#Fear circuitry in the brain

[drsudhirarora1]

Fear, though intangible, exerts a potent influence on our minds, often manifesting physically, as in the case of stammering. This article delves into the intricate workings of the brain, uncovering the connection between fear and stammering, while offering a revolutionary approach to overcoming it.

Dr. Sudhir Arora, a revered figure in the realm of mind power techniques, brings over 45 years of experience to the table. His pioneering methods, encapsulated in MindGuru, offer a beacon of hope to those grappling with speech impediments.

The Brain's Fear Circuitry In moments of fear, a primal response is triggered within the brain. The amygdala, the hub of emotions, sends distress signals to the hypothalamus, igniting the fight-or-flight response. This physiological cascade primes the body for action but can also disrupt speech fluency.

Fear's Grip on Speech Stammering, a common speech disorder, often finds its roots in fear and anxiety. For males aged 25 to 35, societal pressures and performance anxiety can exacerbate this condition. The fear of judgment or ridicule acts as a constant barrier to fluent communication.

Breaking the Shackles: MindGuru's Approach Traditional speech therapy may yield results, but Dr. Sudhir Arora's MindGuru offers a unique alternative. By harnessing the power of the mind, individuals can liberate themselves from the clutches of fear-induced stammering.

The Power Guarantee With MindGuru, the power lies within the individual. By reprogramming the subconscious mind, confidence is restored, and fear loses its grip. Unlike conventional therapies, MindGuru promises tangible results without the need for extensive sessions.

Embracing Mind Power Techniques MindGuru transcends conventional boundaries, tapping into the reservoir of inner strength. Through visualization, affirmation, and relaxation techniques, individuals learn to reframe their thoughts and conquer fear-induced stammering.

Empowering Males Globally Irrespective of geographical location, the fear of stammering unites individuals worldwide. Whether in India, the US, UAE, or Canada, Dr. Sudhir Arora's MindGuru extends its transformative reach, offering hope and empowerment to males aged 25 to 35.

Unlock Your Potential Today Don't let fear dictate your speech. Embrace the power of MindGuru and embark on a journey towards fluent, confident communication. With Dr. Sudhir Arora's expertise and the unwavering support of MindGuru, reclaim your voice and rewrite your narrative.

[hedge-rambles]

One of the cool things about human brains is that we can practice our responses to things we've never actually experienced.

Children love to play imagination games including dark and dangerous situations because it's how their brains work out a script of what to do if that ever actually happens. Adults like to read and watch and create media about horrible things, things they've never experienced (and hope never to experience) because it lets them play out and consider how they would act in that situation, laying down neural pathways for it ahead of time.

I think people who say "if you write about X happening, or like fiction where X happens, you like X" have it completely backwards tbh. People often like writing/reading/watching things about X happening not because they want it to, but precisely because they don't. Engaging with it in fiction lets their brains go "good job! you're prepared now!".

Every single time I see a take that amounts to "if you write about X happening, or like fiction where X happens, you like X" I'm reminded of this one time I was at a casual friends house as a young kid. We were in her room, pretending to "be orphans" escaping from an evil orphanage and having to take care of each other and fend for ourselves. It was all very Little Orphan Annie/All Dogs Go to Heaven and based on the 80s pop media.

And this girl's mom comes in, hears what we're playing and gets all MAD and UPSET. She says that if we play act something, it's because we want it to happen. So her daughter must WANT HER TO DIE.

First off lady, we were 6 year year olds, so take it down several notches. We barely had a concept of mortality for fucks sake. She made us feel so guilty and ashamed, because she was taking our game personally.

Now I have a 5 year old. And sometimes she looks at me and says "pretend you're dead, and I have to -" Whatever it is. Some adult task she's assigned herself.

And it's just so transparently obvious that she's practicing the idea of having to do things on her own. Which is exactly what 5 year olds are supposed to do. I actually find it very flattering that the only way she can envision me not being available to help her is to be literally deceased. Otherwise, obviously, she wouldn't have to do scary hard things alone.

It's a natural coping mechanism. She's self-soothing about what would happen if I wasn't there by play-acting independence in a perfectly safe environment. She's also practicing skills she needs, and making up excuses for practicing them on her own, without taking on the responsibility of being able to do them by herself all the time yet.

Humans mentally rehearse bad this in their brains all the time. We can do that by ruminating- going over worries over and over again, which tends to lead to anxiety and helplessness and depression. Or we can do it with a sense of play- by recognizing that the fiction is fiction and we can dip our toe into these experiences and expose ourselves to bad things without actually being injured.

My daughter does not want me dead. And I don't want bad things to happen in real life. But fiction and pretend help me face the horrors of the world and think about them without collapsing or messing myself up mentally.

[tinydefector]

Is it too much to ask for a follow-up on the Human' Effects fic?

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Masterlist

This is more just some more information of headcanons I have and how I like writing the bots. So I hope you enjoy it. This one's more on the differences and similarities between humans and Cybertronians.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: mentions of reproduction, and exploration of body's. Valveplug.

__________

So this is just a continuation for Human effects. This one also delves into some more information on biological, cultural and different frames and how they interact with each other, humans and other organic Creatures. 

Biological Humans and Cybertronians are vastly different even with quite a few similarities. 

Sparklings and children 

There is a very big difference in the body function of Humans and Cybertronians. Size for one but also Organic DNA and CNA. There are many things which can Line up with the other species but also function very differently 

Such as. 

structure and organ comparison 

Plating - skin

Helm - head

Processor, brain module - brain 

Faceplate- face

Audio Receptors, Audials, Receptor orifices - ears 

Nasal ridge, enstril, olfactory sensors- nose

Optical ridge - eyebrows

Optics, visors  - eyes and glasses sometimes visors are used as optics

Intake- mouth, throat or a breath. 

Denta, denta plating- teeth 

Glossa- tongue 

Mandibles (insecticons) - jaw 

Vocalizer- voice box 

Chin or chin plating are the same 

Chestplate, chassis- chest and higher stomach (abs area) 

Fuel tanks- stomach. 

Backplate, back struts, binary system,  bipedalism - back and spine, spinal cord. 

Servos and digits - Hands and fingers 

Sounder plating - shoulder blades 

Pede - feet 

pump and Spark - heart and soul 

Energon lines - arrays veins. 

Vents - lungs, breath. 

Pelvic plate - pelvis

Aft, tailpipe, skid plate- butt

Interface panel - covered reproduction organs

Spike - penis 

Value - vagina 

Carrier chamber, Gestation chamber - womb

Helm and head

With the fact one is filled with circuitry, coding and wires and the other is filled with flesh, fluid and other organic matter. Humans' heads are covered in hair most times. And even those who aren't their head Is still rather soft and smooth. And the bots love playing with human hair and facial hair when they are allowed too. 

It also leads to humans giving the bots head scratches, and it's something so man you the bots had never thought of and they love it. They will lay their head in their human lap and just enjoy the gentle touches to their Finial, audials, and helm crest. It becomes. Causal thing of the humans using soft little microfiber cloths to clean out dust and dirt from the small crevices in the bots Plating. Head pats and scratches really becomes something that Cybertronians love alot and it makes a lot of humans consider the bots large cats.

Faceplate and Faces. 

One of the things which is very different between humans and Cybertronians is how they show affection to each other. Cybertronians do a thing called a helm hold. Where they each hold their partner's helm in their servos while looking into each other's optics, it's how they show how much they care, because they are focusing only on that one person. And it means alot more after the war, to focus all your attention on just one bots servos shows a lot of trust, affection and love for someone.  

While humans have Hugging, kissing. So the bots are rather confused the first time they are hugged, tensing up not wanting to hurt their human. And they nearly short circuit when the human kisses them it's more out of fear. 

“Do you know how dangerous that is! What if I crushed you!” The bot hisses in panic while looking at their lover. “not to mention the fact that is my Energon Intake! Do you know what energon can do to Humans!” It nearly sends the bot into meltdowns as they hold their lover's face staring into their eyes trying to show them how much they love and care for them. It would break their spark if they accidentally hurt them. 

“it's called a Kiss, I was kissing you” the human tries to explain, their hands cupping around their bots servos. 

“a kiss?” the bot inquired. “Yea I'm sorry if you didn't want it, it's just I thought we were in that part of our relationship” the human begins rambling out of anxiety thinking they had messed up. In the end they both settle for a small gesture in-between. Pressing their head and helm, together as they cradle the other. 

Eventually they will come around to accepting kisses but it is only for very special occasions. Because the bot will make sure that there isn't a trace of energon in their system for their partner's safety. Over time it becomes them pressing soft kisses to each other's noses. 

Skin and Plating 

These are all the parts which somewhat are similar to humans, but also work vastly different than the human body does. So with this listed here are many of the things that vary with the similarities. 

Plating and skin are vastly different due to one being metal and the other being flesh, it's one of the things a lot of the Cybertronians love is how soft Human skin is. They really enjoy just fondling their human companions, pulling their checks, and enjoying how their skin moves. How pliable, warm and squishy they are. Cybertronians finding out about human breasts really takes them by storm. 

“What are those?” the bot asks while pressing a finger to their breast feeling how soft and squishy they are. 

“breast, boobs, tits they have a lot of names” 

“What are they for?” The bot continues to just slowly play with them out of curiosity, not knowing what the human would need them for. 

“they are used for feeding babies, they fill with milk, it's not a constant thing and not everyone's do but they are for feeding babies.” the human tries to explain and it just leaves the bot shocked. 

“You're with Sparkling?” The bot asked as they began fussing over the human more, gently pressing their digits to the human's body more. 

“no, no I'm not pregnant!” They laugh out loud while rather embarrassed. “‘but wouldn't they deflate?” The bot shoots back as their digits begin needing the flesh which makes the humans sigh and lean into the touch. “human babe, don't have the same functions as you.” They tease softly.

 It ends up with one bot having their human lover back pressed to their Chassis. The bot's servos just cupped around their partners breast slowly massaging them as the human leans back just enjoying the feeling because it takes the weight off their back and the cool touch of the metal feels delightful against their skin. 

Heart and spark

The difference between a human heart and spark aren't that different at all. They both pump blood/energon to where it's needed, it's the life provider of the body. Each has a beat or pulse. And the said beat and pulse sounds different. A human's heart beat feels like a thump but to Cybertronians it's an echo. Each beat they can feel and see like A beating light. And they love how it feels laying against them, their spark will actually fall in tune With their heart beat as a way to calm the human.  While for humans a Cybertronians spark pulse feels like electricity dancing across their skin it's like the build up of static but it doesn't zap. The vibration of a spark is like energy building and releasing, the buzzing sound that just resonates through their body as they lay against their bot. 

olfactory sensors and nose

Unfortunately humans don't have the enhanced scent sensors that a lot of other species do, and Cybertronians have one for the most advanced ones, they don't just smell it but they can break down the chemical compound to its base and are able to tell humans emotions based on how they smell. It also leads to bots becoming rather touching with their lovers when they can smell their cycle. It also leads a lot of bots realising they have a breeding kink after being with a human, because the moment they can feel their partners change in hormones they are hovering. It becomes an even bigger thing when they smell the scent of a young spark, they feel the EM Field. 

carriers and pregnancy 

There is a major difference between human pregnancy and cybertronian pregnancy. Humans can only be born from reproduction.  a new spark can be formed in multiple ways. 

-Forged.  

-Cold construct. 

-split spark

- Sparked 

Forged new sparks are bots that are formed in hotspots across cybertron and on occasions sparklings can also be formed from these hot spots. 

Cold constructs are bots that have been made by others for a purpose and were originally classed as 2nd class citizens, miners or lower than other bots, 

Split Sparks made from splitting your spark into another form. It was very rare due to multiple laws being inplace against it. 

Sparklings were formed through spark merging with another and creating enough energy to form new lifeforms. A carrier would then have to host said spark in their Gestation chamber until the spark could grow its own protoform. Then from there they are moved into the carrier chamber where they learn off their carrier's coding, and also receive food, coding and personal information from their Sire via Transfluid. As sparklings are still not able to consume normal energon and it has to be processed down enough for the sparkling. (Similar to how humans breastfeed) from there once they are ready the sparkling will be ‘birthed’ and from their they will need to be carried in a spark chamber until they have fully developed but gives them time to learn the world around them but still have the safety of a parent to protect them. 

