confided so much in you in your time together that you felt like you almost knew him personally. And it had made you think that… he was misunderstood. Lonely. Much more similar to you than- 

No.

No. No. No. You shook the thoughts from your head. ‘They’re coming.’ you told yourself. ‘But…’

Your mind was fighting itself now, conflicted between what you knew and what you were being told. Fighting between your family and the man who stood constantly before you.  It fought until one side finally inched free and you realised something. 

The Joker. 

The Joker was right. He was helping you. 

When he returned to you that night, you greeted him with a dumb smile. He was  glad to see that his plan had worked. That he had broken you down enough to mould you into exactly what he wants. 

He grinned manically. He could now move onto phase two: training you to kill The Bat. This stage would be considerably easier. You already knew Batman’s weaknesses; you had admitted that during one of the electroshock sessions. He just had to convince you that Batman was the real enemy. The only thing left to do besides that was lure him over to you. Which should’ve been easy enough.

~

Tim shot up from his seat the moment your face flashed up on the screen. Somehow, someone had overridden the computer’s controls and he was now staring at your bloodied and beaten face lolling against a metal table. 

“Bruce!” Tim cried, scrambling to grab the attention of his father. 

Bruce had never moved faster across the cave than he did to reach Tim, his stomach dropping when he saw the screen, with him came the rest of his sons who too were alerted by the shout. 

Tim didn’t have to say anything else as they all gathered around to look queasily at the screen. You weren’t moving as the live stream played and this only worried your family more, but then an all too familiar green hair came into frame walking towards you menacingly. 

Bruce felt sick when he saw you flinch and try to squirm away from the Joker’s touch. 

“Smile for the camera.” He said, gripping your hair so that they could see your face. You blinked slowly permanent tears scarring your face amongst the blood and dirt. 

“I hope you’re watching Batsy. You’re about to see the end of your little bird.”

Dick, who bit his lip anxiously as he observed instinctively gripped Damians shoulders and tried to push him away as the Joker reached for the dial again. They saw your body react despite its weakened state; legs kicking and trying as you tried to scramble away. But Damian refused to leave, especially when his little sibling was in this state. It was horrific, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the screen so he watched shell shocked. That was until your first scream cut through all of them and he turned away. Dick pulled him close as he screwed his eyes shut and Jason clenched his fists. 

“Tim.” Bruce ordered “Turn it off. Find a signal.”

“I’m trying.” He said “But…there is no signal and something is overriding the controls.”

Bruce ran his hands through his hair until after an agonising few minutes, your screams stopped. 

The Joker moved swiftly for a syringe which you didn’t even react to as he injected it into your system. Not good. 

“They’re not coming for you, birdy. They don’t care.” The Joker taunted before turning back towards the camera. With one manic laugh he gave a final bow and the signal fizzled out. 

The five of them stood there in complete silence. All silent. Most angry. Most heartbroken. 

“Suit up. We don’t stop until we find them.”

~

By the time the vigilantes arrived, you were ready. Poised on the top floor of Arkham’s abandoned asylum cafeteria. 

You had seen Batman arrive, sauntering furiously into the open room to where Joker had positioned himself. You had seen the other four sneak in too, wrapping themselves around the room and slinking throughout the asylum in search of you. 

Once Joker had riled up the Bat enough to send him on a chase to him around a loop of the asylum, you jumped down from the bannister with a conniving grin. 

“I know you’re all in here.” You laughed. And soon, one after the other your brothers appeared from the shadows gawping at the stark contrast of your appearance. You were skinnier and clearly injured from head to toe, but what struck them the most was the purple and green that the Joker had donned you in. 

“R…” Red hood warned as he stepped toward you. “We don’t wanna hurt you. We just want to take you home.”’

You raised your weapon. “Liar!”

“No kid. We wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.” Red Robin said.

“You left me. You didn’t come back for me and you left me here to rot!” You gritted your teeth.

“That’s not true. That’s the joker talking.” Damian.

“He is helping me! He is helping me reach my full potential- I am already so much more than I was before.”

You raised the pistol. It was loaded and you knew that it would do damage. That was the intention. And that's what you were going to do. You were going to take them out one by one until they get what they deserve-

“R…” Dick said as you raised the gun your finger inching towards the trigger. “You know us Little Wing. We’re your big brothers.”

You moved swiftly, dodging them as they moved closer in sync. One of them reached out to try and grab you, but you gripped his arm and threw him over your shoulder. The five of you tussled until everything paused when Batman burst back into the room. 

