#Fast learning modules

[takshila45]

Master the Art of Chip Design: Learn from Top Layout Training Experts in Bangalore

[meleeyz]

ekko enemies to lovers? literally metal flowers was SO! GOOD! where reader is a pilte and she goes down with cait and vi in s1?

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗣𝗥𝗘����𝗧𝗬 𝗣𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗘꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I'm sorry in advance if something reads strangely or is poorly written.

୨୧ Hello darling! Maybe this isn't exactly your idea (?), but I thought it would be fun to have a tension-filled conversation when the reader is supposed to be... you know, kidnapped. Tell me what you think! I'm also glad you liked the metal flowers one-shot 💞💞

୨୧ THANK YOU VERY VERY VERY MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT, THIS IS THE FIRST REQUEST I HAVE AND THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY, YOUR NICE COMMENTS ARE ALSO GREAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH AGAIN 💓

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It all happened too fast: Vi shouting warnings, the blue-haired lunatic and her sick laughter had been the least of your problems.

And now you were here, restrained in a damp, dimly lit room, the sack over your head smelling of grease and mildew. Caitlyn’s muffled voice called for you, distant and strained.

You tugged at the ropes binding your wrists to the chair, teeth gritted. The door creaked open, and hurried footsteps approached. The sack was pulled off. A Vastaya man loomed over you, his bat-like ears curling inwards as he studied you for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he left, closing the door behind him with a resonating clang.

Blinking against the sudden light, you glanced around, your gaze landing on someone seated across the room. He wore an owl mask, his posture lazy yet somehow threatening.

Your stomach churned. You’d seen him earlier—watching from the shadows as Silco’s men attacked. He hadn’t intervened then, just observed with unnerving intensity.

“Got something to say, or are you just going to keep staring?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

The masked figure tilted his head, amusement evident in the way he leaned back.

“Staring at people like that? Kind of counts as harassment, you know,” you continued, forcing a smirk despite the pounding of your heart. “But hey, let me go, and we can settle this properly. I promise I’ll be… kind.”

The voice that responded came distorted through a modulator, low and mechanical. “You should learn to take care of that mouth. If it weren’t for the other two, you’d already be dead.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and despite yourself, you let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I see how it is. Big bad owl man is bothered by my mouth? Then why didn’t you just kill me outright?”

His laugh echoed back at you, though his tone remained clipped. He stood, his figure tall and imposing as he stepped closer.

“Believe me,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “It was tempting.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze—or what you assumed were his eyes—through the owl mask. “Oh, I’m trembling,” you deadpanned. “What a scary owl.”

His movements stilled for a moment, the tilt of his head indicating surprise. You pressed on, determined to keep the upper hand in this strange game.

“Let me guess,” you said, smirking again. “Sitting around in a mask all day makes you feel tough, huh? What’s next—dramatic monologues about justice?”

He chuckled, stepping even closer until he was towering over you. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, craning your neck to meet him. “You think this is guts? I just call it basic survival.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you, tension crackling like static. Then, slowly, he reached up, his gloved fingers curling around the edge of his mask.

Your breath hitched, the weight of the moment sinking in as he pulled it away.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes—sharp, golden-brown, and filled with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His features were striking, all sharp angles and raw intensity but softened.

You blinked, momentarily speechless, which was enough to make him laugh again. This time, it was unmodulated—rich and almost boyish, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his grin wide. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your mouth opened, then closed as you struggled for a response. The sheer absurdity of it hit you like a freight train. For all your mother’s warnings about suitors back in Piltover, none of them could hold a candle to him.

And, of course, he knew it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said smugly, stepping back.

You clenched your fists, suddenly grateful for the handcuffs keeping you from doing something you’d probably regret.

“Don’t look so smug,” you said finally, recovering enough to glare at him. “You still kidnapped me, remember?”

“Kidnapped?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Rescued is more like it. You’re lucky I was watching.”

“Lucky?” you shot back. “You’ve got a twisted sense of gratitude.”

“Stick around. You might just learn something.”

You scowled, your cheeks warming despite yourself. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you sat there under the sharp gaze of the boy—no, young man—in the room. But his attention was no longer casual. His gaze was razor-edged, appraising.

“Enough games,” he said finally, his voice steady, though it carried an undertone of curiosity. “What do you know about the hextech gemstone?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you were caught off guard. Hextech? You wracked your brain, recalling snippets of overheard conversations.

“It’s… like an energy booster,” you said hesitantly, your brows furrowed. “Anyone can use it to build pretty much anything. Something about it being ‘limitless potential’ or whatever.”

Ekko tilted his head, clearly not expecting you to be so forthcoming.

“You just told me, just like that?”

“Why not?” you replied with a shrug. “You didn’t kill me, which is already better than everyone else we’ve run into today. If you’re not trying to gut me on sight, you can’t be that bad.”

His laugh came low, warm, and rough, as if you’d surprised him again.

“You’re either really brave or really stupid.”

“Bit of both,” you admitted, flashing a quick smile “So, what’s next? We keep playing twenty questions?”

He chuckled dryly, though his next words were serious.

“Alright, let’s talk about your friends. What’s their deal? And what’s your relationship with the Enforcer?”

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your chest. But the harder you tried, the more it broke free, until you were shaking with quiet.

“Enforcer?” you finally choked out, wiping the corner of your eye with your shoulder. “Caitlyn’s more like… I don’t know, a girl playing dress-up as an Enforcer. Her mother would die if she let Cait face real danger.” You tilted your head toward him, smirking. “Like this.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish.

“Oh, and don’t leave the lovebirds alone too long,” you added, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “It seems like Cait’s taken a liking to the pink-haired one.”

That earned another huff of laughter from him. His gaze lingered on you, sharp yet tinged with reluctant amusement, as though trying to figure out whether you were always this reckless or just putting on a show.

“Alright, alright. My turn. That’s how this works, right?”

“That’s not how this works at all.”

“Sure it is,” you shot back, leaning forward as much as the restraints allowed. “If you were a conventional kidnapper, I wouldn’t have said a word. You’d have had to torture me for information—and, frankly, I don’t think you’d do it. Too soft.”

Ekko’s brow twitched, though he said nothing.

“Anyway, this isn’t a conventional kidnapping, right?” you added, your grin widening.

For a moment, he studied you, clearly debating whether to humor you. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he gestured vaguely.

“Fine. Ask your question.”

You leaned back, feigning nonchalance.

“What’s your name?”

He hesitated.

“Ekko.”

“Ekko,” you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. It suited him. “Alright, Ekko. Next question.”

He crossed his arms, his brows lifting in mock exasperation.

“I said one question.”

“You really need to loosen up,” you teased. “I want to learn how to ride that hoverboard of yours. That thing looks incredible.”

His lips twitched, but he kept his expression neutral.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” you said. “My wrists are starting to hurt. Being handcuffed is not exactly comfortable, you know.”

Ekko sighed, dragging a hand down his face, though you could see the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Pretty Piltie can’t handle a pair of handcuffs? I’ll free you when the time comes.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

“When the time comes,” he said again. “I’ll free you.”

“Ekko!” you called after him, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You can’t just—hey!”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even glance back. The door creaked open as he stepped out.

Outside, Scar leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a bemused look on his face. He watched as Ekko adjusted the straps of his owl mask, preparing to slide it back into place.

“Something on your mind?” Ekko asked, his tone sharper than intended.

Scar raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the door where you were still yelling.

“Didn’t realize we were starting a dating service for Pilties now.”

Ekko shot him a glare, the owl mask concealing the faint flush creeping up his neck. “What?”

Scar smirked, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

With a sigh, Ekko adjusted the mask, his thoughts lingering on the strange girl tied up in the other room. A rich Piltie liking him? The thought was… well, distracting.

But he pushed it aside. There was work to be done.

“Where’s Vi?” he asked, his voice low.

Scar gestured down the hall. “Waiting.”

Ekko nodded, his mind shifting gears as he prepared for what would undoubtedly be another tense conversation.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[jude457]

this is most likely the darkest inho whump i will post outside of ao3. dead dove warning. (more of my thoughts on inho being a victim of sexual violence by the VIPs and how it effects his perception of intimacy with Gihun - this is going to be a full-length fic)

Okay. But it kills me to think about how the first time it happened to Inho—the very first time—they waited until the first year he ran the Games alone. Il-nam was gone. Dead. And with him, any pretence that Inho had real authority.

He’d worn the mask, stood at the top, gave orders with that cold, detached voice distorted by his modulator. Inho thought maybe—that power meant something. That it would protect him. But the moment the VIPs arrived, he learned the truth.

They didn’t see him as one of them. Not even close.