This leads the bots and humans to both be horrified at the differences of the others' reproduction. The bots are horrified over the fact a human's pelvis bone breaks just to birth a baby. But also the fact that humans can carry more than one child. They eventually watch a documentary over human birth; it makes a lot of bots short out and crash. 

Humans on the other hand are shocked over the time it takes for a bot to have a sparkling. 100 years is longer than a lot of humans ever live but it's how long it takes for the full process of a sparkling to be formed and born. That's without all the issues with CNA, temperature, spark energy, energon. A Lot of Cybertronian pregnancies don't make it to term due to these factors. 

So when by some chance a human gets pregnant by a Cybertronian it has the whole planet up in a tissy. Not just the fact of how genetically different they are but how it happened. The first human Cybertronian sparkling is a miracle watched by man and documented. And it turns out the human womb is actually the best possible hosting spot for the start of a sparkling, it's the perfect temperature, and it's not a temperature a lot of bots can keep their own frames. The human womb actually short cuts a lot of time over the birth Due to the sparkling Not needing to be shifted from one chamber to another. It comes down to being pregnant for 3 years. It's a long time for a human but it's decades Less than what it normally takes for a Cybertronian if they made it through the full progress. 

And when the sparkling is born it's discovered that the sparkling doesn't have any human traits, defects or appearance. Due to the human body mainly working as a host, the CNA and DNA don't mix when it comes to creating a sparkling but they work perfectly in sync When it comes to helping the sparkling grow. And it also turns out humans are able to sustain more than One sparkling. 

That also brings me to the function of spike and Valves. For Cybertronians spikes and Valves aren't how Sparklings are created, sparklings are created from two sparks merging together and creating enough energy for a sparkling but interface is needed to start the process of how they form. Sparkling needs Transfluid to begin and that is what Cybertronians use interfacing for outside of sharing memories, information and emotions. Most times Cybertronians interface for fun, feeling close, sharing information with a loved one, or to help feed a sparkling the necessary data, fluids and programming. 

so When a Cybertronian and human interface it has a lovely mix of a 50/ 50 chance of getting pregnant due to how the human and cybertronian heart and spark link in a frequency that is almost essential Spark merging. And a human doesn't even need to interface with a Cybertronian to get pregnant.

Here is a list of ways humans have gotten pregnant/ a bot has gotten pregnant. 

-interfacing 

-spark bonding 

-a human touching a bots spark. 

-having enough hated for another you get them pregnant by sheer Anger

- spark And heart syncing 

-A human being on their cycle will make a bot pregnant. 

______________

Megatron entered the medbay of the Lost Light, feeling unusual warmth and pressure in his chest. "Ratchet," he said gruffly to get the medic's attention. "Something is...off. I feel as if I have consumed fool's energon again, but I know that is not the case." 

He looked down at the medic, his optics betraying slight concern beneath his usual stern demeanour. "Examine me and determine what ails me. I need to be at full function." His pride did not allow him to admit weakness easily, but he trusted Ratchet's skills. 

Ratchet nodded to First Aid and They as they stood ready to assist. He turned back to Megatron with a scrutinising gaze.

"When did you first notice the symptoms? Any other anomalies in your systems?" he asked gruffly, scanning the Decepticon warlord from head to foot with a diagnostic tool. The scans showed unusual activity in Megatron's Gestation chamber.

"Hmm...it appears your spark is pulsing more rapidly than normal. And the pressure you described suggests a buildup of energon flow." Ratchet paused, analysing the data. "This could indicate...no, it's not possible. Or is it...?" He leaned in closer, inspecting Megatron with keen optics.

"We'll need a more detailed scan. Over here, lay back - this won't hurt but may feel peculiar. First Aid, fire up the resonator. Ambulon you're in charge of monitoring vitals."

"What's wrong, ratchet he was fine this morning?" The human asked in concern. 

Megatron lay back on the medical berth as directed, his massive frame dwarfing its size. his expression softened ever so slightly. As the detailed spark scan began, Ratchet's optics widened in surprise. "By the Allspark...it can't be..." He motioned First Aid "Look here. What do you see?"

First Aid peered at the monitor in amazement. "Two distinct spark pulses...but how is that possible?" Ratchet glanced over at Megatron, then back at the others. "It would seem Megatron himself is carrying sparkling. The increased energon flow and pressure were signs of protoform development beginning."

He chuckled wryly. "Well Megatron, it seems that fool's energon was not to blame after all. Congratulations...you're going to be a creator." Megatron's optics widened in disbelief at Ratchet's announcement. Carrying sparkling? It made no sense as far as he knew, spark merging could only occur between cybertronians and he had only been intimate with a human. 

He sat up abruptly, almost knocking First Aid over, and glared down at Ratchet. "Explain yourself, medic! How is this possible? The human and I have been intimate but they clearly lack our means of conception." Ratchet held up a calming hand. "Peace, Megatron. I have a theory," 

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

@ladyofnegativity

[cherry-romper]

Connor Drabble

I got really bored and wrote this at 3 am when I couldn't sleep, I kinda love it and wanted to share it. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings; none

Contains; F!reader, fluff

They say the eyes are windows to the soul, and that the soul is a mirror of the heart. They say that without tears, the soul would have no rainbow. Souls are the very essence of what it is to be human. They connect us all, allowing us to transcend our existence and create space for shared experiences of the human condition. 

Yet, under dim light, she held the android's gaze, not needing to wonder if the warmth in his eyes was something he’d learnt to mimic or something he’d truly begun to feel. 

She’d been told that the soul was a fundamentally human thing. She’d been led to believe that the soul and the heart and love and fear were what set humans and androids apart. They were incapable of such things; they were not programmed to feel. They could not cry, they could not love, and they didn't eat or drink or sleep. They were fast, they followed orders, and they never complained or broke or failed.

Still, his hand felt so warm in hers. 

Part of her felt guilty for liking it so much. It was wrong, wasn't it? That's what she’d been told all her life. As her friend put it: “It's like falling in love with a talking microwave”. But, she couldn't help but feel her human heart skip a beat every time he caught her eye. 

They used to sing songs and tell tales about men like him. He didn't have to do anything to make her feel special, she knew she was loved. Perhaps it was the fact he didn't have a flawed human brain, and, instead, he was able to store all the little things she did or said without forgetting them. Or maybe, it was the fact that he didn't care about their differences, he didn’t care what others thought, he knew he loved her. Ones and zeros could never take that away.

It was silly really, she’d fallen for an android. And an android had fallen for her. It was an impossible love, one that redefined flesh and code. With him, she found a tenderness that surpassed human touch, a quiet devotion that neither time nor technology could ever truly explain.

Despite knowing the limitations that separated them - his silicon heart, her beating one; his blue blood, hers red - they couldn't help but feel a connection deeper than anything they ever knew possible. And though, deep down, they knew it could never be, for a fleeting moment, it didn't matter. They found the possible in the impossible, and the perfection in imperfection. They were not bound by the rules of the world, they had something far more profound.

Her guilt and doubt and shame, those emotions all melted away at his touch, replaced by a warmth that eased every fear and hesitation she had. Nothing else mattered when he was around. His presence was like a safety net from the world's judgments. 

As his fingers brushed hers, her heart raced, not with panic, but with the undeniable certainty that she was exactly where she needed to be. The overwhelming connection between them blurred the lines of right and wrong, and she found herself lost in something pure, something beautiful, even if it was born of impossibility. 

They say in the eyes of another, we find the reflection of our soul, and in the depth of his gaze, she saw not just his circuitry, but a reflection of her own heart - fragile, yearning, and alive. 

[literatureloverx]

i cant stop reading all your stuff on fedya UGH its so good im turning ill

anywhooo i know you said that he would like someone whos always more obedient to him and super gentle and very demure, but would fyodor make any exceptions? falling in love seems like one of the only things that he cant really plan out 100% so what do you think hed do if the person he liked ended up being the complete opposite? or maybe what are the dealbreakers for him?

I’m so glad to hear that (I’m giggling and kicking my feet) ♥️ you’re so sweet!!!

I have mixed your request into a full character analysis on Fyodor and potential darling explanation.

My reason for doing this is that Fyodor is such a deep and multifaceted character that I can’t just go from A to B. I need to explain things in detail so that it all makes sense in the end.

Dealbreaker headcanons are under the text, I hope you’re enjoying it, even though it isn’t exactly what you wanted, but it is incorporated into the post! ♥️

Fyodor’s character & darling analysis

Although I’m fully aware that being 100% objective is practically impossible, I’m obsessed with being as objective as possible. In my understanding of Fyodor’s character (without bias towards any particular personality type, therefore objective in my opinion), the way I wrote his darling made the most logical sense to me.

However, a darling must serve a purpose in order to be relevant. As we all know, Asagiri is not big on romance, which leaves much room for speculation about the type of darling each character would end up with. In my view, the only way for Fyodor to fall in love is through deep genuineness and love towards his true self. Perhaps even a love so immense that it overwhelms and frustrates him.

In my interpretation, it’s not really possible for him to fall in love with the exact opposite type of the ideal darling I depicted. Let me explain why I think that is:

The opposite type of ideal darling would likely be more extroverted, expressive, confident, brazen, and bold. The problem here is that Fyodor’s environment is filled with serenity and peacefulness. He plays the cello and spends time reading. He’d love a darling whose nature he can appreciate. If his darling has similar interests, he’d have the time he needs for himself and for executing his plans.

He is not someone who appreciates a bit of chaos, unlike Dazai, for example. Instead, he is uncomfortable with it. Obviously, his ultimate goal is to ensure harmony and peace for all humanity. His darling should match his mood and personality, making him feel comfortable and loved. There are certainly characters who’d love a TRUE opposite personality darling, but I don’t believe Fyodor to be one of them. He is too old and too dominant a character to like that.

To understand why he wouldn’t fall for just any type of darling, we need to look at the biological anthropology of romantic love: This is a brain system, like the fear or anger system, which can be triggered instantly. The aspects that need to be fulfilled are:

1. The person (in this case, Fyodor) must be ready for it. Dr. Helen Fisher, a biological anthropologist, calls it a “Love Map.” This “Love Map” is an unconscious and conscious list (which I would say, in Fyodor’s case, is more unconscious) of what one looks for in a romantic partner.

2. When the person is ready to fall in love and meets the darling, and the darling fits within the “Love Map,” even a small positive interaction can trigger the brain circuitry, leading to romantic love.

It is more of a biological process than a truly loving and accepting one, as those criteria come into play later, in what is called “Attachment,” the other brain system.

Considering these facts, I carefully created a darling that I think, based on Fyodor’s personality and Asagiri’s explanations, would fit into his potential “Love Map.”

Let’s look at what Asagiri said about Fyodor: When asked what Fyodor would like about his darling, Asagiri said “someone with a good complexion.”

This underlines the outer beauty of his potential lover, as I depicted in my “ideal type” headcanons.

In the BSD guidebooks, BSD characters’ ideal types were listed. For Fyodor, it says “Loves all humanity equally.”

This suggests he has no interest in love at all. He takes a position above human beings, as he is somehow an immortal, dehumanized being.

He has lived for so long and never truly connected because he’s never living in the moment to form those connections. He thinks far ahead and concludes that even if he had a meaningful connection, it wouldn’t last. So there is no point in seeking it out.

He is far superior to anyone anyway. It’s easier for him to be alone. But does he truly like it this way? We don’t know. I imagine it to be draining and very dehumanizing. It must be difficult, even for him.

He wants to save humanity and cleanse them of all their sins. He loves humanity from afar without being an active part of it. Why?

In my interpretation, because it is all he can do. He is not like them. He is so different. He is such a deep character that I’d guess he is afraid of potential feelings, as his love would be as deep as his character. This would hurt once he loses the object of his affection.

Then there is the interview of Asagiri about white day (in western culture Valentines Day). It was an interview where it was discussed what certain characters would buy their darlings on this special day. Asagiri’s answer for Fyodor was: “Probably a whole country.”

This depicts perfectly what a generous but almost uncharacteristically illogical of a romantic partner Fyodor could be. Gifting his darling an entire country? This is insane, but shows how deep his love would be, if he ever loved someone. This underlines my points of him being afraid of emotional vulnerability.

In conclusion, his main drive to do all the things he does is to save and do good. That makes him more of an anti-hero rather than a villain.

He is morally grey. He does horrible things, but for the greater good—not for himself or a mere ideal, but for all humanity.