Your gun was pointed at him in an instant, locking in on him as you readied your stance and poised your finger on the trigger. no one said anything. No one even dared to breathe. Bruce just looked at you from behind his cowl as you grinned at him, sickeningly mirroring the villain who appeared behind him sending him keeling to the ground. You laughed. 

“Do it.” Joker urged. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Your hand trembled as you looked down at him pleading at you. He looked so…vulnerable. And your mind screamed at you. Wrongwrongwrong. You were torn again. This was Bruce…your father. Your family. Your enemy- 

“Do it, Junior.” He pressed. Your lip trembled. 

Do it. No. Do it-  You wanted to scream. 

“R.” Batman uttered one single letter.

You pulled the trigger. No one moved. A cry of pain rang out across the room. The Joker dropped to the floor.

You let out a sob and dropped to your knees realisation catching up on you. A pair of arms wrapped around you and pulled you to their chest as you completely broke down. 

“It’s okay Y/N. It’s okay. We’ve got you now.”

Everything hurt. Everything was so disgustingly wrong. You had tried to kill Bruce- you had given away your secrets… you let out an unholy sob.

“Shh.” Jason cooed. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean it.”

“Everyone is okay, Little wing.” Damian promised, taking your bloodied hand gently and tracing circles across the back of it. “We can fix this…”

Batfam Taglist:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

[lewdangelsou]

cats don't speak

sypnosis || scaramouche ordered some gifts for his lover to try out.

warnings: lower case intentional, mean scaramouche, afab gn! reader (using she/her), filming, fingers down your throat, saliva/spit/drool, choking, dacryphilia, mention of butt plug, heavy degrading, sprinkle of praise. getting called kitty. humiliation.

minors dni

·˚ ༘ not proofread hehe

the pads of his fingers caress the texture of the leather that wrap around her neck, the bell dangling with soft dings. scaramouche smirks, gazing down at herㅡ on her knees on the floor, looking up at him through those pretty long lashes with a hint of shame within her eyes.

"see? it's perfect." his smile was condescending, a type of malice that made her heart pound against her ribcage. scaramouche traces the artificial ears that clipped to her soft hair, he's starting to treat her just like a small pet; delicate and needy.

his lover puckers her lips into a slight pout, the plug nestled deep into that tight cavern of her rear, an uncomfortable yet sensational feeling, the fluffy tail resting in between her thighs. "it feels weird..." she confesses, resting her cheek upon the rough denim of his lap.

the entire ordeal of getting dragged to his bedroom with a nicely wrapped package on his sheets piqued her curiosity greatly, only to reveal that they're merely toys for his entertainment. for his model, his muse, his loverㅡ she's the perfect candidate for his sore eyes. scaramouche doesn't listen to her complaints in the beginning, her sentences falling to deaf ears as each article of clothing strips off of her body just for this act of power.

he tips her head back, "i don't understand you, kitty" a derisive grin spread across his handsome face, causing her very core to tighten from the voltage of adrenaline.

"come on, meow for the camera."

a thick clump of saliva dries her throat as she swallows, a whole weight of shame lay heavy within her head as her pupils gloss towards the camera. she hesitates, ".. me.. mew..?"

despite her best attempt, scaramouche isn't pleased. he pulls at her bottom lip to part them, eyeing the pink interior of her mouth as strings of saliva thread loosely. "i know you look so pathetic but at least try."

".. scaramouche, come onㅡ"

her eyes gape immediately at the flavorless taste of his fingers pushing past her teeth, pressing down on her tongue to silence her protests. as if on an instant, she clicked right back to her place, kneeling before the man who has spoiled her with his morbid affection.

"if you can't meow, why not lick, hm?"

he drags his fingers across the surface of her pink tongue, gently moving in and out of her mouth, suggesting that she puts in the effort for him. through her muddled vision she submits, suckling on his fingers until a rhythm builds that satisfies them both. with each bob of her her head, the bell attached to her collar jingles, only adding to the throb that aches scaramouche's cock.

his indigo eyes watching every detail of the way her pretty lips wrap around his middle and ring finger, glazing them with spit each time she parts from it for a single second before drawing in once more. he groans, voice mixing with the followed slurping noise of her continuous sucking.

