#hell within reach lore

[adozentothedawn]

Detective Conan (Case Closed i think it's called in english?) is in a constant state between bullshittery and mysteries that make sense and are at least partially guessable and I love that about it.

[robboyblunder]

As promised I went ahead and continued my "ghoul guide" with a part 2 (part one linked in replies)! This one covers stuff specifically with a made up lore guide of in-world ghoul stuff as if they were a sort of unique magic entity.

This one wound up way longer and had to be split so expect a third final one eventually lmao. for now though... I'm gonna take a break and yell. Bonus extra info plus the transcript under the cut!

ID in ALT text!

Bonus note: While not portrayed in the guide, it’s important to know a detail about ghouls’ origin called “memory echoes”. While ghouls are formed from humans past who lose all memory of their previous self while maintaining an assumed personality from before, at times certain instances of events, actions, items, and otherwise can trigger these “echoes”. Echoes are very rare, but a valued treasure to ghouls; they make them feel more connected to their past and more “human”. Upon triggering an echo, a ghoul will become completely listless, unable to respond or react until the echo has completed, usually within seconds.

“Memory echoes” are described as blurry faded memories that often show featureless shapes and colors, but a very strong “feeling” of a Deja-vu of the moment. They feel viscerally real and can have a mix of the senses i.e. touch and smell, but produce no recognizable faces or imagery of the self. No ghoul has ever reported fully remembering one, nor any semblance of their true past beyond the haunting leftovers.

Begin Transcript:

A Compendium of Hell’s Derivates

While there are many theories on the demonic nature of ghouls,

The true source is surprisingly Human.

Souls cannot be recreated; rather, they’re Recycled and Reborn

The cycle of ghoul creation started for unknown reasons…

But one thing is Certain:

Natural forces do not change easily.

Raw elements collide with the fuel of life itself until one connects

by His command

A violent injection of pure elemental magic

Rewrites and erases all memory and one’s past, drastically altering the soul…

These new powers lend to the powerful allies of the ministry,

However….

… new powers are a dangerous toy.

While coined as “Feral”, new ghouls would better be designated “Raw”, “Unbound”, and “Lawlessly Dangerous”

First formed, they are still elements;

Torrential, Aimless,

Incapable of coherent thought or rules

-but with time, coherence returns to the individual

Who grows much like a life cycle’s stages without necessarily aging.

The overall cycle is the same per ghoul, yet varied enough each rises differently…

First form: “Raw” – Second form (1): “Feral” – Second form (2) – Third form: “Stabilized”

Catalyst, violent, poor formation – Unaware, wild, chaotic – Conscious; can act like oneself; less raw – fully formed and recognizable

The first form, “Raw”, is notably so violent the devil himself does not release them until stage two.

The second form in stage one of a “Feral” ghoul is much like the forces of nature; free willed and wild, understanding minimal speech.

Take caution: they can be mischievous and cause decent damage.

In the second stage of a “Feral” ghoul, they behave like typical people; however, they’re still very free and may choose to never fully stabilize.

Note: you can tell they’ve reached this stage by presence of a tail and civil habits.

If desired, a ghoul reaches the final form: “Stabilized”. They’re transformed into a stable humanoid body, a form less powerful but safer.

Note: Talented ghouls can change form at will in this stage between secondary Feral and Stable.

When it comes to location, each form is most likely to be found:

Raw: Hell, contained

Feral (Stage 1): wilds/natural areas

Feral (Stage 2): wilds and civil areas

Stabilized: anywhere people go

Seeing feral ghouls is not uncommon, and can even be considered lucky!

They tend to provide free protection to keep their home

Ghouls can only stabilize via ministry ritual;

One can assume they’re ministry members if stable, even off duty.

Ghouls are uncommon, but found most places if looked for;

This seems especially true near ministry placements.

Ghouls only form from adults and don’t “age” traditionally, yet they’re still mortal

Deceased ghouls do not seem to return or recycle.

Summoning intentionally pulls only second stage feral ghouls or stable ghouls from anywhere,

They don’t always like this however (see other guide).

The cycle of ghouls serves a main purpose – as forces for the Dark One, in return for rebirth

However, there are two channels through which they serve.