They called him “Front Man,” but when the lights dimmed, when the drinks poured, when they were safely behind their golden masks and silk robes—they reminded him exactly what he was. Property. A toy. A pet.

He fought the first time. God, he fought. Kicked. Bit. Drew blood. One of them has the scar still, probably. And it made them laugh. Made them interested. Like prey that writhes is more fun than prey that lies still. They pinned him down on that velvet couch in the private lounge and held him there—one at his wrists, one at his legs, one behind him—like it was a hunt. And when it was over, when he was shaking and bleeding and half-unconscious, they congratulated each other like they’d won a game.

And just like that, the fight left him.

Because Inho realised—it was never going to stop.

He learned fast: every year, when the VIPs arrived, he would be used. They didn’t care if he wore the mask. They didn’t care how still he stood or how perfectly he performed control. To them, he wasn’t a host. He wasn’t even a man.

He was part of the experience.

And that hallway—the one that connects the VIPs’ quarters to his own? That wasn’t coincidence. That wasn’t “logistics.”

That was design.

Because when Il-nam handed Inho access to the those quarters, he made it sound like a gift. Like a gesture of trust. “You can stay here year-round,” he’d said. “After what happened with your brother…I know you can’t go back”

Inho—freshly unmasked, freshly exiled—accepted. Because where else could he go? He couldn’t return to the mainland. Not after Junho. Not after the shot.

But he didn’t realise what the space really was. It wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a cage. Not locked, but accessible. Convenient.

His room shared a wall with theirs.

His door unlocked from both sides.

Even in the off-season, even when the Games were over, he could hear the mechanisms humming behind the walls—systems always on standby, waiting to reactivate.

And the VIPs knew.

They knew that door led somewhere personal. They liked that. They liked that it was his bed. Not a guest suite. Not a lounge. Not a neutral, rented space.

It was Inho’s.

They didn’t just want him during the parties. They wanted him where he lived.

They made it a ritual. Stepping over the threshold without knocking. Sitting at the edge of the mattress like they owned it. Sometimes still dressed in their robes. Sometimes naked. Sometimes in between, taking their time.

The first time one of them mounted him on that bed—in his room, his sheets, his space—Inho realised this wasn’t just about power anymore.

It was about breaking him.

Making sure he couldn’t rest without remembering. Making sure no place was safe. He started sleeping on the floor. On the armchair. Fully dressed. Boots on. Door cracked open to hear them coming, like it mattered.

It never did.

They still came.

Still entered. Still took.

And the worst night—

The 35th Games.

Inho remembers the number like a scar burned into his ribs. That year’s Games were bloodier than usual. One of the VIPs had joked about “upping the spectacle.”

Apparently that extended to him.

The worst night started like most of them did. Inho in his bed. Lying on his side, back to the door. Blanket pulled up to his chest. Eyes open, unblinking. Pretending to sleep.

But this time—this time he heard two sets of footsteps.

They came in without warning. Two of them. Laughing. Masked. Reeking of champagne. They didn’t knock. Didn’t announce themselves. Just let themselves in. One of them muttered under his breath, low and mocking. The other said nothing. The air shifted. Something electric. Dangerous.

The mattress dipped. Once. Then again.

Hands. Four of them. One on his hip. One curling under his chest. Another pushing between his thighs. Then a voice—smooth, amused, whispering, “I’ve always wanted to try this.”

That was when Inho knew.

It was something they’d talked about the night before—he remembered the words. “Would he even survive it?”

They wanted to find out.

And his bed—his bed—was where it happened.

Inho knew they didn’t mean together, one after the other.

They meant at the same time.

That they weren’t taking turns. They were taking him together. A shared fantasy. Something new. Something memorable.

He panicked.

Inho tried to roll away, to speak, to say wait— but a hand slammed over the back of his head and shoved his face into the pillow.

The first one forced in. No warning. No prep. Just a sharp, dry shove. Inho choked. His mouth opened against the pillow in a voiceless scream.

Then the second.

A thicker body. More force. The stretch unbearable. Too much. They shoved in at the same time. One grabbing his waist. The other spreading his thighs wider than they could go. His knees burned against the sheets as his body tried to curl in on itself.

But they kept pushing.

One fast. One slow. The rhythm staggered, painful, ripping.

Inho arched off the mattress with a sound that wasn’t even human. His legs kicked once, twice—but the weight on top of him was crushing. His hands reached for something—anything—but they pinned his arms behind his back. One of them laughed again. The other spat on his shoulder.

There was no rhythm. No mercy. Just force. Just weight. Just the feeling of his body being split in two.

He felt something tear.

Deep. Violent. Like a seam coming undone.

The pain was immediate. Electric. Blinding. He felt something hot gush between his legs.

Still, they didn’t stop.

Still, they kept going.

One of them let out a pleased grunt. The other said, “So tight.”

Inho’s body convulsed. The scream got trapped in his throat. His hands clawed uselessly at the bed, the walls, his face as he bucked and sobbed into the mattress.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He wasn’t there anymore.

His vision blurred. His hearing fuzzed out. The edges of the room curled and dimmed and faded into nothing.

He eventually blacked out.

And when he came to, it was silent.

When he woke, it was over. The room was dark. Quiet. The VIPs were gone. He was lying in a pool of blood. His thighs and calves were sticky, the inside of his legs raw, torn open. His sheets were soaked. The mattress—his mattress—was stained through. His face was swollen from where it had been crushed into the pillow. His bottom lip split.

Inho tried to move and screamed.

Crawled to the bathroom. Dragged himself across the cold floor, blood trailing behind him. He couldn’t sit, couldn’t stand. He cleaned himself in silence. Just knelt there under the water like something discarded. Just curled beneath the freezing spray and waited for the shaking to stop.

It never did.

The Games resumed.

The next morning, he had to walk the halls like nothing happened. Mask on. Hands behind his back. Dignified. But he limped. He couldn’t not. Every step was agony. He braced one hand lightly against the wall when no one was looking. Sat only when he had to.

Inho bled for days.

Yet, he breathed through the pain and said nothing.

Because if he said anything, it became real. And if it was real, then it meant he’d lost everything—his power, his identity, even the right to own his own body. Inho never spoke of it. Never would. But it carved itself into his mind.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because Inho had never been with a man before. Not even once. He probably told himself it was easier that way—never acknowledged what he wanted, what he could’ve wanted. He buried it so deep he stopped believing it was his.

So when the first man ever touched him, it was like this.: Like violence. Like humiliation.

Now he can’t separate the two.

Because in his world, it’s never been about love. Never been about choice or warmth or anything remotely human. It’s always masks. Power. Violation.

That’s all Inho knows.

Because that was the night his body broke.

That was the scar Gihun would later touch. The one that looked healed but never really was.

That was the night that taught him: sex between men always hurts.

Intimacy means submission.

Love doesn’t knock—it enters.

Even when you bleed.

And that’s what he carried. That belief followed him everywhere. Even months later—after the island, after the Games were gone—after Gihun didn’t shoot him, didn’t walk away—after he ended up hiding in Gihun’s shitty little motel apartment, safe but silent.

…Inho never understood why Gihun spared him.

Not on the island. Not after the final game. Not even when the bombs detonated and Games burned and Inho stood there with blood on his hands, waiting for death like it was the only thing left he deserved.

But Gihun didn’t kill him.

Didn’t leave him there. Didn’t turn him in.

He hid him. Helped Junho smuggle him out before the authorities could sweep the wreckage. Let him stay in the same dingy motel room that Gihun had used as his hideout while investigating the Games.

Except now it was more than that. Now it was home.

And Gihun stayed.

He stayed through the silence. Through the avoidance. Through the long, staring nights and the nightmares that didn’t wake Inho up, only left him breathless and wet-eyed in the dark. And Inho couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t make sense of the why. Why Gihun let him live. Why he brought him back to the world. Why he chose to be saddled with him.

He’d destroyed Gihun’s life. He’d watched him suffer. Had pointed the gun at Junho.

He didn’t deserve this—this peace. This tenderness.

So when Gihun started looking at him like he wanted something more—something more intimate—Inho made a decision. Quietly. Silently.

He would give it to him. Whatever Gihun wanted. He told himself: Just get through it. Don’t make him wait.

And when Gihun kissed him, the first time—God.

Something cracked open inside him.

Inho didn’t understand it. Didn’t believe it. Didn’t know why. Why Gihun still looked at him like he was worth saving. So Inho decided, without words: if he wants me, I’ll give him what he wants. I’ll make it easy. I won’t make him hurt the way I did. I will never take. Never risk becoming what they were.

The only thing he could offer was submission. Stillness. Gratitude. He would never put Gihun through the kind of pain he endured. Never. So he’ll lie still, be the one to receive, let Gihun take whatever he needs. Because he knew what sex between two men was. And if someone had to suffer again, he’d take it.