"hah.. finally, something you're good for."

her heart quelled, urging herself to go faster, deeper. thus, scaramouche muses at the way she gags at the tips of his digits hitting the back of her throat, feeling his dull nails hit the flesh. tears form to sear her vision and pearl down her flushed cheeks, the thickened tension between them making it difficult to breathe. and through all of this, she doesn't take her eyes away from the lenses of scaramouche's phone as he fails to keep it steady.

she even puts on a show, opening her mouth enough to swirl her tongue around his fingers like an obedient pet, before shoving them deep down her throat once more. drool dribbles down her chin and dripping down to the surface of her cleavage, adding to the pornographic-like feel that is presented to him.

"fuck that's it."

[smilingmxsk]

((Thinking abt lightning/electricity being a weakness to Shade and Marg. Well, electricity already isn't good for Marg as a human, but im the sense of Shade being there, it'd be a great way of severing the connection between Marg and Shade for a short time.

So in the case of a possession, if a muse either gets her to touch a high voltage gate, electric box, uses lightning magic, or straight up takes some live wires to her, it'll probably kill her for a short time or just be enough to cut Shade off and render Marg incapacitated .v.))

[masterjedilenawrites]

A Silly Thing Like Sleep

Tech & The Bad Batch | 1.7k words

Content: one curse word, hyperfixating, "brotherly love"

Inspiration (from @rosemarynightmares): And someone should tell Fixer Tech to go tf to sleep, I'm sensing that he doesn't do that *nearly* enough.

No one could burn the midnight oil like Tech.

There was simply too much to do. Too many ideas, too many questions that needed answers. It's what he was made for, trained for, and the movements of his hands as they tinkered and fiddled and created, in sync with his mind as it mulled and mused and imagined, is what made him feel like... well, himself. He was grounded this way. Soothed, even. How could he ever stop for a silly thing like sleep?

A little after 2000 hours brought the first of his brothers into their room.

"Tech," Hunter nodded as he passed by. The Sergeant's hair was damp from the shower; he must have just finished training. "Don't stay up too late. Big day tomorrow."

"Yes, of course."

Tech only responded out of respect, his eyes fixed on the project in front of him. To the untrained eye, it looked like he was fussing over a mere black box. But he knew it to be an old surface isotope oscillator, a rare find whose parts held potential for so many of his other projects, or potentially brand new projects he had yet to discover.

Hunter settled into his bunk, pulling a sleeping mask over his eyes and jamming in some earbuds. Tech only barely registered the lights around Hunter's bunk going out. The Sergeant would be unaffected by his tinkering so long as his custom mask and earbuds worked, which Tech knew they would because he had made them. Depriving Hunter of two of his sharpest senses would be enough to keep him asleep.

2100 hours brought the next brother, Echo, just as Tech had managed to carefully remove one of the oscillator's outer panels. The clone eyed him as he passed back and forth a few times in front of the workbench in order to get ready for bed. Echo, unfortunately, didn't have much space to call his own and had to make-do with keeping his things in various places throughout the dorm, much to the chagrin of his disciplined and orderly habits.

Tech hardly noticed, keeping his focus on the delicate nature of his work. There were some wires, some chipboards, and several high-voltage rods he had to work through to get to the good stuff. Though an experiment on the device's stress-points would be beneficial, he didn't want Hunter to put him on laundry duty for causing an explosion in the barracks. Not again.

"You uh, going to be long?" Echo finally spoke up, having finished his bedtime routine and ready to slide into his hammock.

Tech didn't respond; he was in the middle of clamping some tweezers on a little microchip.

Echo shifted to his other foot. "Well, I'm going to turn this light out now, if that's alright with you."

Still no response. So Echo shrugged and flicked the switch that controlled the overhead lights to the room. There were still the glowing lights in the bunks and the safety lights around the door to the hall. But otherwise there was a nice dim to the room that made it much easier to fall asleep in.

Tech didn't even react to the change in lighting, continuing to transport various parts via tweezers to a tray he had set aside. After setting one down, he clicked on the flashlight feature on his goggles and continued, not skipping a beat, as if that was a step he was going to perform anyway.

Echo shook his head before climbing into the hammock and settling himself in for the night.

At 2330, Wrecker dragged his heavy feet through the door. He clunked down one of his weapons kits by his bunk and the thud did catch Tech's attention, at least for a moment. He looked up at his hunking brother as if startled to see another being around.

"You're not going to be making noise all night, are you?" Wrecker asked through a yawn.

"I'll be quiet," Tech gave a dismissive wave. As if Wrecker cared about noise when he could sleep peacefully through a siren alarm.

Besides, Tech couldn't control what noises these experiments would or wouldn't make. He had now set up a complex array of other devices and systems in order to plug in the oscillator's pieces and see what they'd do. He switched from twisting things apart and together to typing notes furiously on his datapad. Sometimes they made noise, sometimes they didn't, but that detail only mattered when the noise indicated potential backfiring. Otherwise he didn't bother noting it.