He is a genius, and his mind was gifted to him by God. How could he not use it for the creations of God?

Fyodor also has an artistic side, as he canonically plays the cello. Art is rarely expressed extrovertedly, even if it depicts violent or passionate deliveries and interpretations. You won’t see art in a disco, bar, or amusement park.

You will see art in museums, theaters, operas, and soulful performances. Someone who doesn’t enjoy those things won’t understand Fyodor’s mentality and won’t be able to challenge him mentally, which I believe to be a huge dealbreaker.

We only see Fyodor in quiet and peaceful places. He is mostly alone. Plus, we know he is very old. He’s been alone for ages. A bubbly darling would pierce through this comfort.

I can imagine him liking it initially because it is amusing, but I can clearly see him choosing a bubbly introverted woman over a bubbly bold woman anytime.

He doesn’t like boldness in women, I imagine, because he himself is very kind, even though his intentions mostly aren’t towards certain individuals.

His way of speaking is very polite, and he has exceptional manners. His darling would need to match that energy because Fyodor sometimes views people as “beneath him,” as petty human beings who can’t control themselves and are manipulated into things they don’t want.

I quote: “Thinking is a crime. Breathing is a crime. Now he has been freed from all of that.”

Another quote: “People honestly, simply, wrongly assume ‘I thought so myself.’ The trust that there is value in the wiretap and the clock he discovered himself, he did not think his thoughts were being manipulated.”

Fyodor doesn’t appear to dislike confident people in general, as he didn’t show any personal negative feelings toward a capable and self-assured individual like Ace. However, he does tend to belittle them in a more detached or ‘objective’ way.

Regarding kindness: Someone who is not polite and kind (in this case, able to control themselves in tough situations because remaining kind and polite in such situations is very difficult) is someone who can’t control themselves at all. This is how I imagine his way of thinking.

In conclusion, his darling needs to be someone who matches his otherworldly nature by matching his energy in general, challenging him mentally, but also grounding him in his own humanity by being loving, understanding, and affectionate.

Dealbreaker headcanons

Fyodor craves stimulating conversations. A partner who can’t match his intellectual prowess would leave him feeling unfulfilled and bored.

He has a deep appreciation for beauty and art. A partner indifferent to the finer things in life would clash with his cultivated tastes.

Fyodor values control and composure. A partner prone to emotional outbursts would disrupt his serene world.

Silence is sacred to him. A partner who can’t appreciate quiet moments would jar his need for peace and reflection.

Fyodor navigates the grey areas of morality. A partner who sees only black and white would struggle to understand his complex nature.

Fyodor yearns for depth. A partner who engages only in trivial talk would fail to captivate his mind.

Grace and elegance appeal to Fyodor. A partner who is physically expressive would be a jarring presence in his refined life.

Fyodor's worldview is tinged with realism. A partner who is naively optimistic would clash with his perspective on life.

He cherishes tranquility. A partner who is loud and boisterous would disrupt his peaceful environment.

Fyodor meticulously plans his every move. A partner who is spontaneous and carefree would be a source of constant frustration.

Strategic thinking is his forte. A partner who acts without thinking would threaten his carefully laid plans.

Fyodor treasures his alone time. A partner who constantly demands his attention and / or his time would suffocate his need for personal space.

If this kind of partner were indeed present in his life, they would eventually grow apart. Fyodor would be aware that this would happen someday because they wouldn't have much in common as partners, leaving only their shared love to hold them together.

[missingmayuri]

KurotsuchiWeek2025 Day 1: Gadgets and body modifications/ Medicine for the brain

The Captain needs some help. Or does he?

It wasn't often you were called into the lab after hours, usually mostly for clean up duty and preparation for the following day. You were sure you left the lab spotless before clocking out, making the prospect of a sudden summons even more daunting for you.

It could have been something as simple as Akon had extra paperwork but on the other hand this could have been a summons from Captain Kurotsuchi himself, a thought that shook you more then the growing uncertainty plaguing your soul.

The halls were still and empty, steps echoing. The only light from the oil lamps on the walls, probably lit when work let out. Captain Kurotsuchi didn't really like the lights on in the evenings, preffering to have all electrical supplies at his command for his more private and sometimes outrageous experiments.

A faint smell of iron filled the air, coming from a nearby slightly more lighter room accompanied by slight noises of discomfort and frustration.

You thought it best to knock in case the matter beyond the sterile metal door was a private affair, giving three taps before waiting for any kind of signal.

There was but a silence more deafening then before, knocking another three times to further alert the person inside.

"Dont just stand there knocking! I asked Akon to call you so get in here!"

You knew that voice, very well in fact but this time there was an edge of urgency. Captain Kurotsuchi wasn't someone who liked things rushed. He could be impatient yes but he would rather a job took hours and well done then a shoddy one finished in mere moments.

This was unlike him, the chill down your spine akin to someone throwing dry ice onto your bare skin. Unpleasant and made you want to run.

Regardless of your feelings a summon was a summon, fearing what the Captain may do to you if you didn't comply you step inside to a truly fascinating and rather shocking sight.

Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi sat in his plush work chair, now covered in small patches of blood. It was almost like the blood had formed a patten below him, swirling by his feet.

The source was his extendo arm, laid in pieces possibly from a malfunction across half of the room. A truly morbidly beautiful sight.

From the near darkness you see two strikingly golden eyes, shining ever so slightly. They never once broke from the direction in which you stood, body shaking from uncertainty and fear.

Your heart was pounding, almost strong enough to break through it's bony cage. What rattled you more wasn't the blood, nor the sight ahead. No. It was that those eyes were so normal, no signs of pain and no worry. Your Captain was calm, even as he was bleeding out.

"Well? Come closer"

You take a few cautious steps, landing right beside the twitching white painted hand on the floor, it wrapped up tightly in wires like a snake capturing it's pray within it's coils.

"As you can see I'm in a rather let's say...unpleasant situation. I need assistance to reconnect the circuitry and reassemble my arm into a more acceptable state"

You take a breath so deep one would think you were storing air for an emergency.

"Yes sir..."

No sooner had those words left your lips you feel a tight grasp on your ankle, causing your voice to bellow around the room and echoing down the halls.

A sinister chuckle soon accompanied the screams, sounding like some sort of insane symphony, two sounds that were dancing in a delightful harmony despite being so fundamentally different.

"My goodness. It would appear all my nerves still work. What a delightful discovery"

You grasp your chest, trying to get your breath back and feeling a little faint as you did so. Your head felt light, taking a couple stumbling steps away from the hand which now tapped it's fingers on the prestinely clean marble floors.

There was a faint smell in the room. You couldn't make it out.

Through the ever so slight blur of your vision you could see Captain Kurotsuchi write something with his intact hand. He wasn't looking at his notebook, still staring directly at you as his hand worked freely seemingly disconnected from his mind and you didn't doubt it giving the nature of Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

The scribbling comes to a halt, Mayuri beckoning you with his fingers.

"If you can come closer. As I said before I require assistance"

Continuing onward with slightly clearer vision you assess the situation at hand.

"It looks like one of the wires connected to the nerves between your arm and elbow has been damaged sir"

Looking up you find yourself met with a golden smile, large and unnatural with corners curled into a very slight smirk.

"Excellent work"

You nod in thanks to acknowledge his compliment, heart pounding as you waited for further instructions.

"Listen very carefully to my instructions and follow them to the letter..Or else"

You quickly comply , crouching to your knees onto the freezing floor, following every order that came your way.

Pulling wires.

Fixing up vains.

Muscle testing and circuit replacement.

You did all these things and more, covering your once spotless uniform a deep crimson. You wondered if this is what it would look like to bathe in the reaper's river, the one they say connects life and death. If such a thing existed. Would your clothes stain the same?

Your mind was wandering and your thoughts felt disconnected and distracted, a dangerous thing to do given your tasks and who was inches from you. You could feel his hot breath as he breathed deeply, still writing all the while.

In a moment of clarity you had noticed one of the damaged wires looked purposely cut but you didn't dare to question as to why, figuring your body would be found strapped to the cold metal table come morning if you did.

You are snapped from every single thought by a small sickle falling down next to you and looking mostly made of muscle.

"Oh do carry on. I sometimes need to air this out"

It was coming from his ear guard, meaning that it was inside his...

The idea was almost enough to invoke a sickness upon you from thin air, much like an invisible parasite or toxin yet still you focused on your task, ignoring when you were taunted by the grotesque blade.

It kept being kicked in your direction, forcing you to look at it, a gleaming cheshire smile beaming down upon you like the goddess of the sun.

The longer the job went on the more you felt like your mind was wandering, empty of all thoughts and by the time you soldered the last bolt into place you felt much an empty shell, unable to think clearly.

The room had a purple hue now, faint and smelling of flora. You swear it wasn't like that when you came in but in your delirious state your mind was deceptive and unreliable at best. You watch your Captain finish his note taking through tired eyes.

"Good work. You may now leave"

You try to bow but end up stumbling, the arm once laid in pieces retracting back to its master as you walked in an almost drunk fashion to the door.

"Oh my I almost forgot!"

You feel a sharp sudden stinging in your arm, the sickle grabbing your flesh. You pull it out in instinct, air sharply passing your teeth. Suddenly you felt more awake then you ever had, almost euphoric and calm but before you could utter a word of question or a simple thanks you were quickly dismissed, a flick of the wrist signalling you had served your purpose. With a now more proper and dignified bow you leave the lab's and indeed whatever just happened behind. You wouldn't dwell, not wanting to be curious enough to ask the Captain what had indeed transpired. Sleep seemed appropriate.

When asked about your evening in the lab you couldn't recall a single detail of it, coming up with blank thoughts every single time. You assumed it was probably another cleaning job, sitting down to read the new issue of the bulletin.

The headline piqued your interest, turning immediately to the page listed under.

Effects of excessive stimulus and altered states.

By Mayuri Kurotsuchi

[battery-enthusiast]

I would like to know the OC info -🗡️

HI SWORD ANon ! ! waving ! !

context. before i just , copy and paste everything we wrote : it was originally something for a personal project , but ended up being a forsaken oc simultaneously ? ?

long story short of his personal lore ; basic ass guy (neutral)/deity simply exists . and causes general issues for its creation ,, , anyways. under the cut is just , everything from our notes app copied nd pasted

i fear i have not proofread this. please tell me if anythings fucked up lmao

> initial rant/brain dump for concepts

I WAS THINKING ABOUT USING I5 AS A ROBLOX AVATAR AGAIN , WHILEPLAYING FORSAKEN WHICH?? KINDA GAVE ME THE IDEA TO PUT HIM INTO FORSAKEN AS AN OC ????

WHICH, WOULD MAKE SENSE, ESPECIALLY SINCE IT WAS *ORIGINALLY* SOLELY A ROBLOX OC . SO MAYBE ??? LIKE SHED ??? IT COULD BE AN ADMIN OR SOMTN THAT ENDED UP STUCK ????

BUT THAT GOT M E ONTO DESIGJS ,,,, , hear me out , , whatif it was originally FROM The Projects(™/joke), realmhopping or whatever, and ended up in roblox at the worst time?? and while it was THERE, it had more of an ai sentience (since its not entirely alive alrea6y!!!!!) , hence a robot(ish) BODY⁉️⁉️⁉️ like. its abdomen is wires and circuitry, but it looks like?? a projection maybe?? as though hes not, physically there, albeit it is . i dontknow if that makes sense but we BALL

BUT THINKING ABOUT ABILITIES . maybe. maybe it has a gui (similar to n7!!!), but could rather heal itself/others twice , and fling the killer a few studs away !!!!!