He’s already been used so many times—what’s once more, if it makes Gihun happy?

If it keeps him from leaving.

So when it started to happen, Inho lies back. Lets Gihun climb over him. When he lets Gihun undress him, Inho is grateful for the dimness of the motel room. The way the light didn’t quite reach the scarring between his legs. The silvery, uneven skin. The damage no doctor could ever clean up properly.

He keeps his hands at his sides. Lets Gihun press gentle kisses to his chest, his collarbone, his throat. And when Gihun notices something is wrong. “You don’t have to lie still,” he says quietly. “You can touch me.”

Inho only shook his head. “I want this,” he lied. “It’s fine.”

And Gihun hesitated. His fingers stilled. But Inho reached for him—just barely—and whispered again, “It’s okay.”

Because Gihun didn’t abandon him on the island, even when he should have. Even after seeing everything. Even after the mask came off and Inho’s ugliness was laid bare.

So Inho thinks: this is gratitude.

Letting Gihun touch him. Letting himself be used again, but this time willingly. It’s the only way he knows how to say thank you.

But then—

Gihun doesn’t take.

He touches Inho like he’s fragile.

Like Inho is a person.

He kisses Inho like he is something precious. Touches him like he is trying not to scare him away. His hands shake a little when they find his hips. He whispers, “Still okay?” every few minutes. And when Inho tenses, Gihun doesn’t push. Just pulls back and says softly, “We don’t have to do anything. Just want to be close to you.”

And Inho nods. Again and again. He wants to be good. He wants to be enough. But his body doesn’t believe him. He flinches when Gihun’s lips touch the inside of his thigh. His breath stutters when Gihun’s fingers brush lower. He clamps his jaw shut when Gihun reaches for the lube, like if he said anything, the spell would break.

Gihun notices. Pauses. Studies him.

Something flickers in his eyes—concern, maybe. A question. But he doesn’t voice it. When Gihun hesitates again because something doesn’t feel right—Inho knows Gihun can feel it—but the other doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know what to ask.

Because Inho had never told him.

Never mentioned the VIPs. Never hinted at the nights. Never said why he always checked the locks three times before bed. Never explained why he wore black even in summer, why he flinched at cologne, why he had nightmares but never made a sound.

He went to great lengths to erase it.

Because if Gihun knew—if he really, truly knew—then Inho would never be able to hide behind control again. And he didn’t think he could survive that kind of seeing.

So he kept it buried.

Even as Gihun kissed him gently. Even as he asked permission between each touch. Even as he prepped him slowly, carefully, with fingers that trembled like he was the one who might break. Two fingers, then three. Crooking them just so. Stretch that burned but didn’t tear. Massaging him. Searching for comfort, not just readiness. Checking every few seconds, “Still okay?”

And the part of Inho that thought he’d never feel anything but pain there again—

Feels good.

Even with the scar tissue. Even with the damage.

He isn’t numb. He isn’t dead.

It feels good.

Gihun’s fingers curve just right, rubbing soothingly against the inside of him in slow, steady motions.

And then—he hits something.

Something that makes Inho whimper. Not from fear. Not from pain.

From pleasure.

It shocks him. Humiliates him. Makes him turn his face into the pillow, ashamed of the sound he’d made—this small, broken wanting noise that doesn’t belong to him. But still Gihun kept going. Careful. Gentle. Tender. “You’re doing so good,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And then—

When Gihun eventually lines himself up, breathing softly against Inho’s cheek. He pauses, watching him. One last chance to stop. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “I’ll stop. I promise.”

But Inho shook his head. Forced himself to keep going. Forced his legs to stay open.

So Gihun moved.

Slowly.

The pressure came first—gentle but steady. The warmth of Gihun’s body against his, the careful push inward. Inho exhaled through his nose, trying to stay calm. Trying to relax. His fingers curled in the sheets.

But as Gihun pushed in further—inch by inch, careful and reverent—something inside Inho began to crack. His body remembered. Even though Gihun was nothing like them—nothing cruel, nothing rough—his body didn’t know that.

All it knew was the stretch. The intrusion. The unbearable vulnerability. He clenched. Gihun stilled. Whispered again, “You’re okay. I’ve got you. We can stop.”

Inho remained silent.

He had to do this.

He had to take it.

He deserved this.

And then—Gihun shifted. Just slightly.

And he again brushed against something deep inside.

Inho felt it.

A pulse of pleasure. Warm. Foreign.

It was gentle. Soft. It should’ve been comforting.

But it destroyed him.

Because for the first time, his body wasn’t recoiling.

It was responding.

And that—

That was when it all came apart.

He made a sound—quiet at first. A sharp intake of breath. A trembling moan.

Then another sound—cracked, wet—choked.

Then it rose.

A broken, involuntary wail.

High and thin and endless. Inho’s back arched. He curled in on himself. His mouth opened but he couldn’t form words. The air left him in ragged, keening sobs that came from somewhere deep, somewhere buried, somewhere he had locked away for years.

It wasn’t just the stretch. It wasn’t just the memory. It was the confusion. The betrayal of his own body. Because it felt good. And it wasn’t supposed to.

It wasn’t supposed to.

And that was what broke him.

His body trembling, his fists tight in the blanket, he shook his head, gasping, tears spilling freely now.

However Gihun—

Gihun was already pulling out.

Already reaching for him, already covering him with the blanket, already whispering “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I stopped, you’re safe, I stopped—” Like Inho was something sacred.

In that moment, Gihun’s face changed. A flicker of something sharp and knowing passed through his expression—like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. Just one heartbreaking second where he looked at Inho and understood.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask. But the pieces came together in his eyes: the stiffness. The flinching. The stillness. The offering.

And he held Inho tighter.

Like he was something precious. Like he’d been carrying this pain in silence for too long.

Like he didn’t need to confess a word to be known.

But Gihun knew.

And he held Inho anyway. He stroked his back. Kissed his temple. And Inho sobbed harder—not from pain, but from the relief.

From the unbearable fact that Gihun hadn’t forced it. That he’d stopped. That he’d seen him fall apart and still stayed. And for the first time in years, Inho didn’t feel like an object.

He felt cherished.

They didn’t finish that night.

They just laid there.

Gihun whispering soft apologies into Inho’s hair. Inho curled into him like a child, eyes wide, hands fisted in the blanket.

And for the first time in a long time, Inho didn’t feel like he had to disappear.

He didn’t feel like a thing.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s where healing begins.

Maybe intimacy between men wasn’t always pain.

Maybe it could be gentle.

Maybe pleasure didn’t mean shame.

Maybe someone could want him—not because he was broken, but because he was still here.

And maybe that was the beginning of healing.

Even if Inho didn’t believe he deserved it yet.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Why You Should Try Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Part 12: It Loves Game Masters and Teaches You How to Be One

This is part 12 of a multi-part series of posts about the awesome features of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, in no particular order.

Find the earlier parts here:

Part 1 Link: We Worked Hard on It!

Part 2 Link: It's Easy to Learn!

Part 3 Link: It's Easy to GM!

Part 4 Link: It's Easy to GM and Supports Narrative and Roleplay!

Part 5 Link: It Revolutionizes Investigation and Mystery Solving in TTRPGs

Part 6 Link: PCs are Not Just Mystery Solving Automatons

Part 7 Link: Excellent Time-Keeping Mechanics Keep the Pressure On

Part 8 Link: Fun and Easy Character Creation

Part 9 Link: Themes of Disability

Part 10 Link: It Has Intense Action

Part 11 Link: Oh By the Way We Made Turn Order Fast and Snappy Too

I know I already talked about how it’s easy to GM in an earlier part of this series, but I’m bringing that up again and going into more detail. You already know if you’ve read earlier parts that Eureka treats the GM as a player and insists that they should be having fun too, not just being an entertainer.

Even if a game has something called a “[game master]’s Guide,” we’ve found that these “guides” don’t really guide or teach you how to game master, they just tell you a bunch more rules. Eureka doesn’t have a separate book called the “[game master]’ Guide,” but it does go out of its way to teach you how it wants to be GMed every step of the way.

Eureka also has a whole chapter in the back full of additional GM resources such as optional rules, how to handle edge cases, game running advice, and homebrewing guidelines, guidelines for how to convert adventure modules from games such as Call of Cthulhu and Delta Green for Eureka, and more!

There’s even a whole step-by-step guide on how to write and publish your own Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy adventure modules. Writing mysteries is really hard, but there’s no reason it has to be a mystery itself!

This, combined with how the rules themselves are presented with their intent made clear, means you will learn a lot about game design and game mastering just from reading the Eureka rulebook, whether you end up playing it or not.