Meanwhile, the thudding of Wrecker's movements also jostled awake the room's other occupants, most notably Hunter. The Sergeant often tossed and turned, thought Tech had never understood why. His mask and earbuds worked perfectly, got his brother in the perfect sensory stasis to manage a full night's sleep, but there were still periods of wakefulness he couldn't account for. Hunter usually said something about an overactive imagination, though Tech didn't like that answer since there wasn't much he could do with that sort of information.

While Hunter readjusted and tried to fall back asleep, Wrecker was already conked out in his own bunk. The lights on his side stayed on for a bit, until Hunter finally pulled him up to turn them off. He paused on his way back to his bed, addressing Tech.

"Start wrapping up and get to sleep," he instructed.

"I will, I will."

That seemed to be enough to calm the Sergeant down and he eventually drifted off again.

Tech was now making trips between the workbench and his own bunk, though sleep was hardly part of the reason. His bunk was less of a bed and more of... an area, to house additional parts and manuals, keep certain hand-drawn configurations he hadn't had the time to transcribe onto a datapad yet, and of course, his great mess of wires that he'd pulled from the ceiling.

It was these wires he was clipping from, returning to the workbench, finagling some kind of rig between various bits and bobs, and then analyzing the output of data that resulted on his screen. He was starting to generate more noise as a result, but he knew Wrecker would start snoring soon and his tinkering would get drowned out anyway.

Just before 0100 hours, the last of his brothers, Crosshair, finally slunk into the room. Though the sniper wasn't purposefully trying to be sneaky - he really was just minding his own business - he still was so quiet and quick that Tech didn't even notice for a while that a third bunk now had an occupant. Cross stayed awake a short while longer, quietly thumbing through a book of some kind, before fixing Tech with a stare. He didn't look away until Tech had noticed, and then he promptly rolled over and went to sleep. Tech knew what the stare meant, but he didn't have time to explain why he couldn't go to bed right now.

No right now, he was knee-deep in his work. Literally. Somehow the projects had spread to encompassing larger materials and machinery, such that they had to be stacked on the floor around him for ease of access. He'd have to crawl over the table if he wanted to visit any other part of the room at this point. But he was done with his business in his bunk with the wires, and was now locked into the tedious tasks laid out before him.

0100 turned into 0200, which then turned into 0300. Tech was like a machine himself... going, going, going. Was he making any progress? Hard to say; he wasn't measuring things like that. Progress implied a goal, an amount to get through, and right now he was still exploring. One piece put into one machine produced one result, which got noted and thought about, before ultimately being tried in a different machine, while a combination of different parts were put into the first machine, and continuous notes were made, and new ideas were brainstormed, and sometimes whole minutes would go by before Tech's eyes felt so dry that he wondered if he'd even remembered to blink...

"Go the fuck to sleep, Tech!"

The exclamation startled him. In part because he'd been so enveloped in his own world he'd forgotten other people existed. But also in part because the one who'd yelled at him was the last he would've expected.

The flashlight from his goggles illuminated a very upset clone trooper in a hammock. Echo was looking over his shoulder at him, his murderous stare cutting through the space like a laser. Tech couldn't help but gulp at the sight.

"Uh, apologies, Echo," he said, suddenly self-conscious, and for good reason. He could feel the eyes of his other brothers trained on him from all directions now. "I... didn't mean to disturb you."

"Go. The fuck. To sleep," Echo repeated himself, his voice a little lower this time, but still full of punch.

Tech nodded. "I will, I just have to finish--"

"Tech..." Hunter's drawl came from the shadows.

Tech stood for a moment, looking between the dozens of projects he was still in the thick of, and back up at Echo who seemed ready to fight him if he dared tried to ignore his request.

Order. It was more of a order, Tech acknowledged. Accompanied by a warning from his Sergeant. He nodded again, this time more in acquiescence than before. He clicked the light off his goggles, plunging the room into true darkness for the first time all night. He gingerly set down some pliers he was holding and made a few clicks on his holopad to turn it off. Echo was still twisted around to face him, and he was sure the others were tracking his movements as best they could too. Though, Wrecker did end up letting out a snore while he picked his way through the piles of machines on the floor, so perhaps not everyone was watching him after all.

Tech shuffled back to his bunk and made a show of getting under the covers and settling in. He debated whether he should call out goodnight when he heard the shifting of the hammock and rustling of sheets from Hunter's side of the room. They were turning back in for the night. He was off the hook.