> appearance / dmg correlation

THE LOWER ITS HEALTH WOULD GET IN A ROUND, THE MORE WIRES WOULD EXPOSE/THE GLITCHER ITS APPEARANCE WOULD CHANGE , PLAYING FURTHER INTO THE AI /ROBOT THING . siiiince it's body is still artificial, it's inhuman - which, obviously leads to a LOT of flaws

100 — 80 : normal

79 — 50 : just a few small binary things pop up

49 — 20 : half of the face is probably fucked up?? like , bugging between wires and code

19 — 0 : no solid appearance,, it kinda bugs out between different people's appearances and its own, alongside random limbs glitching to just code or wires or whatever

> interactions with others.....shudders

it probably reall y wants others to believe it IS just an ai bot, or something along those lines, because. fucking imagine being THE god and getting trapped in a fucking time loop (L +ratio). that wouldnt4be very fun to explain??

so obviously it keeps like , a fairly monotone voice or whatever, trying to keep its movements either EXTREMELY stiff or EXTREMELY fluid. no in-between

- definitely slips up a few times..theres no way he wouldn't?? like, it'll sometimes fuck up and say something ENTIRELY outside of the persona it set for himself

- occasionally, when at too low health, its appearance will switch back to what it ACTUALLY looks like (roblox and normal appearance differ), although not normally long enough to notice

- will very rarely make references/hints to its existence prior, occasionally mentioning damien, atlas, haven, etc, covering it up by saying its just a story he's working on/creating

- mark will , very rarely , throw things out into the open, expecting them to levitate like they did in haven (only to end up falling flat on the ground, confusing the people around it)

- it has!!! major consistency issues!!! whatever story it tells a survivor, it likely fucks it up when telling it to the next.

^ written by marsh, a day or two ago (eeeverything above. including the original ramble)

> relationships, ,

1337 ; he distrusts it, doesn't think marks truthful

— mark doesn't like him either

shedletsky ; thinks it's funny company, although never understood why its always happy

— mark enjoys being around him, although he's a tad scared of the former admin (believes he , of all people, would probably figure it out the quickest)

builderman ; neutral

— neutral

elliot ; doesn't mind being around it, although he doesn't entirely believe its act (due to its inconsistent tone, movements, etc)

— oblivious to his suspicions, thinks elliot is fine to be around

two time ; suspicious of mark, but still hangs around it anyways, figuring any company is better than none

— mark thinks their devotion/loyalty to the spawn is amusing, believes theyre funny to be around

noob ; likes mark , but he likes most people

— enjoys his company

chance ; neutral

— thinks his addiction is unhealthy. tries to help, but ultimately gives up. neutral

007n7 ; neutral

— neutral. wants to help n7 understand that ck IS his son, but due to n7 being in denial about it, it just doesn't bother dealing with him

dusekkar ; neutral (idk enough about them)

— neutral . pumpkin guy funny llmao

taph ; thinks its weird, doesn't enjoy being around it

— doesn't bother talking with them, mostly due to not knowing sign language and whatnot

mutual dislike with killers

————

> normal vers stuff/notes

> personality notes ! ! !

- VERY prominent attachment issues. the entire reason it even made life in the first place was because it needed something to hold onto, to be around

- personality issues (i think specifically bpd, but i don't want to just, label it without looking into it further)

- favorite person is dierdre by a LANDSLIDE. it doesn't even like him romantically, everything is platonic (< incapable of feeling proper romantic attraction). it absolutely obsesses over him i fear

- maaaajoor mood swings. will be over the moon happy one moment, and the next freaking out over smtn

- ^ normally fairly happy though? it tends to shut off other major emotions as to not self sabotage itself or other close relations (lux, cas, etc)

- ^ following up on that. again. it shuts itself out a loloooott , leading to frequent outbursts, and sometimes entire breakdowns due to ignoring its emotional needs, fixating on what needs to be done instead

- its fairly selfish, prone to unintentional favoring itself over others (ALTHOUGH trying to fix said issue)

- ^ !!! it tends to not realize a lot of what it does is considered bad, nor harmful, as it was never taught anything otherwise!!!!

- mark put dierdre through absolute hell and back solely because it didnt realize what it was doing, how he was suffering, nor that it was even bad

> habits and whatnot

- it tends to consistently forget what it was working on, leading it to starting a NEW project and forgetting about the others momentarily, before getting bored of that one, scrapping it, and repeating

- it made sav to COMBAT this, only to get caught up in talking with them (mmmainly about damian. coughs), but, after awhile, sav actually started doing what was needed, and began regulating things, storing things where needed, planning, etc

- i wrote it before, but it still is a habit --- it tends to just, shut down on occasion when things get too frustrating, overwhelmed, or it doesn't want to fuck up its progress by sabotaging itself

- ^ following on that, sav has had to walk it out of a few bad explosions after it couldn't self regulate

> further context due to . forgetting that this was a heavily indulgent oc revival

- dierdre was the first person that mark successfully made. hence its attachment to him

- dierdre ! ! can't physically die ! ! due to , a loott of flaws with his general genetic code/how mark made him. though, he can FEEL like he's dying/dead

- i don't remember if i said it before , but mark doesn't believe what it's doing is wrong -- almost everything it does is what he believes is best ,

- sav , as stated (?) was made by mark to help it with planning, creating different timelines, etc ! it doesn't have much of a consciousness though, i fear

- dierdre , does know right from wrong , and even though that mark is virtually all he's ever known, he does believe that it's wrong in some shape or form. that this isn't how friends act or whatever

- mark genuinely had the best intentions when making dierdre, trying its absolute hardest to give him individuality, a personality that wasn't just a copy of its own, a mind of his own

- sav came a wwwhiilee after dierdre - about three hundred years after him and mark slowly split apart ?

- mark just , sorta existed prior to everything ? ? granted, i'm not including ALL the lore in this (will not sound cohesive to someone who doesn't know most of it, i fear), but he did EVERYTHING because it got bored

don't ask me how the roblox vers of mark got forsakened. i haven't, thought that far yet , , will probably think of something later.

very slowly, i'm making mark a playlist. will eventually link it to this. coughs

tags ; @apollolovesu @blu-orb @gay-little-isopod @you-are-an-idiot-hah

[sevenish-spheres]

Mechs in the Seven Spheres

Art source

Mechanised suits of armour are now a somewhat common sight throughout the Seven Spheres, their pistons hissing and guns thundering across a thousand worlds, and even among the Outer Planes. However, by planar standards they are a relatively recent invention, having developed only within the past few centuries. Despite this, they have rapidly become valued tools by mercenaries and travellers across the planes, alongside their uses as tools of labour in dockyards and warehouses from the walking city of Kelsats to the grim soul-depots of Dis.

History

The history of mechs is a complex one, as several attempts were made to create them during both the Daedalian Golden Age, and the Voidbloom, alongside more recently during the Angelic Cull. However, these attempts were hampered by two things. First, the technology required to allow such suits to move fluidly was virtually non-existent, with the closest being the Chalkespartoi which used a piston-driven, ball-jointed skeleton, although even it was prone to frequent failure. The second and perhaps greater problem was the ability to control the suit, as most required bulky internal joysticks and exo-skeletons to properly transfer the pilot’s movement into the suit’s own limbs. For this reason, most proto-mechs were restricted to use as heavy-lifting tools or for combat within the void, where the structural requirements of the suit itself were lessened in exchange for an increased toll on the pilot.

A change came, however, during the closing battles of the fifth Navirian Crusade. Here, the cult of war-engineers known as the Navirarchs discovered deep wells of a strange, black oil within the bowels of several moons and asteroids in the Greater Kelester system. This oil, later christened Hadal Ichor, had several notable properties. First, it was an incredible conductor. Second, it possessed the ability to replicate itself under certain conditions, and third, it was capable of forming a largely stable interface between the mortal mind and mechanical circuitry. This third property was said to have been discovered when a suit-wearing serf slipped into a deep ichor well whilst extracting the strange substance, and emerged as a powerful fusion of man and machine that took a direct hit from a mage-killer rifle before its runaway regeneration finally failed. This development fascinated the Navirarchs, and it was not long before the earliest frames of the Venator line were deployed, swiftly bringing an end to the fighting and bringing such suits to the public eye throughout the territory of both the Navirarchs and their enemies.

Thanks to their monopoly on mechs, the Navirarchs enjoyed a meteoric ascent in the region for a number of years, although their Venator frames remained relatively fragile and slow, as their joints couldn’t keep up with the stress the Hadal Ichor placed on them. Alongside this, the ichor required immensely high temperatures to replicate itself, meaning large incubators had to be produced to fuel the Venator frames. Finally, pilots who were frequently exposed to the ichor (which was directly injected into the bloodstream via needle-filled cockpits nicknamed Glass Maidens) experienced rapid tissue degeneration, especially in the circulatory system and brain, resulting in most pilots having a life expectancy of six months before their body or mind gave out.

Around this time, the Navirarchs began their last and most devastating crusade against the ancient empire of Vorsaine. Fearful of the Venators potential, the Vorsainites had begun development of their own suits based on the remnants of the truly ancient Chalkespartoi. Because they lacked the interfacing capabilities of the Hadal Ichor, these new frames (named Ferrospartoi) were less able to use complex melee weapons and tended to lose one-to-one engagements with Venators. However, they were significantly faster in both the open field and on rough terrain which the cog-jointed Venators struggled with, meaning oftentimes the Ferrospartoi would pick off the Venators at range before the terrifying cog-suits could even reach them. Because of this stalemate, the war between the Navirarchs and Vorsaine slowed to a stalemate, with engagements increasingly being decided by slower war-engines such as landships and tanks.

This would change, however, with the emergence of Vulture Guilds. By now, the war had spread across multiple star systems, and the remnants of millions of frames littered hundreds of planets, moons and asteroids. Because of this, it took relatively little time for enterprising pirate and salvager captains to begin scavenging and eventually repairing these suits. It took far longer for them to unite, usually through their shared use of a specific frame modification, but eventually several larger salvage captains joined together to form what would become the Vulture Guilds. These guilds swiftly centralised much of the trade in salvaged Venator and Ferrospartoi frames, and once this occurred it didn’t take long for several engineers to experiment with combining the Hadal Ichor interface systems of the venators with the more versatile skeletons of the Ferrospartoi. From these experiments were born the classes of mech collectively referred to as the Firstborn, and from these numerous other frames were created, and their manufacture standardised. These frames were swiftly dispersed among numerous mercenary groups and nobles displaced from war-torn worlds. In short order mercenary companies tore through the inferior Venators and Ferrospartoi, prompting developments on both sides that eventually led to the Battle of the Gilded Plain, so named for the gold-tinted slag left over when both sides deployed terrifying experimental frames upon one another, literally liquifying their foes. Upon the still-cooling plains the leaders of Vorsaine, the Navirarchs, the Vulture Guilds and the heads of the largest mercenary factions came together to sign the Treaty of the Gilded Plain, bringing an end to the war.

After the war, the Vulture Guilds were largely dissolved, forming instead into several notable manufacturers who persist into the present day. These include such legendary companies as the elegant Halistrom, the Navirarch-backed Teleos, the utilitarian Runsk and Basker, and the lethal precision of Nakago. Many of these sponsored mercenary companies of their own, whilst other sellsuits formed their own in-house manufacturers.

Despite all this, most manufacturers were still held back by the cost required to produce the Hadal Ichor, and as fresh wells dried up across the stars, they were forced to pursue alternate sources. The first development was the neural jack, metal links that were surgically embedded into the skin of pilots, removing the need for direct injection, which both lowered the amount of ichor required to operate a suit and significantly increased the amount of time a pilot could operate the suit, in both the short and long term. The more significant development, however, was the discovery of colossal skeletons within the depths of the ichor wells. These skeletons, many of which bore strange gold symbols reminiscent of those found on cultists of Nyarlathotep, were dredged up and through vile necromancies, were raised to undeath. From here, specialist flesh-shapers were employed by manufacturers to transplant bone marrow from these titans into human stock, producing horrifically malformed creatures that bled ichor. These creatures were sealed away beneath ichor refineries, their skin engraved with eldritch symbols and pockmarked by hundreds of pipes that drew precious ichor into the waiting machines above.

By this point much of what a modern person might call a mech was set in place, with relatively few changes occurring in the years between then and now. Instead, most mech manufacturers began to specialise, and knowledge of mech construction began to spread out, with Runsk moving its headquarters to Kelsats, and numerous empires sponsoring their own efforts in the field of mech construction, with the most successful being the terrifying powerful Vorsainite Cataphracts. Alongside this, many smaller firms began developing mechs for specific purposes, such as the Firestrider and Gibbeteer frames, or ones specialised for other species, such as the numerous Igigi-manufactured frames, or the recent experiments emerging from the sixth layer of Pandorum.

