#NERVE headcanons

[spectralgecko]

Sqarlet I just remembered something:

NERVE has a *first person POV* mode-

Oh yeah, I noticed that.

Didn't bother with it because I figured that'd make it way harder.

However, the lore implications of that-

[octahedral-chaos]

*rifles through hat of names*

Unumpuriss and Spinaclyp headcanons, 3 2 1 go!

Whelp, here we go!

Unumpuriss

Clockwork dude... the silly /JK

Anyways, I think Unumpuriss would LOVE making stuff, especially automations and such. They also like to draw

Would love space stuff

Also probably have trauma from the entire ordeal with Nerve (My version of Light Orb)

Is also Iteriumulus' older sibling

Spinacylp

Dramatic. That all I'm saying-

Loves Roses, even without thorns. Also likes lilies too

Also really like theatres and plays in general.

Would probably use Shakespeare language unironically.

[rachelfc-art]

Princess in Shining Armor

[boobearymuch]

❀ You're Overstimulated ❀

Zayne would instantly recognize you're overstimulated and leap into action without thinking twice about it. He'd notice you've gone uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, nodding or giving clipped responses. Or maybe you're snappier than usual, but he doesn't take it to heart, he never does.

He'd suddenly excuse you both from whatever social situation you're in without warning, and you'd give him a surprised look. Or if he can't control the circumstances, he'd suddenly suggest you guys move to a different room if he knows the lights are too bright/noise levels are too loud. You'd pout out of embarrassment for a bit, "Was it that obvious?"

But he only chuckles and leans in to whisper, "To me, yes." And you frown again, but then he thumbs your chin softly, "...I can't help it. My eyes are always on you."

Bonus: If your clothes are irritating you, he'll wait until you're in the car to say, "Take it off."

"...What?"

His cool eyes slide over to you as he shifts the ignition, "Your clothes. They're bothering you, are they not?" The authority in his voice is unmistakable, and it raises the hair on your arms, "So, take them off."

[inkyarcturus]

Imagining an older Harry, after the war, doing an activity on the floor (8th year work, a puzzle, a game etc.) and Severus walks in to see what hes doing.

Harry beckons him to join him in the activity, wordlessly putting a blanket and pillows on the floor for him.

When Severus asks why, Harry just smirks and calls him an old man jokingly. Severus is lightly offended but actually deeply appreciates the blanket and pillow because… yes actually, his joints ache along with his back and his knees creak a lil too much when he crouches down.

He’s 37 years old and he’s gone through two wars, multiple rounds of torture, and years of stress from spying. So yes, he deserves the pillows and blankets thank you very much, that does not mean he is old Potter.

[gojoest]

in curiosity au satoru and you always spend new year’s eve together (just the two of you! it’s like a tradition for you since you were little) and he always always makes you eat 12 grapes under the table along with him hoping that maybe this year you’ll finally notice him. if you start talking about other boys he will eat your grapes too and sulk for the rest of the night. you will either date him or nobody else

[heuldoch7b]

cephalophore eidolon shenanigans

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Springtime Caresses

III. Angsty Dadstarion, but it's quite alright.

“Here, papa, here! You have to lie down right here! Don’t move!” 

Warm grass tickles the back of Astarion’s neck. With his eyes closed to the bright sun above him, he listens to his surroundings, takes in the bird song and wind dancing through the trees. The static buzz of honey bees. Children’s play. 

Life. 

He’s not asleep but pretends to be. It’s part of the game, or so he’s been told. 

“Sweet dreams, papa!” 

Most of his dreams are sweet these days, but he doesn’t mention that, just complies. 

The scents of sun-warmed soil and perfectly ripened strawberries carry a promise of summer to his nose, lulling Astarion into a twilight state of content drowsiness. Maybe he will allow himself to fall into reverie, after all. He’s tranced in worse places, and with worse company, too. 

But that was a long time ago.

Now, he enjoys ruining his silken shirts with grass stains. Fresh air filling his lungs all day long. The feeling of tiny hands weaving wildflowers into his silver curls. 

Even after all these years, this experience will never cease feeling novel to him—the warmth, the tranquillity. This deep sense of belonging.

Peace.