1) Natural defense against corrupted holy magic

Non-stable ghouls defend at will naturally where they live

2) training to fight, protect, and uphold the ministry’s efforts in the name of the Devil.

Contrary to belief, summonings cannot grab from “nothing”;

Like the creation of a ghoul,

Their element, once developed, is what becomes pulled by nature

The force of such pull is incredible,

A disorientating test of will so great…

…it can render even the most sound minds rather violent.

This is why while some choose to stabilize, others may not;

But should a mind change, they can be freed or re-summoned.

Alternative to wild summoning, one can summon from trained ghouls over feral;

Many ghouls are trained for ministry positions all over, but any can be summoned if unassigned.

Though stabilized, unassigned ghouls are not contractually bound to anyone until assigned.

They’re great for extra work hands and being able to know what kind of team mates you’ll get without leaving it to chance.

Summoning any ghoul however reverts them to feral form, and the challenge to tame them remains the same.

Just because you know a ghoul does not mean an easy summon.

Finally, be warned: forcing unwanted breaking or upholding of a summoning contract

Will have dire consequences.

Aside from rarity of an element, there are “power classes” within each element.

Tiers:

Rarity of an element does not equal strength.

The break down is as follows:

Rare – extreme and dangerous power. These ghouls earn a specialized title.

Quite strong, stand out in their class and very sought after.

Most common tier; average and decent powers that are expectable.

Weak powers, but some uses are applicable.

Uncommon – ghouls who possess little to no powers. Ghouls in this tier may at times suddenly change power tier without warning to any other category.

S-Tier ghouls are quite rare and a sight to behold- truly, they embody nature’s power.

End transcript.

[valentine-cafe]

Hello!! Rasui-obsessed anon here! First time requesting and I’m a bit new here so sorry if I get it wrong!

( smut ) for ftm reader please? You just wanted to spend some time with the ever so busy Rasui in his office, being clingy and wanting to get intimate without disturbing his work, you suggest cockwarming!! But then it totally backfires cause now you’re all needy and whiny after a while and trying so hard not to beg him to fuck you because you don’t want to bother him anymore than you already have!!

love you guys lots! can i also be 🦐 anon hehe

˖⁺. “ how to not ! cockwarm your busy bf ” : 

﹙ top fire elemental mercenary x bttm ftm reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 9948e rasui x ftm reader!! 🍒 : ﹙ mercenary leader ˖ fire elemental character ﹚

you're always such a needy thing. you couldn't help but cockwarm your beloved boyfriends while he's busy. . . and now here you are, wishing you could bounce on his cock instead 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ cockwarming ˖ teasing ˖ edging ˖ rough sex ˖ dirty talk | wc : 2.1k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: this request was so fun to write ! I hope that you like this our dearest no.1 rasui-fucker/romancer <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

The scratch of a pen. It scribbles away so skillfully over paper. Yet the itch within you is left to swelter. So close - and yet so far.

Deep mahogany seems most interesting to you in the moment. Or at least, that is what you wish to delude yourself with. Your focus hones on the scatter of documents full of text you can barely decipher. Not that you would be able to even if you understood. Not with the warm, thick cock that fills you to the brim. A perfect stretch to your rim that you fight to hell-and-back not to clench up around your hard-working boyfriend.

How dutiful is he. Only one hand to write away at his work that you so desperately wish he would discard. Why can’t it be you on the table with his hands all over you?

Instead you will have to settle for the touch of ember upon your thigh with a calloused thumb lazily tracing circles. Mindlessly, you assume. For Rasui has yet to let out so much as a peep.

While you are here. Suffering. Needing.

All it would take is a small dip of your hips. A rock back into his lap to send fireworks through your twist of a tummy. Perhaps a tender word uttered to his ear where brunette locks lap along his lobes neatly. The slightest of pleads and you knew - work would become an afterthought.

Alas, anxiety is a fickle thing. The mere possibility of him looking at you with those flames of his eyes dampened with disappointment. The warmth of his voice drained into a dull scold: “I told you I am busy.”

It almost loops your tummy more than the intense pleasure that throbs along your gummy walls. They remember his rough thrusts, and they flutter. As though crying out for him to wreck them as he usually does. Simple grinds. Slothful humps. Whatever he wants.

Anything, but the stillness of a lake. One that you drown in. Agonisingly.