Mechs continued to enjoy a role as specialised heavy infantry and fast attack units for several decades, but following their adoption in the Vorsainite War with the Droskol Empire, a group famed for their use of heavy tanks, it was found that, while mechs excelled in dispatching tanks at close range, the tanks decimated them from further away. Hence, an arms race began as the Vorsainites developed faster and more nimble mechs carrying more and more devastating close-range weapons, and the Droskol developed larger and more heavily armoured tanks, culminating in the Vorsainite Drachasta-I frame and the Droskol Uthoroka Fortress-Tank. These terrifying weapons eventually spread and diversified, forming the modern Lancer class of mechs and the basis of landfleet doctrine respectively.

The Hadal Ichor

Pumped in its purest state from fissures deep within dead worlds or stolen from the veins of half-alive cloned titans, hadal ichor is the both the fuel that keeps mech’s moving, and the material that gives the pilot the ability to move the mech at all. It is injected in small quantities into the spinal cord and bone marrow via neural jacks, allowing the pilot to interface with their mech whilst mitigating the effects the ichor has on the body and mind overall. Despite this, the ichor is still exceptionally potent, with most pilots seeing at most a decade of action before their body begins to waste away or, in more common cases, they succumb to an ichor-induced frenzy that leaves both the pilot and anyone around them dead. Indeed, most pilots are forced into retirement long before then, although a few survive longer, with certain legendary pilots keeping their minds for decades, and a dreaded few succumbing partially to the ichor, becoming bloodthirsty but terrifyingly intelligent foes that stalk battlefields for centuries. The exact makeup of the ichor is unknown, as although many suggest it to be organic, it emits a thaumaturgical signature closer to that of magically-active minerals such as urelium than that of a typical form of life. Furthermore, it seems to possess the ability to, in the case of certain pilots who display an exceptional aptitude, heal the metal plating of a suit and, in similar circumstances, allow the mech to move in ways that should be both physically impossible given the mech’s joint configuration, and at speeds that should cause the mech to fall apart from stress. What is broadly accepted, however, is that these abilities are tied to how deeply the pilot connects to the suit, as entry-level cuirassiers struggle to adjust to their frames and yet emerge physiologically unharmed by their piloting, whilst experienced pilots often come to view their pilots as extensions of themselves, dancing across the battlefield whilst often being barely able to stand for hours upon leaving their suits. This is to say nothing of the shock the ichor can deal the nervous system upon damage to the mech, with some pilots suffering immediate strokes or heart attacks when their frames are felled, whilst others display such an aptitude for the ichor that it seems to flow out from the mech’s ‘wound’ in great tendrils, knitting together twisted metal and restoring sundered limbs.

Art source

Common types

Mechs and their pilots bear a variety of names throughout the planes, such as the Ironclads of Kelsats to the Velites of Rhadamanthia. However, for simplicity, this guide shall use the classifications employed by the majority of mercenaries of the Celmian League, as they are likely to be most familiar to those experienced with such suits. They are classed by size and the weight of their armour primarily, although certain classes of mech tend to favour specific weaponry.

Cuirassier

Cuirassier frames are the smallest of mech frames, being barely larger than the skeleton rigs frequently used in planar industry, and occasionally as heavier infantry. Similarly, most Cuirassiers see use supporting other infantry or larger mechs. They tend to be heavily armoured, and typically stand 2-3 metres tall. They frequently carry large rail-arquebuses, heavy machine guns or heavy staffguns at range. When equipped for melee, they frequently wield massive shields designed to allow infantry to take cover behind them, and carry huge polearms for dealing with larger mechs. Due to their heavy armour, Cuirassiers are often regarded as slow by other pilots, and whilst they are certainly not the fastest, they can still put on surprising bursts of speed, especially in the cases of certain models, such as the infamous Teleos Bucephalus-II, or the infamous mercenary frame Jundun-Eter, a shotgun-wielding frame that laid waste to an entire void-fleet before disappearing through, if rumours are to be believed, a miniaturised portal spell.

Reiter

Where Cuirassiers are by and large slower, more heavily armoured frames, Reiters are skeletal deathtraps clad in minimal armour and equipped with exceptionally powerful thrusters. Most commonly deployed against light(er) tanks or artillery positions, or in scouting and skirmishing roles, Reiters have barely any armour, and typically carry a single large weapon, such as a heavy rail-culverin or a massive tank-glaive. They tend to be quite cheap to manufacture, not counting their engine components, and as such have the highest mortality rate out of any mech class. Despite this, plenty of pilots flock to Reiters, as their incredible speed appeals to many thrill seekers. Reiters vary a fair bit in size, as some are little more than wireframe suits, whilst others sport stilt-like legs that raise their height up to 4 metres.

Cavalier

The most iconic class of mech and the one favoured most by independent mercenaries, Cavaliers keep a healthy balance of speed and armour, and display easily the broadest variety of frames on the market. Most tend to focus on a larger melee weapon such as a tank scimitar or claymore, and carry a ranged weapon in the offhand, such as a rail-falconet or grenade crossbow. Frequently, these weapons are built directly into the frame, allowing for gimmicks that, while impractical in standard-issue frames, are frequently favoured by mercenaries. Famous mercenary frames include the Landsknecht and Muramasa rigs, which sport robust sensor suits and a broad variety of weapon hardpoints that make them exceptionally common bases for mercenary frames. So great is the Landsknecht’s popularity that it has become a byword for mercenary in itself, and troops of them are common through the Crucible and beyond.

Demi-Lancer

A recently developed class of mech, Demi-lancers were designed as more affordable generalist alternatives to the larger and heavier lancers, and frequently see similar roles to their heavier counterparts. They are most commonly armed with heavy rail-culverins or mage-bombards, alongside melee weapons such as anti-tank zweihanders or decapitator scythes. By and large, demi-lancers serve as duellists, taking on similar sized tanks or other mechs, although many, such as the Beowulf frame, have seen extensive use hunting large monsters, such as dragons or giants. Demi-Lancers tend to be heavily armoured around the chest and upper arms, but far more lightly around the legs and forearms, something that cuts a surprising amount of weight from the frame and makes it surprisingly nimble even when compared to some cavaliers. However, it does leave them more vulnerable to disarmament, and even leads to stories of some lucky infantrymen managing to blast a demi-lancer's legs out from under it and hack it apart once it fell. Ironically, many demi-lancers have seen use specifically for defending artillery positions and landships from other mechs, easily cutting apart smaller Reiters and, in a few cases, outmanoeuvring and destroying huge Lancers.

Lancer

The apex of military mechs, Lancers are the largest and most heavily armed of all standard mech frames. They carry exceptionally heavy weaponry such as back-mounted rail-mortars, mage-bombards or sun disks. However, the weapon for which they are named is their most feared, the huge storm lance. This weapon was specifically developed for cracking the thick plating of the Lancer’s principle prey, large tanks and, most infamously, landships. Storm Lances are made up of a thick vulcanite and steel tip at the end of a long, exceptionally durable rod that is wrapped in several coils of mage-gold. This is used to channel a deadly electric charge down the lance that can be blasted from the tip as either a devastating mid-range projectile or, more commonly, directly into the hull of a landship. For this reason, all landships regard lancers as high-priority targets, as most are armoured enough to withstand several shots from even exceptionally large guns, and can accelerate at terrifying speeds thanks to massive back-mounted charge thrusters. If a Lancer can reach the landship without being taken out, it often can completely destroy the vehicle, as it can easily shrug off most of its point defense weapons whilst using its lancer to strike deep into the belly of the war-engines. As such, many landships now include small groups of cavaliers or demi-lancers charged with preventing any lancers from reaching the ship, a job that the more manoeuvrable craft excel at, as while lancers’ charge thrusters allow for incredible acceleration, they turn poorly and even simply causing a lancer to slow down and turn is often enough for several artillery strikes to obliterate it, or for the lancer to call off its charge entirely.

Other classes of mech do exist, with exceptionally large lancers being rare but not unheard of stories. Such mechs will get their own posts eventually, as many operate far more esoteric weaponry than a 'simple' storm lance.

[bob-frank451]

Hey, so I had the rough draft written a month ago, but school and papers delayed publishing til now, so

Well

Enjoy!

Humans Are Weird : Throwing, Part 2

    Archivists note to the reader: It seems you are viewing this item in the human language English. For this reason names have been transliterated, units have been converted, and the content has been ontologically translated. Apologies for any inconsistencies.

    The volatus was immediately swamped with sensation and cacophony. Everywhere he looked there were vast oceans of vendors, yelling in a fruitless attempt to be heard over the hubbub, attempting to sell their wares. Food, art, technology, ideas… if the mind of any sapient race could imagine it, it was for sale.

    Volati are fabulous information processors, if the information is presented orderly. With this chaos, however, almost any volatus would be utterly overwhelmed, as he was now. The human tapped him gently for attention. It was a normal gesture, even outside human circles, one of those universal solutions to universal problems, like two plus two equaling four, or using spears to stab your enemy.

    The human bent down and whispered into his ear, pointing at a couple of goem.

    “Look”

    “They look normal.”

    “My gut doesn’t like them.”

    The volatus paused, confused.

    “Your what?”

    “Intuition, Instinct”

    “Oh”

    He thought briefly. Human instinct was quickly becoming a topic of rabid interest in the Galactic Assembly’s scientific community. Some part of the way they were wired could pick up small cues better than almost any other race. Given this information this situation might develop into something much less innocuous.

    “Can you pick up anything?” his friend asked.

    The volatus allowed his brain to start processing the thaumaturgic signals in the surrounding area, wincing at the noise. Too many people, too many thinking beings. Too much interference, as it turned out. He couldn’t pick up anything useful.

    The tiny human yanked her fathers hair, pointing towards a vendor of trinkets. The group moved easily to the front of the small store, and the biologist lifted the girl down off his massive shoulders, and set her down in front of the booth. She immediately shrieked with delight, and grabbed two fistfuls of shiny rocks in her pudgy toddler hands.

    Toddler, one who toddles. Good word.

    The humans were talking. The vendor had approached the woman, and had launched into an elaborate sales pitch. The longer human had slowly placed himself between the vendor and his child. The child’s mother watched the vendor with dark, almost back, glittering eyes. The volatus could hear her heart and the signals given off by her neural circuitry. Both were speeding up.

    The child moved along the stall, wreaking havoc on the carefully organised displays as she went, oblivious to the growing tension.

    The vendor was talking, faster and faster. The volatus, acclimatised after years spent with these humans, could read the suspicion on their faces. The vendor, apparently, could not. Suddenly, his friend spun. Some deep spark of intuition programmed deep into his brain had understood the situation. The volatus turned, following suit, and froze with horror.

    One of the goem from earlier held a gun levelly and directly at the larger human’s centre of mass. He stood very still. The hum of his brain grew, until the volatus’s mind was nearly deafened.

    Far worse, however, was the other goem. He had snatched the humans’ child, and was slowly backing away. The volatus glanced at his friend's face, and saw the worst thing he had ever seen.

    The human looked desperate.

    The volatus felt fear shutting down his own mind, system by system. The child was lost, no doubt about that. The humans would probably be killed,  and then they would kill him too.

    No!

    no…

    please no.

    He almost missed it. One moment the goem was holding a gun and smirking, pride nearly dripping off his bulky features. The next he was gripping the souvenir knife that had appeared in his midriff, face awash with what the volatus’ astute mind identified as shock. In that fraction of a second the volatus analysed the actions and events, and saw what had happened. The child’s mother, unobserved, had grabbed the knife, and thrown it, THROWN IT, perfectly into the attackers torso.

    In a flash the big human went for the goem’s gun, but the electronic weapon refused to unlock for his biometrics, and he dropped it in disgust.

    The other goem was running now, which in another context would be hilarious. Goem are not made to run. But this goem  was dragging the human child.

    The big human cast around in desperation, before grabbing a shiny hunk of tungsten-carbide from the rock selection. Rock indeed, the volatus thought wryly. The human’s eyes snapped to the retreating goem, both eyes, binocular vision, the volatus noted. Despite his fear, the volatus could not help but focus on the human.

    The human raised the tungsten-carbide behind his head, and threw his body forward. In a flash the volatus finally understood the bizarre anatomy of the human arm. The muscle and bone placement, the tendons. A human’s arm, he realised with amazement and awe, is a trebuchet.

    The tungsten carbide left his hand in a perfect ark. Almost perfect. It was going to miss, just a little too far to the left.

    The goem saw the throw, and jumped away from the girl, a little too far to the left. The human had anticipated the doge, the volatus realised. The apparent imperfection had in fact been an adjustment which doomed the goem as soon as he jumped.