It’s not a sweet dream, but reality. It’s as real as the wild shrieks and laughter sweeping across the meadow. Children jumping over and around him, eager to slay this or that imaginary fiend. The hem of a skirt he mended only last night brushing against his legs. A young boy humming a song his mother sang over breakfast close to his ear. 

Astarion smiles, or tries not to, since he’s promised to be fast asleep—even when there’s a sudden tug at his hair. 

The humming stops; the laughter fades into displeased groans all around him. Astarion doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that the face eclipsing the sun above him is a much younger version of his own. 

“Careful, Miri, that hurts papa!” The boy scolds as he gently untangles his little sister’s hand from their father’s locks.

“Uh-oh!” the toddler mumbles before she helps the boy pick stray sticks from Astarion’s hair. “Bad!”  

“Yes, Miri—bad.” 

Astarion suppresses the urge to take his daughter’s clumsy hand in his and press a soothing kiss to her small fingers, telling her it’s quite alright. That no harm was done. There never is. Not here. Not with them. 

But all he has to do today is feign sleep, so he will reassure the child later when it’s his turn to braid her hair in time for bed.

“Sorry, papa,” another girl calls from near the treeline. “Miri didn’t mean to hurt you! But don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the true beast!” 

This time, Astarion cannot help the faint smile tugging at his lips. 

It’s a lovely promise, lisped through missing front teeth. And it’s true—most of the time, at least. 

These children, this family he helped create with nothing but love and devotion, distract him from the beast prowling the everlasting darkness far in the back of his mind.

Yet, sometimes, distraction alone isn’t enough… 

Astarion doesn’t like to dwell on the rare occasions when the beast eventually does find its way to him. It’s tamer now, the years have made it lazy enough, but every now and then, it will probe him. It can still sniff out the weakness he’ll never be able to shed, knows whenever he’s at his lowest. 

The beast only lunges at easy prey—it always has.

So, sometimes, when Astarion’s nights are tense with endless whining, misplaced toys and sharp words, the beast breathes down his neck, whispers in his ear.

On your back, boy, right here. Do not move. It will not hurt unless you let it. Your screams have always sounded the sweetest. Are you hurting, yet? Good, it’s because I want you to. It’s what you deserve, you insolent fool. Have you no respect for yourself? That’s why they hate you so, that’s why you’re but a pathetic little boy who’s never amounted to anything that’s why you’re nothing that’s why—

Once the older children perform their duty to scold the youngest among them, the laughter returns. Their faceless fiend is fair game again and all Astarion has to do is sleep, trust in his family’s sweet promise that holds his cure. 

Because, as exhausting as it is, he has learned to ignore the beast, become numb to its poison. It’s a thing of the past and he won’t let it taint his future. 

Astarion lets out a deep breath. He can feel himself grow tired under the little hands stroking his hair.

“No worry, papa.”

No worry, no. Not here. Not with them. Never with them…

There’s a gust of wind coming from up north. It carries the scents of sickly sweet strawberries and petrichor and, ever so slowly, Astarion can feel his mind slipping. 

He doesn’t sleep; he hasn’t in a very long time. Sleep, true sleep, is vulgar and reminds him of death. Instead, Astarion drowns in memories, but even there he’s buried six feet under today. 

There are no strawberries in this freshly dug grave, only the stink of decay. The damp wood of his coffin presses uncomfortably into his back while worms and maggots tickle his neck. Eating at him. Consuming him. 

His broken fingernails hurt as he claws at the darkness surrounding him—this deep in the ground, all shades of grey are tainted black. Sometimes he wonders if his eyes are even open, but they must be because they burn with tears and blood and dust.

There’s laughter coming from somewhere above. It’s rumbling like far-away thunder; it hasn’t reached him, yet, but the threat of it is already stunning him with fear.

He cannot speak he cannot see he cannot be he cannot—

The laughter isn’t coming from above, nor is it coming from anywhere, really. It’s residing inside his head, this vile laughter that won’t let him in on the joke. And why would it? He is nothing, is he not? All he is is blood and screams and death. Bodies piled atop his aching shoulders, weighing him down.

So why is he moving? Why is he digging through wet soil until he can see moonlight illuminating his path to…

The beast eclipses the moon and the stars shining down on him. It has stopped laughing, though its maw is stretched into an unnatural grin, revealing a pair of sharp fangs—the key to the wounds on his neck. A promise of endless misery.