That irritable lump that continues to form inside of your throat refuses to go away. Regardless of how much you attempt to swallow it. A sigh escapes the man from behind your back. Heavy and tired. As are the few last scribbles on the current document that plagues his mind so clearly.

All before he moves on to the next. Endless. Piece of document paper, that has laid in the piles of documents.

What else can you do but cry out internally? The flames within your soul feel as though they will rage through your entire form soon enough and rip you to shreds from the need. Yet he knows none of what you feel —

In the reality of it all, he is very aware. It is all a game. Why should he tell you? Oh the cruel man of magma and fire reaching high up to the skies that he is. He recognises the loopy look.

It is sweet. That you think you remain unseen and unnoticed. Without the slightest of realisation you clench around him mindlessly. The way your eyes squint. Pearly whites biting down upon the plush skin of a bottom lip.

“Careful, darling, you’ll break skin.” He murmurs, eyes remaining where they have all this time. The sheet of paper, gathering the slightest of burn marks from the heat emitting from him.

With teeth halting immediately, and a breath hitched quietly. Your eyes move to focus somewhere else in the room — Perhaps a smell could distract you? Cinnamon? No. . . No that is just Rasui.

The window displaying the society of shades’ bustling nightlife? Most uninteresting. It gets harder and harder to not allow a whine or more out of your lungs. Head limping back against his shoulder.

“Sweet thing. You are bothered.”

Oh. Oh this bastard. The question carried such innocence. Feigned, you’d assume no less. You couldn’t do anything, it was mock. Was it not? “I am— I am okay, just tired.” The response earns the lift of a dark brown brow, and a huff. Flames puff into the air from the locks of hair at the top of his head.

“Certainly?” You yelp at the words slipped out into the atmosphere of the room, for you felt his hips shift below you. Pistoning up, as if to adjust. And then he begins to act as though nothing had happened? Pretending. Infuriating.

A part of you wishes to spin around. Hook your legs through the loops of his black office chair and ride him until creaks bounce off of the wall in an endless drone. What a sweet fantasy that is. If you promptly ignore his difference in strength in comparison to you. How easy it would be for him to simply shove your form across his table and fuck you senseless. Surely the chair creaking would be replaced the legs of the desk skidding rhythmically across the floor in no time.

Your mini mirages send another shudder through your body. Your walls flutter around his dick with one of your innermost crevices nursing along that one vein that makes Rasui restrain a groan of his own.

He couldn’t give you what you want just yet, now could he? Not when the payoff of your pitiful begging would be all the more sweeter. He spoils himself in the slightest with traces of his heated lips along your shoulder. A flicker of taste to the confection yet to come.

The click of a tongue breaks the silent. You catch his frustrated scribble of a signature on a document you barely have the chance to read, before he shuffles it beneath the stack of paper. Another operation he does not agree with - you assume.

The ball of irritation that has so stubbornly nestled itself within your core quickly bubbles into guilt. Here you are, whining over not having his dick pounding you sore.

Out of habit, you shift around in an attempt to quell the prickle of conflict within you. It seems you have so easily forgotten of your favourite cock that is buried so deep within you. Its pulses are swift to remind you, coupled with the spurt of pleasure that rattles through your body.

“Fuck,”

It is a cross between desperacy and bliss. What a cruel mix to lather itself over you skin and set your nerves ablaze. Your muscles move on memory and chase the spark of pleasure with stiff cradles of your hips. Sense and conscience flung out the window you so uselessly attempted to distract yourself with.

Surely, if you hadn’t snapped yourself back into presence, your moans would have poured through it shamelessly as well.

“Mm. What’s this?”

“Rasui. . . please.”

You can deny the shivers that course through your body no longer.

It truly was a pain in and of itself. Why could your nails not be scratching hard across the beautiful desk at this moment as you got fucked intensely?

Why did it have to imagination and nothing more?

“Please? Please what, habibi?” He croons. The deep timber of his voice vibrating through your right ear. With the mission to twist your tummy once more and have you clenching.

The needy begs he wants to hear from you— they are not coming. And it sets him ablaze. In the literal way as much as it is figurative. Emotions scattered and screaming, like a wildfire spreading across a meadow.

Hungry, tearing into it.