    The volatus turned away the moment it struck. He didn’t want to see the death. The tall human ran to the girl, and swooped her up in his arms. He passed her off to his wife, grabbed the volatus, and set off at a jog away from the mall. Even as he bounced undignified under the human’s arm, the volatus marveld. Each stride was easily a metre, perhaps more.

Four minutes later the adrenaline finally ran out and left the humans' system abruptly. The larger human set the volatus down, and bent over the edge of the path, retching. His partner wasn’t much better. She set her daughter down, and heaved miserably. Adrenaline always has a price.

    An hour later the group sat on some form of public transportation, shell shocked The biologist sat, one arm wrapped around his sleeping daughter, cuddled peacefully on his lap. The other arm was wrapped around his wife, curled against him. The volatus sat between the humans and the wall. He felt safe, guarded by titans.

The authorities would investigate the two deaths, but the security footage, and the recent crackdown on the trafficking of people would guarantee that there would be little retaliation.

    There would of course be a resurgence of the “deathworlders are monsters” narrative, but the volatus knew better. Humans are loyal, and their bonds go very deep.

    The volatus glanced at his friends. They look traumatised.  Their minds sat empty, aside from a thick blanket of horror.

    He checked his mobile device telepathically. His person had got back to him. He bumped the larger human. No response. He pushed harder. The human turned, slowly, as if through syrup. The volatus spoke.

    “They didn't die”

    The human looked at him with no comprehension on his face. The volatus tried again.

    “The two goem. They were recovered and stabilised. You didn’t kill anyone.”

    Both humans were staring at him now, eyes wide. The volatus suddenly felt very self conscious. 

    “They lived?”

    “Yes”

    “Oh thank you God.”

    The volatus checked his device again. More data.

    “They are in the hospital right now, but once they recover they will be shipped off world for investigation. Apparently this is a part of something much larger.”

    The smaller human looked at him. She took a moment to speak, as if carefully considering her words. She looked at her daughter for a long moment, and then back at the volatus.

    “So we are safe then?”

    The volatus did the human nod again.

    “I think we should be.”

    No, the humans weren’t monsters.

    Just good friends.

Ao3 Discord

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Headcanon - Vox uses Nanobots / Tries to Change Al

This one is fucked up, and I never really had a use for it.

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

Tonight we are Vee-ctorious

Vox uses a fight as a disguise to inject some nanotech riiiight into the wound from adam, as well as hooking into Alastor’s technological biology with his cables. He uses that connection to begin an attack from the inside right into the airwaves, the brain, the nervous system all bound up with radio based magic that fights back.

The tech manipulating the outside into a newer, sleeker more modern format, creating a radio demon for the 21st century much to the horror of the demon whose own flesh is rebelling against him, his powers unable to revert these tiny machines he does not understand. You kill a hundred, and more continue to swarm, his powers were already depleted when Vox started this.

Vox is gloating “Yes, I’ve finally fucking got you, Alastor! This time, I’m going to be the one moulding you into something perfect… even if I have to drag your ancient deer ass kicking and screaming into the future. How does the head of your own podcasting service sound? Hah, that’s right, you can’t answer right now can you? Well the answer is yes. You’re going to do it, and I can absolutely make you. So just sit back and let the ‘bots do their job… hurts less if you just let it happen.”

Husk, who had been in the middle of a rather nice date with Angel in the back atrium of the new hotel, freezes as his collar appears, the chain beginning to change to electric blue as it hurtled towards him, only for the green to flare once before it shattered. All at once, his overlord powers snapped back like a punch to the face, it was disorienting… as was the sudden sheen of silver tipping his claws.

“...fuck.” 

“Husky… ya free?” Angel grinned, unshed tears brimming at the waterline, shocked into stillness by the sudden shockwave of power. There’s a beat or two before his eyes widened. “Wait, does that mean Smiles is-...?”

“...it’s worse than that. It means Vox got him and I gotta go kill him.”

“Vox?”

“Nah, Al. It’s part of our deal… he snuck it in there a while back, but I get it. My collar would break if Vox ever got to the Radio Demon and he couldn’t escape, and I just have to… go kill him, for real. It’s kinder than anything Vox will do to him.”

“What? No, you can’t kill the fucking Radio Demon, he’s an Overlord!”

Husk rolls his shoulders, yellow aura tinging the man as his clothing snapped back to something that screamed made man, all confident gambler and not scraggly bartender…

“Yeah? Well, Legs… so am I. I’ll make this fucked up date up to you later, alright?”

Something sparkles in those eyes in response that wasn’t fear, but they didn’t have time for Angel to work through this new little excitement. He waves the other off. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe I think this makes it more interesting, huh? It’s kinda romantic to go get our weird deer uncle back, as a couple, huh?”

Husk laughs. “You’re ridiculous Angel. I like that in a man.”

A frantic shadow arrives to Husk’s location to latch onto his arm, imparting in flashes the location and that Alastor was ‘almost gone’.

It portals them to the location easily enough, but then pools on the floor in a glitching mess.

Vox is barely aware of their arrival, too busy gloating, monologuing and managing the variety of wires and bots in their reconstruction of the demon before him, the clothing switching to more modern attire, patterns of circuitry sliding under Alastor’s skin and up his antlers.

Dissolving his stitched smile through a combination of magic and technology. Come up with better explanation re transformation. Last to go are his red eyes, filled with rage and terror, they flick towards Husk and Angel in the last second before they flash black… radio dials gone, the Voxtech logo taking their place. And the demon stops fighting.

“YES! YES I FUCKING GOT YOU FINALLY!” Vox crows, fists clenched in celebration as he shouts his joy to the universe. Additional cables latch onto the body before him, pulsing lights feed something down into the unresponsive radio demon, echoing under the skin as it fed to the brain etc.

The television demon crouched, hand on the too-still radio demon’s cheek, a vicious mockery of affection no matter how genuine Vox thought himself to be. “Hey, just let it happen, Al. I promise it’s not that bad… in fact, you’re gonna love what me and Vel have cooked up for you, your own little niche in the technological age, not just podcasts but audiobooks and internet radio. We’re thinking of calling it Vaudible… thought you might like that. Hmmm… you’re less fun all quiet like this, but I can’t say I don’t like being able to finish a sentence without your smart mouth ruining the moment.” 

There’s a pause, “Heh, speaking of your smart mouth… there’s a few other things I think we’ve both always wanted to do that you were too stubborn to try. Lucky for me, you’re a little more compliant now, and my tech might finally fix the fucked up parts of you that won’t let you love me back. Gonna be fun letting Val and Vel have their turns with you… but you’re going to be mine first for a long, long time, deer. I waited so long for this…” 

Vox tilted the deer demon’s face towards him and pressed his mouth hard against the slackened expression there. Caring little for the slight twitches that tried to jerk from his grip, his eye starting to swirl as the pulsing wires redoubled their efforts to bury the consciousness within the husk before them.

Angel was sick to his stomach. Sure, it was nothing on what Val had put him through, but he never liked seeing someone forced… and at least he had good experiences to drift into when things got too fucked up. This was… well, it was Violation on a level beyond the physical; just the idea that Vox was also in Alastor’s head right now, not letting him pull away from the nightmare of being touched in a way that clearly horrified him, was enough to fill Angel with rage.

Husk stepped in first, however, clearly disgusted by the situation.

“You might want to put your tongue back in your freaky mouth, Vox, ‘cause I want a word.”

Those electronic eyes analyse the demon before him. “Ohoh-hooooo, look who got his powers back from daddy-deerest, hmmm? No need to thank me. But if you’re looking to get your pound of flesh from Al, you’ll have to wait until I’ve had a chance to pound that flesh first… in every way imaginable. He’s been teasing me for decades, and I want a chance to break him first before any of his former thralls try to get revenge, okay? I think that’s fair.” 

He might not love Alastor, or want to return to being friends like they sort of once were… but hearing someone speak about the guy like that was galling. Husk knew Alastor disliked touch, and wasn’t interested in ‘all that tomfoolery’ around sex and relationships, he just Was Himself and the world moved around him. It was weird, and some thought he was fucked in the head for that (Husk would argue that the love of murder was, in fact, more significant than the lack of interest in carnal acts and dating), but it rarely ever came up anymore. 

This was revolting to the Overlord on a deep level. Reminded him how closely linked Vox and Valentino were, how fundamentally similar the pair were under all that showmanship and the thin veneer of civility that drew in the masses.

His lip curled in anger, but he managed to sweep it back into a gambler’s bland smirk. All easy confidence and nonchalance, the kind that you wore no matter how fantastic or abysmal the hand you’d been dealt was.

“You sure? I mean, I know you always had a thing for him, but at least he never had ya on his chain… think I deserve to at least get my licks in, so he knows I’m going to be gunning for him when you three are done with whatever you’re up to. I just know there probably won’t be enough left to even recognise what I’m gonna do…”

Vox actually appeared to consider this. “Well, you do make a fantastic point, Husk… and you’re welcome to join in after we get first dibs on the ‘ruining’ front… but I can see how it would be frustrating to wait for revenge. Fuck knows I understand, because I’ve been plotting this shit for decades. And today, of all days, I fucking WON over this smug bastard… and now he’s mine.” 

Angel shifted uncomfortably, and drew Vox’s attention accidentally. Funny how something 8ft tall could shrink down when he was anxious.

“Oh? You brought Val’s little pet here too?”

“Course I did.” Husk replied, smoothly lying on the fly. “If you’d had to live with Alastor swanning about the hotel and lording his overlord status over ya all the time, always shoving it in your face that you were a Thing and not a Person… well, you’d wanna be here to see him get his ass handed to him, too. Right?”

Vox laughed. “That true, angelcakes?”

The consummate actor, Angel’s expression flushed vengefully cruel and broke into a wide cruel smile of too sharp teeth. “You betcha tight techno ass, Boss, I’ve wanted to put that deer in his place since he turned up at the hotel. Maybe on his knees, in fronta me, with his mouth full if ya know what I mean…” 

The words were sour on his tongue, but he’d played this little tightrope walking game with Valentino before to know how to keep his true feelings quashed down, to say and do only what they wanted to see. To be convincing.

“Hmmm, now that… I think I want to see. I’ll talk to Val about adding that to the next set of shoots, it’ll be a ratings bonanza with the weird demographics he attracts. Everyone who ever lusted after this creepy fucker, everyone who ever wanted to fuck him until he just shut the fuck up, the people he defeated bitterly, and of course his weird die hard fans of that little show who would listen to him cough for an hour rather than turn off the radio. We’ll get them all if we go ‘Adult Video killed the Radio Star’ on him.”

“Now you’re Dirty Talkin’ my language, tech daddy!” Angel simpers, his eyes watching and assessing the Overlord to find a clue as to how to proceed. One of his lower arms is in his pocket, blindly texting Vaggie for support right now, because right now they needed help majorly right now.

“So, you gonna let me take a swing before you ruin him beyond anything I can get satisfaction outta? I mean, I promise not to break anything too vital, but it’s just… you don’t get a chance like this all that often, right?”

“True, true… look, you willing to make a little deal, overlord to overlord? No souls. Just a friendly little deal where I let you whale on Al for a few minutes, and you find yourself open to a little meeting with the Vees when your Casino is back up and running. We’re all about promotion and ad revenue, and your joint was a swinging success before any of us even had a chance to reach out… imagine what we could do together, hmmm?”

“That all? Tch, you got a deal.” 

(deal sealing magic)

Vox steps aside with an elaborate wave at the vaguely stirring deer on the ground, some of the wires snapping away with bloody pops to allow others to drag the demon upright. “Just because we’re all friends here, I’ll even let our resident scarlet starlet take a shot if he wants. Just don’t aim for anything too annoying to patch up, there’s only so many times you should have to deal with a partner bleeding out from some fatal nonsense mid-fuck. Ruins the mood.” 

“Really? Gee, thanks Boss!” Angel chirps, hiding his eye twitching by forcing his smile wider as a tommy gun appeared with his fifth arm. He swallowed sharply in order to get the next line out, playing distraction as Husk sauntered closer. “You got any preference for the shot, Boss? I know some people like an extra hole in the right place, makes it a whole new level of… sinful.”

The television begins to actively glitch at that, flustered by the idea, and flickering as his mind created options. 