The way that Eureka wants to be played and GMed may not work for every other RPG, but the truth is that every RPG has particular ways it wants to be played or GMed, but the designers rarely write this into the rules text. Simply seeing a game spell it out like Eureka does will teach you that, and teach you to look for the signs in other games of how they want to be approached. Like I said, people tell us all the time “Eureka changed the way [they] think about RPGs.”

[superdillin]

That Time I was on Adventuring Academy

Ok it's a clickbaity title but I've been thinking a lot about where I was in this moment, and who I am now, and what an ENORMOUS difference there is, a verifiably ocean between moments.

We can get the obvious differences out of the way like:

my name

my gender

my camera situation

all of which have improved drastically I must say.

When I was asked to do this I had published my first game supplement ever, Neverland: The Impossible Island. And I LOVE it still. For what it is, it was a killer first project. A fully playable D&D setting for JM Barrie's Peter Pan setting, Neverland. Concept and execution, I did a pretty decent job.

Gang, I was SHITTING myself during this entire interview. And I don't really even mean just because Brennan was someone influential to me, someone I didn't know at all at this point, but I was new to interviews and being on a public platform too. I was even still new as a performer, which I would confidently say is my strong suit now. I was being held together by adrenaline. Now, it's kind of hard for me to watch myself stumble through that. I've come like...an exceptionally long way since then.

And I have more to say now than I did then. Brennan introduces me so kindly as a game designer but truthfully I wasn't yet! I had written a module for D&D, and that's all. Fine, and fun, and I did a good job - but I've learned so much and experienced so much and I have so much knowledge and love and feral, unabashed passion for games now that I wish I could tell this past version of me about. I get to share that now, every single week, on One Shot - introducing people to new games and beautiful artists.

What I care about in this industry has also grown and shifted. Back then I was still fighting my way through the horde of misogynists to create space as a seemingly feminine person in the hobby by getting my mits all over their favorite franchise (D&D).

Now, I want us free from corporate fast food games, I want people to see the magnificent iceberg of art and exploration and humanity that games have that we can experience. I want designers who are paid to create their own art, not serving a corporation's image for pennies. I want to radicalize this hobby against the colonialism and transphobia and imperialism that snuck into all it's roots.

Anyway I'm SO proud of who I've become and where this moment has led me and for how far away it seems. I've lived and I have grown and I've become someone I'm even more proud of.

((oh and one final aside - this was one of the most professional experiences I ever had, from not just Brennan but everyone who set things up behind the scenes. That also taught me a lot about what was acceptable and what was not, going into future, often less good, interviews. ))

[klysanderelias]

I've been a little preoccupied playtesting the module I wrote for @anim-ttrpgs' Eureka, so I haven't written much about those experiences yet, but I wanted to rectify that by gushing once again about how much fun I'm having.

I know I say it all the time, but it's been such a joy getting involved with the ANIM Book Club, and with the Patreon server. I've been able to get involved for the first time as a player in Eureka, and I'm SUPER excited for that game to have its first session, but the games I've been running for the playtest have been just incredible.

I can't stress enough how wonderful all these players are, and I think really it comes down to the fact that every single person I've talked to is so engaged with the system, and what it means. No one talks about optimal builds, or about party composition - instead, I get to see hours of conversation from people gushing over how much they like the Gorgon monstrous trait, and how excited they are to get to play one soon. People constantly chat about their favorite characters they've played, and about their favorite moments, and it's never like 'oh and then I rolled to hit and got a BAJILLION DAMAGE' - it's funny moments, tragic moments, characterful moments. No one talks about how good it was to kill x monster with a critical, they talk about gunfights that end up with investigators staggering away leaking blood. I was talking with one of my friends about her character getting into a 1v1 with a monster and winning - and winning wasn't killing the monster, it was living. The investigator got a huge triumph in that scene because he picked up a hammer and went 'you're not getting past me' and NO ONE DIED. Yeah, someone got mauled a little, but they drove the monster off - and that's a huge win.

And that rules. I was so fuckin' hyped for her when I heard about that, because I know how difficult that is. Eureka combat is fast and brutal, and this is why - because just like in real life, facing down a guy with a gun is scary as hell. I know, I've done it in real life.

And that attitude is why I've been having such a great time - because not only does the game system encourage and produce those moments, but because players take them fucking seriously. I've been over the moon about the playtest of my module I've been running, because my players are engaged and sincere.

Do you know how badly I have been missing fuckin' sincerity in my games.

And y'know, I genuinely don't think that every game needs to be deep, sometimes you roll up a character and you have a good time not being too serious - that's how the Greed game I've been in has been going, and that's been a blast!

But there's a difference between not being too serious, and not taking it seriously, and I've been stuck with people in the second camp for too long. And I'm getting the chance now to be in games with people who take this seriously - people who have, I don't know, learned the rules, and who don't spend half the session watching TV in the background or dicking around on their phone.

And like, I have to say, the ethos of Eureka really helps make that a reality - specifically I want to call out the Third Person Perspective idea that Eureka really sticks to. I think there's a valuable conversation to have about First vs. Third person perspective, and when to deploy it, but I've never felt for a second that players were even slightly less invested in their characters because they talked about them at a remove. And quite frankly, I'm getting to be more and more of a proponent for 3PP play because I keep seeing how useful it is.

For example - I played an Android character in a starfinder game for two and a half years. In that time, my character was basically never gendered correctly. They did not have a gender, and presented androgynously, so they used they/them pronouns. And because I, as a cis man, sound like a cis man, basically every time anyone talked about them they used he/him. And partially that's my fault, for not putting my foot down more, but also I DID do that on occasion to remind other players that my character was agender and used they/them, and by the next session they were getting misgendered again.

And y'know? Basically every game I've been involved with of Eureka has never had an issue with pronouns, even when characters are plural, trans, or genderqueer - because we're constantly using them. This character uses it/she? Well lemme tell you, I am thinking about that every time I address that character, because I'm not saying 'you'. And the player is constantly reinforcing that, because they're not saying 'I'. Like, it was so fucking annoying to play a genderqueer character in a game and have basically everyone ignore that, and I'm not going to say that 3PP can fix bad faith actors who are not interested in learning or using neopronouns or whatnot, but they won't have a fucking excuse to hide behind.

And I've talked before about how Eureka is a queer game, but I think this really adds to my feelings about it, if only because it creates a better framework for telling stories with queer characters. And because, y'know, it takes it seriously. It's not a joke, and it's not an afterthought, and it's not afraid of committing to it.

I'm looking forward to sharing more of my experiences once the playtests end, but it's been a real joy. Cannot stress enough how fond I am of the players, and the Narrators, that I've been able to spend time with. It is not an exaggeration to say that while I've been unemployed and bored out of my mind waiting to hear back from jobs, this community has kept me sane and given me the chance to direct my energies in a meaningful and constructive way.

I really do think anyone who loves ttrpgs should look at Eureka, and get involved with the Book Club, and y'know maybe spend a little money keeping that studio afloat.

[nowimjustastranger]

I hope that stcmo!Ford never encontered Jerk Ford from @tinfoil-jones. Jerk Ford would probably say something really hurtful about stcmo!Ford's mission and/or about stcmo!Stan suicide that would make stcmo!Ford too enraged and/or sad. And even if stcmo!Ford would try to shut up Jerk Ford with his fists, Jerk Ford is really, really fast, so he's hard to catch in the first place. He's actually a little scrawny when compared to other Fords, and his brother, because of how much he was running.

Usual disclaimer that I don't wanna overstep by altering their AU too much! And, if the creator of the Jerk Ford AU sees this, feel free to correct me if I got anything wrong about Jerk Ford! And this is such a fun AU that I would be willing to explore a crossover with the Creator's permission!

With that said, I do believe that StCMO Ford would be one of the Fords that could actually land a hit on Jerk Ford. Dude has tampered with his DNA, can literally see the future, and his day job is rescuing the Stans of the multiverse. If anyone could catch Jerk Ford, it's StCMO Ford.

Additionally, Jerk Ford can say anything he wants about StCMO Ford and he'd actually agree with him, but if Jerk Ford brought Lee into it... there would absolutely be a savage beat down. Even though Jerk Ford is a massive jerk, I don't think he would be cruel enough to speak ill of StCMO Ford's deceased brother. But if he did, bro might actually come close to dying because StCMO Ford is relentless when pissed off. Unlike most Fords, who get sloppy when emotional, Ford had learned to make his emotions useful in combat. Having his feelings hurt or getting angry isn't going to slow him down or render him useless in combat.