Tech still let a few minutes go by before he stuck his head under the covers and pulled out his backup datapad.

~ ~ ~

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[ro-botany]

An Attempt at a Semi-Realistic Analysis of Thoron Stab Wounds

Yes, I already made a post about this recently. But in my reply to Ana's musing about the subject of the thoron blade, I largely assumed fire-like behaviour from an electric spell, and it's been itching my brain all day. So let's go over it again:

What would be the effect of getting stabbed with a bolt of electricity? What would that look like if we offered like five more centimeters of realism to this setting?

If you don't read the full post, my conclusions are basically:

If we treat a thoron bolt like a live wire, then even if it's a relatively weak source of electricity, with that entry placement it's instantly arresting breath, causing severe convulsions, and probably killing him in record time.

I don't care that Chrom has the power of god and anime on his side. There is no way in hell he's speaking or controlling his own movements in this moment.

The best interpretation of the thoron blade stabbing is the interpretation that makes the story feel best to YOU. Ignore me and my math if it doesn't spark (hah) any joy or interest for you.

Content warning: Detailed discussion of electrical shock and burns, and descriptions of such.

Classification of Energy Blades

I generally consider the thoron blade to be a subtype of a broader class of fictional weapons I call energy blades. These are your lightsabers, your halo fireblades, things like that.

Most of these weapons tend to behave like sources of pure heat, and most can have their behaviour modelled like a Hot Knife. The weapon is treated as though it has a physical component -- a sharp blade at its center that handles most of the actual cutting or stabbing -- and the fire/plasma/heat is treated as a secondary effect of the weapon. Narratively this is often the more balanced choice, because it means the weapon puts out a reduced amount of heat energy, which means damage is (mostly) contained to the initial wound site and its immediate surroundings. This is how you get instant cauterization weapons.

The other option is the Literal Flame model, which assumes pure heat energy with no physical cutting component. This is rarely, if ever, used in fiction, because it is overpowered. It works a lot like the acetylene torch analogue I used in my reblog of Ana's post. In short, for a volume of heat energy to be capable of "cutting" flesh, it's effectively vaporizing/instantly melting that flesh. That means it's putting out a LOT of energy. For a heat-based weapon, that means massive amounts of burning around the wound site, penetrating way deeper into the surrounding tissue than you expect, and the sheer heat of the air around the weapon causing widespread surface burns.

But the problem with using heat-based models in this instance is that Thoron is not a pure heat-source. Thoron is electricity, and electricity behaves very differently from pure heat. So if our aim is semi-realism, we ought to model it like electricity.

The Behaviour of Electricity

Fictional electric magic -- thoron included -- rarely behaves like real electricity. So, for our purposes, rather than an actual arc of electrical energy, let's model a thoron blade as a source of electricity.

Validar, through Robin, has effectively jammed a live wire directly through Chrom's lung and kidney. What does that do? To talk about that, we need to talk about how electric shocks work.

For electrical current to flow, you need a circuit. For a body to complete a circuit, it needs to contact two points with different voltage levels. A bird sitting on a high voltage wire has two feet touching points of the same voltage, so, voltage difference 0, the bird is safe. Chrom, however, has a live wire stuck through his kidney and feet on the ground; he's forming a circuit between a high voltage wire and the low voltage ground. Big voltage difference, big problem.

Once you get past the outer layer of skin, two things happen when a person is shocked. One, human bodies use electricity to move and to send nerve signals, so any muscles getting shocked will tense up. And two, humans do conduct electricity but don't do it well, which means there's a lot of heat being generated, which means the tissue getting shocked is also getting burned.

The majority of an electrical current will follow the path of least resistance. In this case, that means the shock initially goes from the impalement site, down through the legs, and out the feet. But electricity follows ALL available paths in some amount, so its not one straight line through the body, it does wider damage than that.

So What's The Damage?

Time to do some math!

(I am not an electrician or a doctor; please bear with me)

To my understanding, injury from electricity is a function of current and duration.

According to my sources, the amount of shock current someone experiences can be estimated using Ohm's law. To do this we need to know the voltage we're dealing with... so we're going to have to fudge some numbers here, since we can't actually measure the voltage of fictional magic spells.

Given thoron is a third tier lightning spell I'm going to say it's powerful, but not anywhere near lightning-from-the-sky powerful. I'll ballpark it around the voltage of... well, an electric chair, of the persuasion that kills you. Best I can tell, that means 2000 volts. You could probably reasonably go higher, but this feels intuitive to me.