He cannot stop moving towards the beast. It holds its claws out to him, stroking his hair, scratching his scalp raw. There you are, boy, always crawling back to me. My good, prodigal son—look at you! Do you know why you’re here? With me? It’s because, after all these years, you’re still mine. And you will always be.

“Astarion?”

There’s a light drizzle soaking his skin. 

Astarion opens his eyes to a sun that’s crawled past its zenith, taking the music of children’s play with it. The silence feels oppressive, just like the calm before a great storm, and all he can feel are the small, warm bodies Astarion helped create press against him. They’re curled up against his side, lying draped over his legs, clutching his arm. Weighing him down.

No.

Grounding him, always ever grounding him. 

He needs to shield his sleeping children from the rain, he thinks, but his arms are still caged somewhere between nightmare and reality. 

Fuck, how long had he been out?

Astarion inhales deeply. He just needs a moment to come to his senses.

He can smell rain-soaked cotton, crisp air and that faint scent of magic he would recognise even if he were buried deep in the ground.

Oh, of course…

“Astarion.”

He allows himself a relieved half-smile as the rain above him is coming to a sudden halt a moment later. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, my heart,” Tav says as she steps into the meadow, one eyebrow raised at the sight in front of her. “But what in the nine hells are you doing out here?”

Astarion can only watch as little droplets of rain run down the magic dome enclosing him and the children, tear drops that can never reach them now. 

“I’m a sleeping princess, or so I’ve been told. But I’m rather afraid my knights in shining armour fell asleep before they got to wake me…” 

Tav joins her family under her shield of magic, strokes the head of the child closest to her as she smiles at her husband.

“I see. May I kiss you awake instead, then?” 

“You already have, darling,” Astarion whispers. “But do it again, yes? Just to be on the safe side…?” 

His hand brushes the swell of Tav’s stomach as she’s trying to settle comfortably against him. It’s getting rather crowded—the house, life, moments like this—but there’s always room for one more, Astarion thinks.

Tav grins as she sweetly kisses her way from his cheek to his mouth, where she finally lingers. 

To Astarion, Tav’s lips taste of freedom, of nightmares swiftly broken. Of home—the best distraction he never dared to hope for. One he never wants to end.

In the distance, there’s a gentle thunder rolling towards the meadow, but that’s quite alright. Astarion knows that it can’t do any harm. Not here. Not with them.

Never with his family around him.

@seaofdaydreams , my dear, I hope you do not mind me borrowing Miri's name for this one ♡

more Dadstarion content

tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan @darlingxdragon @herautumnmorningelegance

[pjs-everyday]

prototype vs. final dynamic ❤️💥✨

[tea-and-turtleducks]

so, not sure how to bring this headcanon up, but basically my great-aunt had a dog that only ate when someone came to the her bowl and pretended to try to take her food. as soon as someone reached out, she would growl and the bowl would be empty. I had to feed her a couple times and it was… quite an experience. (like, she wasn't a very big dog, but I wasn't very big back then either, so—)

anyway, this scene with Iroh and Zuko has similar vibes. I can easily imagine that "Are you gonna eat that? No? Then may I?" is a typical Uncle's tactic to get Zuko to eat, because he tends to forget about food even when it's right in front of him. But as soon as Iroh pretends to take it, Zuko is like "no, nope, no way, mine."

And on the rare occasions when Zuko shrugs and waves it off like "whatever, I'm not hungry," Iroh gets a double portion, so it's always a win-win scenario for him.

(That is, except for the months they spent on a raft at sea and then on the run in the Earth Kingdom, when Zuko refused to eat, no matter how hard Iroh tried to talk or trick him into it).

[juanitascribbles]

I just think he's pretty

[spectralgecko]

Also little question, but for the NERVE headcanons, I noticed that you mentioned a lab quite a bit.

So, what's Iteriumulus' lab like?

Be forewarned: Unpleasant and icky imagery ahead. This is Iteriumulus.

Enter World? * Yes < * No

* Yes <

... Connecting ... Connected to Host

Entering World ℵ

Immaculate.

Bright.

Frigid.