Basically, Ford wouldn't exactly go out of his way to avoid Jerk Ford, but be would purposely give Jerk Ford nothing to work with when they did cross paths. StCMO Ford has an impressive poker face after all, courtesy of his time in captivity. The helmet and voice modulator would assist him in coming off as emotionless, bro won't give Jerk Ford the satisfaction of a reaction unless Jerk Ford resorts to being a total asshole about Lee or StCMO Ford's mission.

[reasonsforhope]

"A young entrepreneur is using 3D printers to create cheap school campuses in rural Madagascar.

It takes just $40,000 and 18 hours to build a “Thinking Hut,” as they’re called, and founder of the project Maggie Grout is aiming to get the cost even lower before handing the reins over to local professionals.

GNN previously reported on Maggie Grout’s idea in 2021 during the pandemic. It was then that she and a San Francisco architect came up with the idea of making them honeycomb-shaped so that additional modules could be added seamlessly.

And indeed, the first completed campus is called the “Honeycomb.”

Madagascar is one of the most challenging places in Africa to develop, but also the most opportune owing to a lack of any armed conflicts and a government welcoming of foreign workers.

But extreme poverty, lack of infrastructure, terrible roads, and a delicate, priceless natural ecosystem all pose challenges to anyone seeking to implement large-scale development projects.

Instead, Grout brought her 3D printers over in a single shipping container and has now printed a school in the town of Fianarantsoa, a city in south-central Madagascar with 200,000 people.

“From that first project, I really learned how to streamline the logistics,” Grout told Fast Company. “I learned how to put together the supply chain when there’s not a lot of locally available materials. And then I learned how to work in harmony with the local people.”

Local people are the key—lack of institutional presence in rural areas means that almost any economic activity has a foundation built on years of trust between community individuals. When foreigners come in, building trust is often the biggest challenge to getting a project off the ground in Madagascar.

However, from the onset, Grout said she wanted to rely on the locals as much as possible. During the first project, she learned how to best manage a team of cross-cultural partners. She used local people to install traditional windows and doors, and worked with the Madagascar Ministry of Education to bring in teachers.

“We do think through the holistic collateral impacts of what we’re doing,” Grout says. “We’re really just aiming to be a stepping stone for [the community] to be successful on their own… We don’t want them to be dependent on us.”

Her long-term goal is to establish Thinking Huts in many different countries."

-via Good News Network, June 9, 2023. Video via 60 Second Docs, July 18, 2022

Note: A bit older but still good - and still ongoing! This year they started a formal partnership with the Madagascar Ministry of Education and are working on a new campus, The Honeycomb Project.

[kittythelitter]

So tumblr's beloved Chocolate Guy (Amaury Guichon) has a pastry academy, and they have a TikTok. And on that TikTok they posted this video.

The comments were... What you'd expect.

VD and transcription under cut

[VD: Video from @thepastryacademy on TikTok. Video has a narrated voice over with upbeat music in the background over footage of cast sugar forms that resemble butt plugs, and then footage of pastry school students attempting and demonstrating the various pulled sugar techniques as described in the narration.

Transcription: Day 26 of the Pastry Academy. Today the students are working with pulled sugar. They begin the day by casting a sugar rose base to build a sugar rose around, then they set up their Chef Rubber sugar lamp boxes, and then it's on to cooking the sugar. Using their Thermon Pop thermometers, they cook it to the proper temperature, and then pour it out onto a silicone mat to cool. As the sugar is cooling, they push the edges in to stabilize the sugar's temperature, then they begin pulling and satining the sugar until shiny. This folding technique incorporates air into the sugar that makes it shiny and malleable. After this Chef Michel demonstrates how to pull a sugar rose petal, in which the students use the sugar base, casted earlier, to build upon. The students also learn other techniques such as how to attach the sugar to a pump to blow delicate sugar spheres, cool it down properly to not shatter it, and how to carefully remove it from the pump and even out the bottom. Pulled sugar is truly a unique art form in the pastry world, as the sugar is very sensitive and difficult to work with, due to the high working temperature. Another technique learned during this module is how to pull ribbons by folding the edges of the sugar to create lines, and then pulling it evenly and thinly, utilizing this technique to not cool the ribbon too fast. Using a very hot knife they cut it to the desired length, and then attach it to their showpieces. To end the day, the students use all of the components made throughout the day to create a small sugar showpiece to showcase the different techniques learned. They did such an amazing job! See you Wednesday!

/End VD]

[snigepippi]

If translated to human mental age, Murderbot is about 15 years old.

Murderbot: "I don't know how Preservation's economy work."

Murderbot: "I have pretty shitty education modules."

Also Murderbot: "I fast forward in Preservation documentaries every time they explain how their economy work." ... "Sometimes I delete information I don't care about."

Sounds like every teenager I have ever had to teach. "We never learned that!" *Me tiredly linking the student to one of their old reports about the subjectc* I even had one who deleted every single assignment after I had graded it...Assignments they could be asked to include or refer to in the examinations.

[gormengeist]

WHAT HAS GORMENGEIST BEEN UP TO

It's been a while since I talked about game things. I even missed GREED's one year anniversary- but worry not, Thanksgiving is coming up, which is (obviously) GREED's cardinal holiday, so we will do something for that. But in the interest of throwing you all a bone, I want to start talking about my million games in progress, one at a time. Starting with the most finished:

ALL THE ACES

I've already talked about ALL THE ACES a lot, but not for a while! It's a detective noir game inspired primarily by post-war detective fiction like The Third Man and Gravity's Rainbow. The reason I'm excited for it is that I believe TTRPGs are the most energetic medium for a mystery to be in, when done right.

ALL THE ACES borrows GREED's basic mechanics, combat, and overall attitude that the players are scum waiting to be scraped off the heel of the world. The initial impetus for making ATA at all was that I found GREED's system (and especially it's combat- fast, swingy, and deadly) uniquely suited to the sort of mystery stories I wanted to tell, where talking things out was a necessity for survival, and threats of violence are Scary

ALL THE ACES is, as a core rulebook, done. Or at least it's releasable. The thing that I've been dragging my feet on for literally ten months now is writing/finishing its opening mystery module. Anyone who knows me knows that modules are the only part of TTRPG design that does not come naturally to me, and indeed, I find it incredibly irritating. But you can't release a mystery game without a mystery, so some day, I will buckle down and finish it, then release the game.

What I mean when I say "done right" in terms of detective games is that it adheres to three tenants of mystery TTRPG design that I hold to, and have been effective in my experience. Below the cut, design thoughts:

1: The players must intimately understand what is possible. For ATA, this means that there are no supernatural elements.

Magic in a mystery game is only awesome insofar as the players are intuitively aware of how those elements work. In other words, I can't make good deductions if I'm not sure what the bounds of possibility are. There is enough impossibility and uncertainty in mundanity, I think, to run on.

This isn't to say that no good detective game has magic, but that it works best in a game that can first immerse its players in the magic (while not doing detective stuff, long enough to really steep in it) and then drop the pop-quiz, which is what a mystery is! It challenges your knowledge about the world, who is in it, what they want and what can't be done. ATA attempts to smooth this learning curve; We already know how real life works, and this is like that but different.

2: Talking is the action.

This is the thing I'm most excited about. In a noir story, the most tense moments, the biggest payoffs, and the best actions are not gun fights or chases, but conversations. This is the one thing that we, at the TTRPG table, are literally doing. Even when we are are fighting in-game, we are talking in real life. The game is already a conversation. ALL THE ACES wants to give you ammo so that in the main action, it can step back, so you can just talk.

3: You can't do it all (or: there is never enough time).

It is dramatic to split the party, to ask escalating questions, and to fail. So there's a clock, and unless we do something stupid, we are never going to figure this thing out in time. A leisurely mystery is just something you're curious about.

Anyways. All The Aces coming.... eventually!

[scramjettracy]

Have you ever tried to change your hairstyle? curly/long?

It's true that each of you has your own Thunderbird, but do you also have a car?

Is your cooking as deadly as your grandmother's?

Random selection there anon!

Alright then…

Hair

Mostly it’s been kind of similar to now. I tried to wear it longer for a maybe a month or two in my very early teens (Dad was away on Mars so couldn’t object and Mom really didn’t mind what our hair was like as long as we left the house clothed and wearing shoes on both feet).

I recall envisaging a kind of chill, rakish Orlando Bloom in his Pirates of the Caribbean days but Tracy hair doesn’t really DO gravity when it gets long. Mine seemed to have 1980s Bon Jovi aspirations and so I gave up pretty fast and concluded that what was good enough for Maverick was good enough for me.

Car

We don’t all have our own car, no. You don’t need them much living on an island with no roads 🙂

We have a couple of decent but very dull road cars - one of which lives in the back of module 6 and one at the ranch. There’s Grandpa’s truck which is kind of Virgil’s because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving the dinosaur (still diesel powered - ugh - he won’t let us convert it to EV or even to rocket fuel powered 😏).