My sources also tell me that the average internal resistance of the human body, with no skin in the way, is 1000 ohms. Just an average, not accounting for the different resistances of different tissue types and fluids.

So! To get the strength of the shock current Chrom's getting:

I = V/R = 2000 volts / 1000 ohms = 2 amps.

2 amps of current. Chrom is experiencing approximately 2 amps of steady current over 22 seconds.

I know that 2 amps doesn't seem like a big number. I need you to understand, dear reader, that currents that injure and kill humans are measured in milliamps. I need you to understand the sheer magnitude of how bad this is.

0.03 amps of current causes muscle contractions strong enough that you can't let go of the thing shocking you.

0.15 amps is enough to stop your heart, if the current goes through your heart -- which means death. It's enough to stop your breathing if the current goes through your lungs/diaphragm. It's enough to cause your limbs to tense so hard you are physically thrown.

Much more current than that, or current for more than fractions of a second, and you start talking severe burns.

I need you to understand that we have just directed 2000 milliamps of current through most of Chrom's internal organs for 22 entire gods-damned seconds.

Did I pull that voltage completely out of my ass? Yes. But Chrom is getting shocked directly in the organs for 22 fucking seconds so there is literally no voltage we can pick that isn't completely fucking him over. The exact number is just a question of how singed we want him at the end.

I know he has dragon heritage and general anime dude resilience on his side. I know this. But I cannot stress enough the degree to which that is not helping him here. In fact, things like the mild super strength like he has PROBABLY WOULD MAKE IT WORSE because your muscles contract way harder than you normally can contract them when they're being shocked!

No, Really, What's The Damage?

Best as I can tell, based on my limited understanding of electricity and its effects, here's roughly what happens to Chrom upon getting stabbed by the thoron blade when we pretend like this setting is a smidge more realistic than it actually is.

If you do not want to read graphic descriptions of injury this is your final warning to bail out of this post.

The instant the blade impales him, all the muscles from the bolt to his toes constrict. He instantly stops breathing. His legs and abdomen convulse so hard it throws him away from Robin.

He lands on the ground, and now the current isn't just going through his legs; it's going through any part of him that touches the ground, and that, in the end, is what's lethal.

His entire body locks up. Muscles pull as tight as they can go. He's convulsing on the ground, like a seizure, only worse. The skin around the bolt bubbles and chars. It smells like meat burning.

There's a sound like wood snapping as the force of his own writhing muscles fractures his bones.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't even scream.

It's bloodless and quiet. Twenty two seconds is a long time.

If Chrom was lucky, he died quickly. Heat turning blood to jelly, a lick of current stopping the heart, pain so great his brain knocks out of its own accord to spare him.

If being a son of Naga "helped" at all, gave him any resilience past what is human, it only means he was conscious a few seconds longer. Just enough time to be aware of the loss of control and the razor-sharp fire of nerve pain that erases all thought. With luck, not enough time to consciously realise he's dying, or whose fault it is.

Twenty two seconds is a long time.

The exit wounds on his back, on his limbs, on his head, sear, then bubble, then char in places. The damage around the bolt bubbles and blackens out and out and out. Don't think about what that looks like on the inside. The smell of burning flesh is thick enough to choke on.

He's still convulsing and burning long, long past the point of death. It only stops when the bolt fades.

In Conclusion:

The only thing saving us all from trauma around this cutscene is the T for Teen rating.

Validar could you pick literally any other execution method because holy hell. Robin carries a sword. Why didn't you just use THE SWORD, VALIDAR.

If you choose to model the thoron blade as a Hot Knife, or as a Literal Pinpoint Flame, or as either of those with a secondary mild electric shock effect, those are all extremely good options for how to handle this event. They offer an experience closer to canon with a highly variable level of injury severity. Singe the man to your taste, allow last words or don't, pick your level of blood and bad smells, those do it all.

Live Wire, as described in too much detail in this post, may be a marginally more realistic model if you want to treat thoron as a straight up source of electricity. Live Wire is also probably the most horrifying option of the bunch, and the one that offers everybody involved the least closure, which has it's own narrative value.

In the end, this is naught but applying a little too much realism and math to anime video game, because I find that fun. If this doesn't work for you throw it out. Pick whatever interpretation makes the best narrative for YOU. If you are like me and are fascinated by the most horrifying option, welcome, we can feel terrible about this together now.

Electricity is terrifying, never touch an outlet, rest in charred little pieces Chrom, goodnight everybody.