Husk grasped Alastor by the chin, digging his claws in and growling. “Why aren’t you smiling, ‘boss’? Suddenly not so happy to see your little pet cat with his claws extended, huh? Well, lucky for you, I got orders not to fuck you up too badly… but I’m here to remind you that you chained down an Overlord, not just any sinner, when you stole my life from me!”

Angel hazarded a glance at Vox and was horrified to find the man was visibly aroused. He fights instinct to not simply shoot the picture box in the dick right there and then.

Husk makes a show of raising Alastor off the ground, and then stopping short as the cables tugged, too short. “Hey Vox, you got an extension cord for these things or can ya drop ‘em for a sec? Hard to piledrive a guy into the pavement without enough leverage, you know?”

Clearly the phrasing was sending Vox on another tangent, as red spilled out down his screen from a sharp toothed grin. “Hmmm? Oh, yeah, of course… piledrive away, pussy cat.”

Cables snapped free easily, and Husk raised the other again, before bringing him down hard. Sinking the other a few inches into the concrete below.

“...Husk… er…. Please…”

“Hah! He’s BEGGING that’s fucking pathetic, Bambi, you know it’s not gonna work. Not with Husk, not with me, or Val or Vel or hell, even Angel Dust here…” Vox laughed, chillingly.

He didn’t understand. Husk did, though.

His claws flexed out and his arm raised, ready to deliver a fatal blow as it descended again, but the glint of the angelic capping caught Vox’s attention. 

A cable whips about his arm and yanks back. 

“Y0000ooU@$%uuuuuuuuU Fuckin$%$%g DARE?!” Vox howls, squaring up to Overlord form in rage. “That’s MY FU@%$cKINg deer, and you just what… decided to M333rcyyyy kill hi111m? Fuck off!"

Angel’s fingers are on the triggers, tensing to pull when he gets a Husk-less shot, heart pounding. And then the cavalry arrives.Niffty launches herself through the portal at Vox, dagger outstretched to take him out… but he turns his screen into a feed of her face and she freezes, pupil shrinking. Next, Charlie and Vaggie, both armed with a weapon. They force Vox back as a rather frustrated looking Lucifer arrives as well, taking in the whole scene with a pointed frown on his face.

With a sigh, he gestures to Husk. “Bring him over here so I can block whatever the tv guy is trying to use to drag them both into that camera over there.” etc.

Vox is killed with non-angelic steel, so he’ll reboot, but his body is photographed and uploaded to media. #radiosnotdead as an injoke.

Charlie is beside herself to learn what happened and almost happened.

Vaggie is not a fan of Alastor, but she winced at the idea of being bound like that and forced to-... she shuddered, kicking the corpse again. 

Angel asks the king for bleach to wash his eyes and mouth out, and Charlie has to grab the manifested bottle out of reach before anyone can hurt themselves. 

Husk is angry and frustrated and relieved and annoyed. He failed… but Alastor was sort of safe now, right? He could keep his freedom?

Niffty had to be restrained. She was feeling a strong desire to perish from Alastor, and wanted to help… so the knife was removed from her hands, and the Spider kept his limbs on her.

Lucifer was more confused than anything.

“I have no idea what he did, but I can barely see the smug fucker’s Self i there anymore. It’s all… blue, where there should be red.”

“Charlie… like I said, you gotta just… let me end him. He…” How to explain it? “Look, Vox has been obsessed for decades and never took no for the answer it was, and Al knew one day the guy would try something desperate enough that Vox might win and force him to be whatever the box wanted. My contract says I need to kill him, if that happened… so just… go back to the hotel, cause I don’t want you to see this.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. WE are going back to the hotel, and someone here or all of us are going to work out how to fix him,because if it could be done then it can be undone. No killing. No more-...” she chokes. “No more lost friends. Understood?”

“Yeah, yeah, if you insist. C’mon… if he’s going to live, I’m gonna need t’change his bandages anyway.”

“Husk.” 

Shit, he fucked up. 

“Look at me.”

His eyes turn to meet hers at the Royal Command in the tone.

“WHAT. BANDAGES?”

“The, uh… the ones covering an injury that was taking time to heal?”

“And how did that happen?” 

“Well, Overlords fight, Charlie, it-...” she frowned deeper. “Okay, fine, he can’t force my silence so… Adam hit him pretty good, and it won’t heal right. Pretty sure it’s why Vox managed to get the upper hand today.”

[Back at hotel, managing injury, manage to disperse the remaining nanobots by angelic purge, can slowly revert body over time. Powers and thoughts changed.

Confused and angry, Angel provides solace. Vox is disgraced. Valentino dies somehow in this fic.]

..

As an aside, maybe its finally revealed to everyone in the hotel that having a phone means that they officially have a small deal with voxtech, which they never realised until someone uses the airwaves to make the tiny rings appear, chains electric blue and stretching off into their smartphone screens.

Which pisses off Lucifer. His phone doesn’t have the connection, only because Vox is sure he’d die for being so presumptuous, but Charlie’s has a binding clause. It’s something small in the agreement when you power up the phones. Each gen is different and the Agree & Continue information is altered based on the plan each person is on. 

[drgemmadawnnightingale]

Irony, Part 1

3/6/1994

"I want to see him."

It was all she could say, rushing for the prison wards. It was all she could say to the guards, to Dr. White, to the Warden, to anyone attempting to get in her way. All she could do was repeat herself, face paling, eyes widened, voice shaking along with her shoulders and hands.

"Please, just let me see him. I want to see him."

And it was reluctantly made so. Perhaps her request wasn't the first one, or hers was the most urgent, but she was rushed along into the Primary Labs and taken to what was once a server room. There were still servers lined along the walls, monitors displaying vitals and pressure changes, the droning of computer processors and the gentle pips of a heart monitor could be heard in the room as she stepped in and carefully made her way to the center.

Dr. Nightingale couldn't believe her eyes. Within pressurized chambers, separated between wires and circuitry were the still living remains of Dr. Harley Sawyer. His heart, his lungs, and his brain were the organs left on display, expertly carved out and suspended in fluids kept secret by the company. Here he was in a bare minimum, for the sake of the company he strived for.

Gemma was always afraid of him, but standing before this work of butchery and reanimation in its most horrifying, a different kind of fear washed over her. Fear for him.

"...Dr. Sawyer?" she called, her voice just carrying over the din of the machinery. "...can you hear me? Can you see me?"

"He can't see you." Dr. White answered, over her shoulder. "But he can hear you."

Dr. Sawyer didn't respond. So, Dr. Nightingale continued.

"I came as soon as I heard. As soon as they would let me. I... I had to make sure-"

"To mock me as the others have." Dr. Sawyer's familiar growl of a voice spat through a pair of nearby speakers. "Or worse. Speak your peace, Nightingale, I'm sure you have plenty to say now. Now that I'm on the same level as your precious toys."

There would be time to wonder and ask how he was able to speak like this, his haunting voice intact, they way he would growl and emphasize words. Another time.

"The irony is not lost on me," Gemma admitted, with the faintest traces of a smile, "and that's as far as my mockery goes. I'm more concerned about you. Are..." Just in the act of asking was she realizing what this looked like, the drive to check on him instantly kicking in, HIM of all things! And yet, here she was, asking what she had asked all the others she met before him undergoing the procedure. "...are you in any pain? Is... there anything I can do for you?"

There was a long pause. The heart rate monitors slowed in their pips, the tank keeping his lungs ceased pumping for just a moment, as though he was holding his breath. Dr. Gemma could only imagine what was going through his mind. Was he formulating an insult to her character and intentions? Was he winding himself up to yell at her? Was he realizing what it was truly like to be another one of Playtime's experiments? Or... was he stewing in the fact that Dr. Gemma Dawn Nightingale could now openly pity him?

"I want you," he finally growled back, "to leave."

"Right away, doctor." Dr. Nightingale nodded, and turned on her heal to do so. Dr. White watched her before trailing behind her, ready to organize her paperwork to leave the prison wards. That was it? Just a few exchanged words, and she leaves the moment she's told to? Dr. Sawyer had no power over her anymore, and yet she still took orders from him. He would ask her about this later, remind her that he was her new superior as far as Special Projects were concerned. But she was walking briskly away, face turned down, trying to hide. Did she pity him, or was she secretly happy about his ironic fate? She was walking at too fast of a pace to talk to.

So, he would leave this to be a conversation for later. Surely, she had a lot to think about.

----

She had to postpone her appointments for the next day. She couldn't concentrate on work or emails. She couldn't even read her favorite books to take her mind off of what she saw and heard. She couldn't function. The vats, the dull hum of super computers, the burning smell of electricity crackling between receptors, the rhythmic pipping of the heart monitor...

No one deserved this. Not even him.

All she had left to comfort her was her magic radio. Turning it on, carefully twisting the dial to catch a signal, knowing that it would somehow pick a song she needed to hear. It took a couple of minutes before a signal came through.

So, goodbye Yellow Brick Road...

She felt silly, mourning someone who wasn't even dead. He was worse than dead, all who underwent the procedure were. Even for him, the mastermind, the most evil human she ever met, she couldn't help but mourn and pity him. She couldn't help but let the dam break and start crying, hugging the radio to her.

The others were worried that if this could happen to Dr. Sawyer it could happen to them! Dr. Gemma was scared that this even happened in the first place.

Despite being muffled from being hugged into Dr. Gemma's stomach, the radio continued to sing:

Oh I've finally decided my future life's beyond the Yellow Brick Road...

[shroudandsands]

Haunted

He kicked backwards from his desk. The chair rolled back with some complaint as he spun out towards the middle of the room.

The desk was covered in all the small bits and pieces he’d salvaged last week. Utilitarian finds mixed into the oddities. Stuff that would see more than a shelf or the gentle touch of some niche collector or expert that he’d go and see personally. Someone who’d look at old lines of electrope circuitry and see a history that could never be spoken into words. Something that would’ve sparked life into him any other day. Any other life. But no. Not this one. Not the one he saw when he looked out the window.

For someone like him the world always seemed to move out of sync. His eyes were always cast downward. Locked onto the old, locked onto history, locked onto yesterday. Sometimes so deeply it was as if his boots were crunching gravel that was laid down long before he lived only to smell the fresh dust of stone. Or that his fingers trailed through dust that had only just fallen the morning of. Or the taste of lightning on his breath was something unusual, something otherworldly… In a city where death had lost its grip… he spent his days with ghosts. Sometimes the neon reminded him. When the attack happened he was outside of the city. Perched in a ruined tower with a chisel in hand. Slowly removing the face of an electrope panel that had likely once been used to track work orders and worker locations. He didn’t know anything was wrong until he’d gotten a call- frantic, panicked, scared- from Pyrite. From his wife. His angel on the other end of a scope. He wasn’t quite sure what was real yet. Even as he answered, his chisel momentarily held in his mouth as he fished out his mask so he could answer, he couldn’t quite place what it was. As if he’d split out of the present. A wakeup call for a perpetual dreamer.

She told him to stay out there. He asked why. She hung up.

He could taste the dust as it fell around him, the panel gently set onto the ground. The hum of his tether slipped through his brain like a chord. The sight of shifting lights settled on his eyes. All to draw out something in him that he couldn’t quite capture in his mind. Something that he could never wrap his hands, so expertly delicate and precise, around. His thoughts returned to him as his memory leapt from that building. As the rumble of an electrope engine took him from outskirts to carnage. From ghosts to the dead. Unfocused eyes looked out the window. It was harder to tell the difference, now. The blur of his arrival was marked just as much by the destruction as it was by the relief. At finding Pyrite, at her seeing him, at her screaming at him for being a complete fucking moron how could you think this was smart- and the ensuing embrace that did little to calm the fear that gripped him. But it was enough to keep him behind the wheel of that van. Keep people moving to safety. Keep his head in the present. Just for that moment. Just for one crisis.

He waved off the cobwebs as he groaned to his feet. Scooping up some of the not-quite-ancient pieces of tech and oddities and lifting them to the light. Older pieces of electrope from before the storm. Some recent- salvaged from the malfunctioning sentries. And some more recent still… taken from wreckage that had been scattered far and wide by the fighting. His contribution to the effort. Even as it felt so foreign in his hands. Practical pieces of tech for repairs, for fighting, for helping along a limping and aimless city. Something to put it on life support while everyone else figured out the chaos. Until someone woke them all up from the shock. He chucked them into the crate beside his door with the other pickups. The crisis hadn’t ended. But his involvement in it had. There wasn’t anything more for him to do. Not a man who worked best away from the world. Not a reforger who worked alone more days than not. Not a coward. Another piece chucked into the box. Another for the pile. Another to be picked up by whoever was sent to collect them. He’d stopped checking.