It smells strongly of sterilizing chemicals and metal.

Iteriumulus' version of a World, it seems, with every "zone" in perfect order serving as different utility areas. The causeway runs tidily down the middle. The difference is, this causeway has offshoots, clearly meant for the gatekeeper to navigate with. The main causeway appears to be blocked off at the ends of the mainway in some zones, leaving you to navigate those offshoots in search of passage.

Zone 1

It has nothing. It's and entirely barren hospital-white. If there was ever anything in here, any traces of it have long since been wiped from existence.

Zone 2

This one has some beginnings of plant life, but where the other worlds had free-growing vines and bushes, these are neatly arranged in tanks and fences, all in orderly patterns. The white lighting persists, casting the plants in an artificial, washed-out pale. The deeper you go, the worse the order, with some plants crowding their enclosures, choking each other out, and beginning to sprawl. They all look... odd. Sickly. Foul.

Zone 3

It has animals. None of them move. Many are grotesque. A few are rotting. The rest are encased in formaldehyde.

Zone 4

You find... growing things. Vessels, mostly - hundreds of them hang from the ceiling or the walls, suspended by metal arms and tubes of energy and fluid. Their orbs all shine dully with reflected white light, glassy and empty of energy, and their limbs hang limp and greyed out. Some vessels look like you. A few look disturbingly organic, merged and meshed with other things, even each other. There's an oddly unkempt pile near the back of strange, deformed vessels. Failed experiments, most likely. One lone vessel hangs near the back, attached to wires and tubes. It's limbs carry strange bumps and plating pieces, all lavender and edged with wavering, flickering veins of yellow. It seems to have been disturbed recently.

It looks diseased.

There's a few other things, too. More lavender and yellow, but detached and suspended in formaldehyde or behind glass, pulsing organically in the background with an artificial sustenance.

Zone 5

It has assembly machinery, it seems - where the Vessels are put together? Most of it isn't moving at the moment, though some of it is trying to kill you. There's some plating and parts around that look suspiciously like they belong to the gatekeepers. One dead end path leads you to a set of machinery that hasn't been cleaned, it's claws stained with dark purple. The stains are dry, but not old. It reeks.

Zone 6

You're greeted by a vile stench and roaring. Whatever used to be in here is broken and pervaded by black-purple filth, creeping and crawling around the zone and pulsing like some fleshy parasitic organism. Nothing is actively trying to kill you, but the darkness eats at the corners of your vision and the stench is enough to make you lightheaded and nauseous.

Zone 7

This one is guarded by vessels. They all stand at attention, shining pristinely - cold and white-washed. They stop at nothing to terminate you, and cannot be killed. You find yourself hiding down causeway offshoots and slipping around corners as quietly as possible, looking for a door you can pass through and lock behind you.

Eventually, you find a side path and slip into the next zone.

Zone 8

Once again utterly barren, just like the first zone. Nothing. Just white and cold. But you can hear something. Laughter? Screaming? Both? This place seems like an airlock of some kind. Maybe for decontamination. Ridiculously long room, too.

Zone 9

There are empty tables with empty restrains, and trays of clean tools. Some look medical, some look... cruel. Whatever sounds you were hearing are gone. It's dead silent now. No stains or uncleaned messes in this room, either. It's shorted than you expected.

Zone of the Gatekeeper

The Eldest. You've breached the lab prime, the most isolated, sterile, secret part of the place, with a roundabout causeway orbiting the most central lab space. A special chamber reserved specifically for this new... amusement of his.

If Iteriumulus is here, you can't see him.

You can see Unumpuriss.

They hang, elevated, in the in the middle of it all, their plating and chitin carved open and pulled apart, held in place by cold, wicked machinery. Their clockwork, half-living internals, bared for observation, shudder with pain and cold as they dangle disassembled for "study." Prying and poking and cutting. Their plating bears host on host of scorch and burn marks, barely healed incision scars, and lacerations with connections to tubes of strange liquids, some of which carry the gatekeeper's golden lifeblood, keeping them alive.

Alive and excruciatingly awake.

Their lungs heave and rasp with the weight of forced consciousness and endless pain. It seems they're between rounds of whatever Iteriumulus has been doing. Did it even serve a purpose? Did he just... enjoy watching Unumpuriss suffer? What happened that Iteriumulus decided this was his desire?