Then there is Florence. I’ve posted about her already. She’s mine but Gordon likes to drive her too (I might as well officially let him given he’s cracked into my safe and stolen the keys enough times).

Cooking

I wouldn’t say Grandma’s is deadly exactly. More… uh… experimental? She isn’t shackled by the constraints of recipes and measurements, she gets the vibes from her books and websites then takes a more artistic approach. And in her defence our cooking module IS faster than most recipes predict so stuff can end up pretty… crispy.

I can cook ok. Mom taught me some things, mostly baking, and then when… uh, when we didn’t have her anymore I had to learn pretty fast to make sure the family got fed cos I knew we couldn’t live on take out. Watched a lot of videos. Learned about seasoning. Learned to hide veg so nobody got scurvy. We managed.

My main issue when it’s my turn to fix dinner is leaving it too late to start or not being able to decide what to make or picking something overambitious… so then it’s kinda rushed and when you’re rushing you just don’t have time to tidy as you go and… yah. The family refer to the kitchen experiencing the “aScottalypse”. 😳

But the food is ok.

[anim-ttrpgs]

hi

i'm not going to get into it in your inbox but i've been dealing with some worsening chronic pain this year and the way eureka goes about this stuff (both grievous wounds/literally and monsters/metaphorically) is nice to read. thanks

all the snoops are sooooo cute. i was going to try and name a favorite here but i genuinely can't i love them all. what delightful little creatures

Thank you! Chronic pain is one of the things that I myself suffer from too, since (topically) my medical insurance refused to cover any treatment besides some X-rays and two chiropracty sessions after I got hit by a car going about 60mph. I’m very lucky that I can still walk and even do some martial arts when what’s left of my upper back allows.

One of the reasons that the Grievous Wound mechanic in Eureka is the way it is is because I wanted to represent how humans are both very fragile and very resilient. An injury much less severe than what i went through can make a person’s body never quite as strong/fast/coordinated as it used to be, but also most things in life do not necessitate a person to be at the very peak of their physical potential, not even investigating mysteries.

Also thank you about the snoops! There are some I like more than others, but I really can’t pick a favorite either.

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but you can still check out the public beta on itch.io to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, etc.!

You can also follow updates on our Kickstarter page where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more, you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy earlier, plus extra content such as adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Hello ! I just discovered your blog, and it's sooo good ! I am also French, so I'm happy ! I just want to ask : what king of voice the skellies have ? I'm really curious about it !

Thank you! Glad to see other Frenchies around! We're at least 4 in this community now lmao.

Undertale Sans - He has a nice deep voice, but he doesn't talk very loud, except when he laughs, where he's actually incredibly loud and makes you realize that Papyrus and him are really brothers. He never raises his voice, even when he's angry. It's all in the tone. He can be super warm and friendly just as extremely cold and distant if he wants to.

Undertale Papyrus - Loud. So so loud. Papyrus is extremely expressive and screams when he's happy or excited. Other than that, he has two voices. The one to impress people, being silly and showing off (even though not a lot of people are actually impressed), and the casual voice for his friends and family, where he's actually a lot more calm and natural. Papyrus rarely gets angry (he plays around when he's falsely angry, but never when he truly is), but when he is, people usually never want to make him angry again. Papyrus can be awfully terrifying when he's mad, and well, it reminds some people that even he can have bad days sometimes, and is not forced to be everyone's funny guy. It's still really rare.

Underswap Sans - He has a pretty deep voice, like Sans, but he can modulate it to sound less deep. He actually doesn't like talking too deep, because it's aging him. He prefers an energetic and very expressive voice. He still uses the deep voice when he fails to get the attention he asks, or when he's mad. He's definitely using the deep voice to flirt too. He loves flirting.

Underswap Papyrus - A bit like his Undyne, he tends to stutter on words. He often struggles to make himself clear, and he often sounds like he's not taking anything seriously when really, it's just his anxiety speaking. He's usually silent and even has days where he's non-verbal at all because he's too stressed. He never raises his voice either, which often causes people to ignore him in conversations, because he's scared to say what he wants to say, or scared he's going to mess up. He has a comforting voice though, and when he feels safe, he is definitely talking a little more to show he cares, especially when he's exciting about something.

Underfell Sans - He has a deep deep voice and a hell of an accent. He lost a lot of teeth Underground, so he struggles to make some sounds. And since he's lazy, he tends to abbreviate complicated words so he doesn't have to say them. It's usually hard to understand him at first, but everyone gets used to it at some point because he's a charmer and knows how to play his cards right. He's swearing and cursing a lot, even when he's happy, and even around children. He can't help it, it's entirely in his language. He can sound very scary when he's mad though. It's mainly a bluff to send people away because honestly, he can fight small monsters and drunk humans, but definitely not the big ones, but he likes to scare the people he likes too sometimes because he loves being a pain in the ass.

Underfell Papyrus - His voice is very annoying. He's a lot louder than classic Papyrus, and he has no chill. He gets angry or frustrated very fast, and when he's angry or frustrated, he immediately raises his voice to keep control of the situation. Like Red, it's total bluff, because he learned really small that the scariest you look, the more power you have over people. He tries to control it, but old habits are hard. However, it's easy to understand him, because he talks actually really well, sometimes with an elitist vocabulary. His old instructor in the Royal Guard said that being strong is nothing if you can't make a suspect talk, and he kinda beat him and the other soldiers up until they learned to talk like distinguished people the King could present in important meetings. So yeah, he's more educated than people can think, which doesn't stop him to curse and swear in a very familiar language when he's talking with Undyne or his brother. You definitely don't want to see him furious though. Edge was not nicknamed the Snowdin's Tyran for nothing. He's truly terrifying when he's really really mad.

Horrortale Sans - Talking is hard, so most of the time, Oak prefers animal-like sounds as answers. People understand him like that, so why bother? After Undyne almost killed him, Oak stayed in a coma for half a year. When he woke up, he lost the most basic skills. He didn't know how to eat, how to walk... And how to talk. Willow had to find a way to make his memory work so his old knowledges come back, but for almost two years, Oak couldn't talk. And obviously, it left some sequels. It's mostly why he's more animalistic than his old safe. Walking on all four was easier, just like growling like an angry bear to show displeasure. Even years after, Oak is mostly silent. When he talks, it's always very slow as he tries to not mess up his words. The fact that he tends to forget what he was saying in the middle of his sentence is definitely not helping though. So usually, he prefers to write when he has something big to say, as it's easier to focus on his notebook. At least, you know when he's happy because of his very deep loud tractor noise purr.

Horrortale Papyrus - His voice is similar to his old self, but he had a hard time Underground, mainly because of how painful his damaged teeth were. He had the brilliant idea to try to eat rocks when he was too hungry, but it damaged his teeth. Undyne breaking his jaw during their last encounter for sure didn't help to fix the problem, as for a long time, talking was very painful. With a lot of patience and a lot of work, dentists managed to ease the pain, and so he feels himself again (even though not really, as Willow dissociates completely from his old self. He struggles not to imagine that old Papyrus was actually him at some point :( )

Swapfell Sans - He talks like an English aristocrat. Mainly because he is an aristocrat. Even if he was dumped in the streets at a very young age, he became the Queen's favorite fast and she kinda mothered him until he got educated enough to talk like a future monarch. Well, for sure, maybe that should have trigger him sooner that she wanted him to be her heir, but he had other problems at the time. Nox is really good at arguing with people, and he definitely has a deep nice voice that helps to get to the point. He has a very rich vocabulary and sometimes talks like an old man, which never fails to amuse Rus, who is teasing him to death. It's hard to change his mind when he decides something though. He rarely gets angry or frustrated, as Toriel taught him to stay calm whatever how bad the situation is. I like to imagine him a bit like Levaï in Attack on Titans, but a little less vulgar, even though he can insult people (always with class though, you'll never hear him say shit or fuck).

Swapfell Papyrus - Unfortunately, he didn't have his brother's education, and even if Nox tried desperately to teach him, Rus decided he wanted to do things his way. Rus' voice is... something lol. You're not sure what his voice really is actually, because he can mimic every tone, every voice, every animal sound, that's his little superpower. He's super good at mimicking people, and so he tends to use a lot of voices all at once, depending on the situation. He's insolent, he's cursing and insulting a lot, and he will definitely push topics until you show him clearly you have enough. He never sounds mad, even when he is, hiding everything behind his humor, which usually turns cold or dark when he's angry. Rus is actually not too sure who he is really. He spent too much time playing roles, and he's not sure which voice is the real him anymore. He still has a long way to recover from all the abuse Underground, but he's not sure if he wants to heal yet, it scares him. So for now, humor and provocation is his best defense against everything.