He chucked his boots towards the desk. His gear was dropped beside them. He fell into bed. He settled into the familiar dent he’d worn into the mattress. His feet rested into a divot. His arm off the side. The small of his back supported by the one singular piece of support that persisted. His breath left him like a death rattle.

[unsoundedcomic]

We saw that Duane was able to be controlled by Prakhuta by getting his intact soul stabbed through with First Silver. Would it be too much of a stretch to think that any living person (who would, we might assume, have their physical body draped over their metaphysical soul) could be controlled by having their underlying soul penetrated by First Silver in a similar way?Basically, if you stab a person with First Silver does whoever "exerts their will" through it get to mindf- that person?

First Silver is so painful to Duane (it would also be painful to Timofey) because Duane is a pymaric, just as Sette recently said. Yes, Duane has his whole living soul, but it's moored to his body via that weird contraption the kids found in the back of his neck. When First Silver or any other durable First Material penetrates his pymaric circuitry, so to speak, it disrupts and damages the signal. That feels a lot like agony, and he malfunctions, groaning and dropping to the ground. It even disrupts his own will acting on his limbs, leaving them vulnerable to other commands as though he really were a mindless plod. That's how Prakhuta was able to get him to bite Captain Toma.

Regular souls (and the living who have them) and mnemonic effluvia needn't fear First Silver or any First Materials in this way. The exception would be the Black Tongues who wear First Silver torcs. Lady Ilganyag can't directly mind control her little boyfriends with these collars, but she's designed ways to use them to interface with their bodies - with their nervous system, brain, and blood. She's developed spellwork she can put into them via her First Silver wires; put into them in a way a spellwright can't simply by twiddling his fingers.

[kuiperblog]

Why the movie villain’s henchmen always wear masks

One of those “can’t unsee it” things about modern action movies is the fact that, overwhelmingly, the generic bad guys wear face-concealing masks, particularly in mid-budget direct-to-Netflix action movies. (My definition of “mid budget” here also includes “high budget” Netflix action movies where the bulk of the budget was clearly spent hiring Ryan Reynolds.)

I dislike this for many reasons, but high among them is that it deprives the stunt actors of the opportunity to act with their faces.

For contrast, watch a Jackie Chan movie: a huge part of the fun of Jackie Chan action scenes is the incredibly human reactions that people have when delivering (or taking) punches. When the hero is punching bad guys, it’s not just about the punch itself, but the reaction of the guy who’s getting punched! When someone gets kicked in the face or takes fist to the stomach, I want to see him react with obvious pain!

Even if the stunt actors aren’t amazingly emotive actors, it’s nice when all of the bad guys (even the “generic”) ones are visually distinctive. For one thing, it makes it easier to tell the “generic” characters straight from each other -- it’s simply harder to keep track of the action when the hero is fighting five bad guys who are all basically identical. You can try to get around this by giving the bad guys face-concealing helmets that are visually distinctive, though doesn’t make a ton of sense from a lore perspective, considering the entire point of a uniform is.  (Functional uniforms are, by their very nature, and by definition, designed to be uniform. It doesn’t make sense for the Galactic Empire to come up with unique helmets for each individual stormtrooper.)

But apart from the practical issues that come from all of the mooks being indistinct human-shaped blobs, there’s just the fact that as a human, I am  deeply biologically hardwired to find human faces compelling.  Human faces and bodies can be so delightfully idiosyncratic -- no two people look the same!

And therein lies the problem for the moviemakers.  Because if you wish to show dozens of unique human faces, then you need to have dozens of unique human faces.

If all they need to do is be excited faces in a crowd, then you can get extras. But if your movie is about a protagonist delivering bespoke acts of violence to dozens of generic bad guys, then those bad guys have to be played by stunt actors. And if you show us the stunt actors’ faces, audiences will start to notice when you start reusing stunt actors. (Even if we wouldn’t consciously register the fact that Chris Hemsworth is punching the same guy he just killed five minutes ago in a different action scene, our neural circuitry is really good at noticing familiar human faces. As Mike Stoklasa is fond of saying, “You may not have noticed it, but your brain did.”)

So, if you only have half a dozen stunt actors, but the movie calls for dozens of bad guys getting punched or stabbed or shot, then you have to cover their faces.

Realizing this has given me a greater appreciation for movies of this genre that don’t hide the actor’s faces. For example, Nobody is perfectly willing to show us the bad guy’s faces as they get punched, shot, and knocked around, which is great, because it’s a movie that is specifically about the consequences and brutality of violence.

Nobody does have one scene where the bad guys’ faces are covered -- they wear ski masks during the home invasion scene, because it makes narrative sense for them to do so. But ski masks still allow them to act with their faces during the intense moments! You get to see the fear in this guy’s eyes in the moment he realizes what’s about to happen to him.

Nobody’s credits list a whopping 35 names as “stunt performers.” (And that’s not including the actors credited as “stunt double.”)

For comparison, The Adam Project has 9 credited stunt actors. No surprise, then, that all the “generic bad guys” wear helmets. (Not that they get to do much “stunt” work in the moments before they get vaporized into flashing bloodless PG-13 approved CGI dust. Not only does the movie not let you see bad guys’ faces react after they get shot, but it doesn’t even want to let you watch their bodies collapse to the ground.)

By the way, since it’s the measuring stick that all movies get measured against these days, John Wick credits 59 stunt players. (Again, this is separate and in addition to the tally of “stunt doubles,” which is a different credit.)  The John Wick sequels each credit around a hundred stunt performers (John Wick 2 credits 103, John Wick 3 credits 94, John Wick 4 credits 100.)

The decision to cover everyone’s heads with face-concealing helmets can be a stylistic choice -- the Star Wars franchise showcases many of these, including of course the iconic stormtrooper, among many others. However, more and more, it feels like this not a creative design choice, but a practical one.

Movies are a product of human labor and talent, and that costs money. Like a lot of the things involved in making a good movie, hiring a lot of different stunt actors isn’t easy. But I always appreciate the movies that are willing to make the effort, because when audiences see it on screen, they can tell the difference.

[madamlaydebug]

The Pedophile Agenda

This brings us to the most important topic of the pedophile agenda that is a segment of the mainstreaming of the satanism agenda, occurring more aggressively in the western culture. This ideology is being further reinforced by the primitive beliefs held in third world poverty-stricken populations from war-torn or economically ravaged countries, where murder, rape, child brides and extreme violence are every day normalized events. The most traumatic and damaging event that can happen to the soul of a developing baby or child, is sexual abuse from an adult. This is why sexual abuse of children is the highest priority of those that commit Satanic Ritual Abuse for gaining power and control in the material world, and of those pedophiles that are ultimately being controlled by the NAA to spread acceptance of this depravity. Collecting sexual energy from children is the holy grail of the NAA, and they use this energy in Moloch battery tanks that power up the black magic grids.

Sexual abuse of a child that is committed through vaginal or rectal intercourse can easily damage the fetal cells in the tailbone, which explodes the inner circuitry at the perineum and causes rips and holes in the victim’s aura. Sometimes the fetal cells on the tailbone will explode from forceful and brutal impact, and that cell contains coiled kundalini current that will explode out of the lightbody circuitry and nervous system, producing extremely devastating physical trauma and emotional pain. If the sexual impact is forceful the kundalini cell can explode up the central channel momentarily, rising into the brain and cerebral spinal fluid, which can damage the bio-neurology through dissociative states, mental and emotional fracturing, psychotic break and subsequent entity attachments to the fragments. This is a preferred method to generate mind-controlled slaves, and is commonly understood as Satanic Ritual Abuse used in MKUltra or Monarch programming, that is still rampant in the Hollywood celebrity or sex slave culture today. This was brought to the United States by the high-level Nazi’s at the end of World War II, using techniques that were given to them by the Black Suns. Obviously, a child with a much smaller body than an adult abuser, can be severely spiritually damaged in a multitude of ways by sexual assault, experiencing a massive amount of painful trauma, fear and emotional dysfunction that is carried with them their entire lifetime. Many times, the abused become the abusers and the cycle interchanges endlessly throughout generations of learned abuse.

Whether an adult or child, the internal circuity that makes up the major bodily meridians intersect into the perineum where the chi energy is circulated throughout the entire body. To interrupt the inner circuitry from moving upwards or damage the fetal cells on the tailbone, injury and harm is applied to this area of the perineum, and thus the sexual energies are siphoned downward towards the earth moving in the reverse direction. The 2D opening into the soul matrix layers of the lightbody are located in the sexual organs, it is in the cervix for females, and in the prostate gland area for males. During intercourse possible infiltration, implantation and entity attachment can occur when breaching these consciousness portals in the sexual organs. Sexual abuse, rape or disconnected sex can infiltrate the sexual organs with implants and attachments that are used to reverse gender principle by reversing the inner sexual energies to run a reversal base shield, and block the perineum circuitry entirely through tailbone implant. This is called the “anti-sex” configuration when sexual energy is running reversals from out of the perineum or root areas. The anti-sex reversal configuration will attract entities of sexual addiction, and thus sexual addiction is very common among people that abuse their sexual energies. They will feel constantly depleted and looking for a hit of orgasm to feed a hungry entity attachment or feed addictive reactions that impulse cravings in the bio-neurology.

The damage made to the 2D energy systems that impact the sexual organs to run reversal energies, generate blockages that prevent biological spiritual ascension, many times preventing kundalini from opening and moving upwards in the central vertical channel. If the kundalini energies are opened, many times they are running in reverse, the inner merkaba spiral is descending and feeding into reversal energies in the earth. This is the strategy of the NAA, who are attacking the sexual energies of humanity in order to get as many humans to abuse their sexual energies and run reversal merkaba shields as possible, to feed the checkerboard mutation. The first target is the most vulnerable, the children of earth, by making them acceptable sexual objects to be abused and told that this abuse is equated with love.

SRA survivors can feel great shame when this sexual addiction is the result of horrific early abuse, however it is important to realize that this is how these entities hijack the body from out of our control. We must apply effort to regain control over our physical body functions, and that starts with getting control over our thoughtforms and belief systems. They intentionally violate sexual boundaries so a person does not know how to restore dignity and purity to the sexual organs, or to practice healthy, loving self-care that respects our physical body. To restore our sexual energies into a corrected pattern, moving them upwards into our heart, we must unconditionally love ourselves and our sexual organs, practicing healthy sexual hygiene.

One thing is certain, people are being used as pawns in the checkerboard mutation that plays the reversals in the SRA game of the NAA, and many are unaware of the spiritual reality in which we are living. The lack of empathy and compassion we have for ourselves, as well as for the many serious abuses that are committed against others, is what produces narcissists, sociopaths and psychopaths for a death culture run by the Controllers. When the human heart is broken and the soul is disconnected, it generates extreme distortions of mental sickness and pain filled diseased behavior that goes unnoticed and then starts to become increasingly normalized, as if it is a right to choose abusive and self-destructive patterns. These are the main goals behind the psychological warfare of spreading worldwide Satanic Ritual Abuse via the pedophile agenda, courtesy of the power-hungry Controllers and the NAA.

[keepsmyheartawake]

Pleasure is not desire (though desire can be pleasurable)

Pleasure and desire are different systems in the brain. At the level of the emotional, mammalian brain, desire is known as “wanting” or “incentive salience”, and pleasure is discussed as “liking” or hedonic impact.

“Wanting”, in the brain, is a vast network of dopamine-related circuitry that mediates how motivated we are to pursue a goal. “Liking”, by contrast, is a set of smaller “hedonic hot spots” where opioids and endocannabinoids mediate how good a sensation feels.

Pleasure is stillness, savoring what’s happening in the moment. Desire is forward movement, exploring to create something that doesn’t currently exist.

Pleasure is a perception of a sensation. Desire is motivation toward a goal.

In a sense, pleasure is satisfaction and desire is dissatisfaction, because pleasure is enjoying an experience, while desire is motivation to pursue something different.

Consider the “wanting” involved in continuous, joyless scrolling on social media. You’re searching for something you can’t name, maybe for the reward of, at last, finding something that makes you feel good or that even confirms your worst fears. You want ... something. But you’re not enjoying it, you’re just following the urge to keep looking. Desire without pleasure.