One thing at least is plain. If you are to fight Iteriumulus, it cannot be here. Not where he can kill Unumpuriss so effortlessly.

[spectralgecko]

Now that you point it out, you are absolutely right, and I love it.

It's fascinating that there's a very clear line, particularly in the achieves and in-game language, between you the player, and simply the vessel. And the choice of the term "vessel" unto itself suggests that this orb isn't even a person to be. It just is. It's a holder. For you.

Which, I know that 1st/3rd person usually just refers to the perspective, but here I think that "2nd person" is a really fascinating way of encapsulating the idea that you aren't playing as anyone. You're just... you. In the same sort of way that Undertale could be described as "second person" - because you aren't the character you're controlling. You're you, and the world acknowledges you as such. Same with OneShot.

@spectralgecko Have a random thing I realized about NERVE, based on your idea of the Player and Vessel.

In technically… NERVE is a 2nd-person game if you go with the idea that you AREN’T the Light Orb.

Sounds weird, but let me explain.

In NERVE, you pilot a ball of light, the game doesn’t say that YOU’RE the ball of light, it says that you’re “playing as a ball of light.” Plus, in both the Steam description and updates (ESPECIALLY the Unumpuriss one), they seem to focus on you, the player, NOT the light orb.

So here’s where @sqarlet’s headcanon comes in. “You,” the player, is a metaphysical connection to the Light Orb. So when you think about it, you AREN’T the Light Orb. You’re controlling the light orb, yes, but “controlling” and “being” a character are two different things.

Aka unhinged ramble time-

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

@goated33 got me thinking-

in some ways, vaggie has the personality and risk assessment capabilities of a small furry animal

meaning everyone in hell THINKS she's the idiot chihuahua, picking fights with the local dobermans, getting metaphorically (literally?) dragged away by charlie for her own good

the twist is she's actually one of those damn weasel things, able to fuck up creatures several times her size and almost impossible to kill normally- yet STILL she's somehow picking fights waaaaay above her weight class

charlie got headaches over this in the early days, i bet. before vaggie simmered down from "don't kill kids wft" to "sinners maybe kinda redeemable actually? not for killy killy stab??"

even now though there's the vibe that, if left alone with alastor and even one less fuck to give, vaggie would be throttling him in seconds flat

this would probably not go well... sadly, once she got started, i could see her probably not noticing or caring much. imagine charlie worrying about this possibility a lot. some nights staying awake, concerned who her girlfriend might pick a fight with next, while vaggie lies fast asleep in her arms, blissfully smiling... likely dreaming of finally getting to stab somebody again like she means it <3

[l3viat8an]

MC & Solomon wearing matching couples t-shirts!! (But make it goofy XD) Solomon’s says “If found return to MC” and MC’s shirt has “I’m MC” on the front and “Just keep him for a few days. I need a break.” on the back.

[kab6kimono]

Dr. Ratio is super sensitive

Veritas is a virgin, that is a fact. He cannot be bothered to get some action for himself when he has so much to do, so much to learn.

That's why when his head is being pressed on his desk on top of all those important papers and your cock is pushing in he can't help but squirm.

"Hurts!" He whines, his palms flat on the desk as he tries to slip from your touch, but useless when your hand is pressing his head down, keeping him still.

"Stop squirming, relax. You're making this so difficult." You reply through your teeth, your cock slipping in slowly, a burning sensation despite how much you prepared him, it's like he has never even played with himself.

He let out gaps, whines, his eyes shut tightly. "It'll feel good soon." were your words as you slowly started pounding into him, though the slow thrust didn't go on for too long as now the desk started making sounds as it slightly moved on the floor. Veritas let out chocked moans, breathing so heavily and his cock ached, neglected.

The hard, fast thrusts were making him see stars, it's been barely two minutes and he already felt like cumming, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his mouth opened. It wasn't too long after that he reached his climax, he came all over the floor and some even hit some parts of the desk.

"Wait! Oh God- Stop!!" He gasped, your thrust didn't stop and it was making him so sensitive, much more than he already was, he felt like he was burning inside and his legs were shaking so badly.

"I didn't cum yet, Veritas."