Fellswap Gold Sans - His voice is always gentle and nice, but with a you're not sure what that doesn't sound right. Wine is an excellent negotiator and by extension a very good manipulator. Words are strategy and he uses them with care to get what he wants, even if it means sounding insensitive and careless. Wine takes the longest time to warm up, that's why he doesn't have very good luck in his love life. He's rude, brutally honest and doesn't hesitate to say when something is bothering him. A bit like Nox, he's definitely an aristocrat and talks like such. He's very proud of his education and learned really early that words have as much power as weapons. He's extremely dangerous because you can never tell when he's angry or not. And usually, when he is, you notice it when it's too late.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He has only two moods: very enthusiastic, sounding almost childish, and getting overexcited over the little things, and complete panic when someone is meeting his eyes and wants to talk to him. Coffee struggled to make himself understand since he was a kid, mainly because Wine never left his side and kinda translated everything to the other people. But that comes with consequences: he lacks the basic social skills to hold a conversation as an adult. He is always scared to say something wrong and gets usually completely paralyzed when he can't control the situation. When it happens, he switches to being nonverbal. He knows sign language, and he's actually more comfortable talking like this with his favorite people. He panics less when he doesn't have to use his voice.

[aelincreativ]

Show Time - D.Va

They were kind enough to show up the day after her birthday.

She'd known they were coming. Having seen the articles and posts written about the others who had been drafted and disappeared from the internet for months before showing up mid battle.

So she didn't fight it. Instead greeting the officers in uniform at her door with perfect manners and hospitality. Showing them to the table where she had the tea set prepared and waiting.

They wasted no time. Telling her that she had been drafted and would submit to her training squadron in three days time. They relayed the consequences for if she failed to comply. Then the consequences for if she tried to run. Then the consequences for if she attempted to publicly resist.

She had already researched those thoroughly.

When she didn't fight them or try to argue they seemed caught off guard. Like they didn't know what to do when they didn't have to use force to get what they wanted.

And maybe that was her first mistake. Not putting up more of a fight upfront.

She didn't fight it. Half because she knew they wouldn't let her. Half because she had believed at the time that she might actually be able to do something good.

Her mother didn't cry when she showed up an hour later. She'd asked her not to when she told her mom what would happen all those months ago when the first drafts were called. Her mother stayed strong while she was there. Taking the box of important documents and keepsakes from her hands.

She knew that after she left, her mom would put on her shoes and go walk the same path they'd taken together many times before. The walk, just fifteen minutes, would end the same place it always did. At her father's gravestone.

She'd already made her visit the night before. Promising him that she would make him proud and make sure no one ever suffered like he did again.

She would report to her training squadron early and in-process and begin her assessments. She would pass the tests with flying colors. Setting herself up as a fast track star. Set to complete her training in a record time.

It was less than a month before she made her first live flight test with a training mech. As compared to the three months most other drafted pilots took. She passed the training modules faster than anyone before her in half the time and earned the praise of all her instructors for her dedication and drive.

It seemed fitting that with her expedited training, that her live fire career would start with a bang. Her graduation ceremony from the program was a small but grand affair. With her being congratulated by the chain of MEKA command and welcomed by her new unit.

It was only fitting that as soon as her hand was clasped in the Colonel's that the alarms would ring and she'd be pulled with the rest of the unit to do what they had trained for.

Her success in her first battle was her second mistake.

Returning victorious with two Gwishin defeated and only superficial damage to her mech, she instantly cemented herself as the heavy hitter star of the unit. She let that victory settle in her spine and make her strive to be the best.

Training and learning all she could in the windows of down time between Gwishin attacks.

She worked hard to earn the respect and trust of her teammates and do her duty to her country and people with pride.

Then they approached her, and she made her third mistake.

They offered her a position back in the public eye. To become the face of MEKA by having access to her streaming platform restored. They told her that the budget was limited and low. With costs of constant repairs and upgrades, they needed public support funding.

She'd accepted without hesitation. And maybe she should have. Because once again they were stunned to not face opposition. Her first stream back was a carefully scripted fanfare of a staged tour of the MEKA facility. The one after that a test flight after an upgrade. Then a training skirmish. Then a scripted QnA with the pilots.

Then came the second test flight.

But the carefully scripted routine of maneuvers to show off the unstoppable power of MEKA was interrupted by the warning sirens. She snapped to attention immediately, switching her coms to connect to her unit and took command to organize an offensive.

She got lost in the fight, forgetting the camera feed attached to her mech. She forgot to be the person they wanted her to be and instead let herself slip. Letting lose just enough to make risky but calculated calls that ended in a sweeping victory with only one mech on the team too damaged to make it back under its own power.

It was only after the victory had been celebrated among teammates that her com was overridden and switched back to the channel she had been on. The channel that had her handler on it to feed her lines and remind her of the prompts for the scripted stream.

She was summoned back to base and given a choice. Though calling it a choice was generous, it was an ultimatum. The live battle had been received very well at first. Donations poured in like a flood as they watched the reality unfold before them. But the shift in her personality during combat had garnered negative attention.

The people didn't like seeing their bubbly streamer turn so serious and harsh as she barked out battle commands to her team. The handler had cut the stream once realizing the growing negative opinion, feigning that the camera broadcast equipment attached to the outside of the mech had taken a hit.

The ultimatum was this, stay strict to the script and maintain the personality at all times even under fire, or stop flight broadcasts and instead supplement the lost revenue with alternate means.

She'd promised to stick to the script and was given one more chance. She was permitted to do casual video game streams again but closely monitored and on a delay incase of need to censor her if the persona slipped.

She'd held out for two months until one of her team went down. Seeing her friend and ally potentially die made it impossible to keep the facade and persona.

Her return to base was met with the stern faces of her handler and an officer. They debriefed her and then laid out that since she couldn't be trusted with live fire situations on stream, they would be moving towards a new revenue system.

Sponsorships.

Something seemingly innocent at first. When it was just companies that wanted their logos plastered all over her mech. But then the logos on her started.

At first they stayed professional. On her arms and back. But as more “sponsors” became personal “investors” there was a need for more space for more logos and names.

The sides of her thighs were next and that didn't bother her too much. But those were soon filled. There wasn't any more room. She looked ridiculous at that point. And they realized it was starting to negatively affect her image.

So instead they switched the system. Reducing the number of logos and areas they were displayed to just her top sponsors. Instead they started to offer meet and greet events. Where sponsors would buy in at different levels for different amounts of her time and attention.It worked for a month. But then the novelty of it wore off. The masses were no longer satisfied with the casual group interactions. They wanted, no demanded, more.

Her handlers were at a loss for a while on what to do, and as the numbers coming in steady started to decrease, they panicked. Trying to throw her at anything to see what would stick.

Talk show interviews were one of the first they tried. It got a few whispers but not enough for them. Sending her to a celebrity hotshot party got murmurs. Doing television ads for her sponsors. Playing a game show contestant. Being a patient in a medical show. A few episodes of a reality show as a minor character. Then as the female lead in a B-grade movie.

Those worked for a while. She managed to fit it all in between her other duties. Nevermind that Dae-hyun kept looking at her with concern and making comments about pushing herself too much.

Everyone else thought she chose to do all those things. None of them knew how much of their funding relied on her. No one but her and her handler team knew that she had no choice in what she did.

She hadn't had control of anything but her own thoughts in almost a year at that point.And then the money clips tightened again.

And her handler came with a new “request”.

And this time she tried to fight it.

But you can't fight back when you're already in chains.

So began the meetings with sponsors one on one. Getting rented out like a lady of the night for hours at a time. To the tune of tens of thousands of dollars per hour.

At first they were respectful. Basking in the novel concept of having her undivided attention. But it only took a few meetings for them to grow more bold. To encroach on her personal space. To push and break her boundaries and the terms established for these meetings.

They had deluded themselves that she cared about them. Felt something for them besides their checkbook. That she thought they were special.

The first one who tried to put his hands on her suffered for it. She broke the offending hand and kneed him in the balls to make her escape.

She was sanctioned for “use of excessive force against a civilian”.

The second only had a finger broken.

She was sanctioned again, taking a pay cut and put on suspended privilege status.

The third was slapped.

She was dragged into her handlers office where she was scolded like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

She was then told, plain and simple, that the money they'd lost from those three “sponsors” would be near impossible to replace. That she was to blame now for the lack of parts and supplies in the coming months.

Told that if she lost any more sponsors, they'd have to cut her off and find a replacement for her. And then, once she was out of MEKA and their protection, the three men she'd “attacked” would go after her legally and summarily destroy her reputation and any hope of a career she could have outside of MEKA.

“Am I understood?” Her handler sneered. The look on his face was one she had seen many times before whenever she dared to go against his commands by even a single step.

“Yes, sir.” She spoke. Clearly and without a mumble as she had been scolded for before.

The man looked smug at her compliance. Like he always did.

“Then you are dismissed. Return to your quarters and prepare for the 1800 stream of game three on the roster.”

She nodded and left the office swiftly, but not too quickly as to seem she was running away.

She was not allowed to run away.

She made it to her room and knew she had an hour to get ready. But instead of moving to her makeup table, to change the look placed on her for her earlier meeting with the sponsor, she sat on her bed.

She looked at the spread of things she had once enjoyed. Soft blankets and pillows, stuffed animals of game characters and creatures, posters for shows and movies.

All things that were similar to what she once plastered her childhood bedroom in.

But nothing here had been chosen by her. It was all a carefully staged backdrop. A set that she had to make up with precision every morning. There was a reason she often slept in her workshop.

Despite what Dae-hyun and the others thought, she did not just randomly fall asleep while working too late. She chose the discomfort and lingering aches of sleeping in a chair at a desk or in a pile on the floor.

It was more comfortable to her than to try and relax inside the stage she was forced to puppet around in.

She set the pillow she had grabbed down, exactly in its designated position, and stood up. Smoothing the sheets she had wrinkled before walking to the vanity that held the hundreds of products she was to make use of.

She opened the pack of makeup wipes, a sponsored brand that she didn't like, and slowly and carefully removed the makeup from her face. Taking her time to not rub excessively and cause any redness or irritation. She wiped away the layers painted onto her. The ones that had been specifically catered to enhance the features the sponsor had preferred.

She made her way to her bathroom and wet a cloth and added a pump of a sponsored face wash she had filmed a commercial for the day before. This one at least actually worked for her skin, even if it didn't actually do all it promised to do. Not that it mattered, she had five other products that filled in the gaps.

She rinsed off the foam and braced her hands on the sink before looking up.

She stared at the girl in the mirror. Soft brown eyes that looked so tired without the layers of concealer and color corrector applied. No specifically picked and color matched eyeshadow either to give the allusion of a brighter attitude either.

She stared at the scar on the tip of her nose from her first crash landing where one of the display screens inside Tokki shattered and a piece of the glass sliced into her.

She visually traced the hairline jagged crack across her forehead from when she was ejected and slammed into King as a last resort as Tokki was shredded in the grasp of three Gwishin.

She licked the scar on her lip from the street fight she got into a few months ago that had earned her a sanction and two months of restricted and monitored communications.

Worth it though. The omnic she'd saved had escaped and she'd made it out with only bruises besides her lip. She'd snuck out of the base to try and visit her mom and instead found an omnic being beaten in the street.

She looked at the girl in the mirror.

This was her. Not the makeup and cameras and scripts.

This.

With her scars and dark circles and eyes that looked so tired.

She wondered where it all went wrong. How she had lost track of herself. How she had allowed herself to be so thoroughly beaten down until she didn't even know who she was anymore.

Was she even herself anymore? Or had all of her parts been stripped away and replaced until all that remained was the depressed spark in the back of her mind that could barely raise its head anymore to tap on the cell walls she'd been chained in.

Was she Hana? Or was she D.Va?

Hana looked back at her in the mirror. But that was the only place Hana was allowed to exist. As soon as she walked out of this bathroom she'd be forced to put on the mask of D.Va once more.

To parade around like the well trained dog she was. Following every command of her master with not so much as a single thought in her head that was not put there for her.

And what did she have to complain about when she lived a life of luxury. Surrounded by high value items and things. Having all the love and adoration from the public she could want. The people sang her praises and cheered her name. They trusted her to protect them and she honored that trust.

Casualties to Gwishin attacks had been cut to a quarter of what they were before she was drafted and joined the battlefield. Half those remaining casualties happened on the rare times she was off duty and not in the fight. She had done it. Had made the difference she had so desperately wanted to make when she first decided not to fight the orders to serve.

What was a complete lack of autonomy over her body and soul for that?How could she protest the sacrifice of herself to save everyone else?

She couldn't. At least not outloud.

So instead, she waved Hana goodbye in the bathroom mirror, and went to go greet D.Va in the vanity mirror.

Carefully applying the layers of her war paint.

Dark circles vanishing beneath a bottle that cost more than a house. Bright colors teased on her eyelids to make a sparkle appear where there had been none before.

Red blush dusted on the tip of her nose and then stamped over with a custom white bunny.

Hair curled and pinned to further shadow the filler on her forehead.

Lips carefully traced and colored to erase any sign of vagrant behavior in the defense of those who her handler would have her spit on.

She contorted her face and D.Va smiled back at her. She waved. A cute coquette thing that was just a flutter of her fingers.

She looked at the clock. Ten minutes to go.

Show time.

To her knowledge, no one saw her leave Hana Song behind in that bathroom. No saw the final shudder that shot through her frame as the spark in the back of her mind was gagged and bound into submission as lights flickered on. No one saw as the spark in her eye became artificial and painful as her cheeks stretched into a bright smile as she shouted out a greeting even though there was no one in the room with her.

No one should have seen. But someone did.

The only other being in the world who knew exactly how that scar on her lip was created.

Someone who couldn't get the figure of a tiny human rushing to his defense out of his mind. Not until he had identified her and tried to figure out why?

And now he had more questions than before.

[tainbocuailnge]

some general is5 observations & tips having done every ending currently available and some souls level 10 runs

a lot of maps, particularly bosses but also regular ones, happen in two phases and make it difficult to use one set of units for both phases. because of this you essentially want to have an A team and a B team who can swap for each other as needed. there's usually only one chokepoint to defend, but you do want two sets of units who can defend this chokepoint.

my personal checklist of things I need is this:

a way to quickly get rid of spines of epoch, both to free up tiles and to get plans early on for more options

someone who can bait (seeds of withering, bind casters, stun snipers, those guys who call in drones, mobile artillery, corruption tanks, ch14 lasers, lich wizards with their necrosis field cast, sankta jumpscares)

helidrop damage

aoe damage

someone who can just hold a guy for a while and ideally can also take the manfred cannon

a healer who can heal without needing skills for it and a healer who can heal without needing to attack enemies about it

low priority but less of a luxury the further you go: dedicated anti-air damage

not strictly necessary but convenient: some source of spare bodies to feed to vore sarkaz

bonus: block 4 for duck lord maps, low-altitude hovering counters in case a bunch of flying treasure chests try to be funny, elemental damage to melt reborn creations

phantom with his IS module covers half of these points by himself so he's like playing easy mode. I took him for fun on my first several runs and then stopped bringing him for a bit so i could learn how to actually solve these maps.

there are a lot of holes and collectibles and inspirers to combo with shift gaming (50% increased damage taken for 10 seconds after being shifted lmao) but I'm just not very shifterbrained so I haven't done much of that

for spines of epoch elemental and true damage are the easiest but any arts damage is generally fine. aciddrop is my favourite for this job though, a lot of sarkaz enemies have innate res so physical damage is better early on and thanks to her high minimum damage she can reliably take out the spines even at e1 and stays relevant on later floors after enemy def starts scaling. aoe damage (be it splash or chain) is good because lots of maps have big groups of enemies but also because it lets you somewhat circumvent the taunt on spines by still hitting enemies around it.

all three bosses counter fast-redeploy strats in some way (locking up units / +3 dp cost / increased redeployment time on manual retreats) but there's so many maps where taking out priority targets fast makes things easier that fast-redeploys are still really strong picks. in general someone you can drop on a guy to immediately deal a bunch of damage (executors, dreadnoughts, musha, surtr, etc) works extremely well against every midboss and is a great asset in face-off nodes.

you generally don't need a lot of dedicated block in is5 but you do want at least one sturdy defender (ideally two on the principle of having A and B teams) and someone who can handle cannon jumpscares, as well as a bunch of extra melee bodies that can be less durable (your vanguards, your bait, your summons, etc). passage blockade is much easier if you can just hold one of the knights for a bit while you wear down the other, and having a bunch of spare bodies makes past the aquapit free as hell and the norport civilians in epochal gaps much easier to manage. I like to bring poncirus because she's very bulky for a vanguard.

between necrosis and corruption you don't want to solely rely on skill-based healing or attack-based healing, you either need one of each or just a healer that heals. a wandering medic isn't a requirement the way it was in is2 and arguably is3 but it gives you more leeway in deploying around spines of epoch. swire the elegant wit's s1 is notably unaffected by necrosis because it's technically always active, and she's very good at holding a guy.