Just like the flames that surround his office, you feel the ones from him surround your body. Licking away at your skin in possessive manner. As if the flame had a life of it’s own.

You moan out quietly as he shifts his hips into an upwards angle, the throbbing tip of his cock hitting at the sensitive bundle of nerves you had been needing to feel getting fucked into.

“I need — I needyou. Rasui, I nee—ed you, need you so bad—”

And as you went on, you would come to feel the familiar rhythm, slow. Agonising, but despite it all you revered in it.

The pleasure shot bliss straight to your head. Nausea mixing with the pleasure and overwhelm. Furthering your whines as you cling onto him. A groan escapes your throat. Only to cut off into a gasp, when calloused, hot, flaming fingers find your nipple.

Thumb swiping across your top surgery scar. Whilst the heated voice in your ear whispers: “It is pitiful. How you wait, I am right here. Take.”

And there’s the skid of the table.

A familiar weight presses you down as though you are one of those documents. Rasui’s body so firmly pins yours against the smooth wood of his desk. It creates such a delightful friction to your already perked nipples that slide and scrape across the surface.

The hand that stroked along your thigh has found home on your head. With strength that could rage embers through vast forests, it forces your face to half-press against the solid surface. It is a sensation you would have no time to delight in. Not with the fierce claps of hips to your ass. Warmth of flame and force combined.

“Is this what you wanted?” You feel the fire lap from his tongue and lips. They kiss at your ear with a familiar heat that boils in the core of your tummy as thrusts wreck your body. Cinnamon floods your senses - more potent than earlier. An addictive aroma. Almost akin to the delicious feel of his cock splitting your walls open.

“Wanted to come around here. Disturb my work.”

His palm joins the assault. It smacks at your ass and grips at the soft flesh. The perfect leverage for him to angle his thrusts and knock against that one, darling spot. Flames might have consumed you whole - yet white floods your vision in waves. White. Hot pleasure that crawls up your throat and forces your mouth open. Subjecting the office to your moaning melody.

“All so this needy hole could get a good fucking, hmm?”

“Y-Ye - yes yes - yeesss ah! ‘m sorry-”

The table legs screech against the floor at the rise in tempo. Your nails sing in tandem from the scratches they etch into the wood. Just as you wanted them to.

Much like the bright burning stars that litter the night sky, embers scatter off of your joined bodies. Flaming hands keep you down against the wooden surface. Whilst the only thing that burns you are his nails, that dig into the skin of your waist.

A small moaned out scream mixed with pleasure and pain runs around the room. Like a wild animal on the lose. It makes you lightheaded.

The feral feel that swells within your stomach. Your sensitive hole begging for more, whereas your body only seems to collapse more against the desk each time.

“o- o-h! — o — ngh-m hn— R-Ra-sss-zuii!” You moan out loud. Yet what meets you instead is a hand squeezing tight at your thigh and leaving a few burn marks. Whilst sharp teeth find purchase in your shoulder.

“Not that. Say it right.”

The command is shot at your heart, and oh the weakness that spins around with it. In a dance of fresh air and lava pools trying to catch the wind.

Thinning your lips on instinct as the pleasure grows. It takes another hard thrust into the right spot for you to spill out messy calls for him. “D—Director— Di— Director Rasui— ngh — Pl-Pleas-ah!”

“Good boy— thas’ it, good boy.” grunts against your ear, as the pace whips itself out of rhythm. Even if he tried to keep it going, your desperate pleas sent him straight back home to the elemental realm. The sweetest song he has ever heard.

How can he deny you the pleasure of being full of his hot seed when you sing for him so delightfully?

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[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[revelboo]

what is your worst "hear me out" for transformers? mine is tarantulas like a spider in irl hell no… but a big robot spider thats hot

Probably Tarantulas (I love his Earthspark design) or IDW Waspinator.

I read Windblade for Metroplex lore and it reminded me of this messed up, fatally gullible mech that is everyone’s punching bag and just knows it.

Worker Bee

IDW Waspinator x Reader

• Dragging his broken body, his alt mode scrabbles for purchase in the leaf litter. It’s hard to focus on much besides the pain and finding somewhere safe to hide and heal. He’s not even sure what he did, only that Skywarp had pointed at him right before Megatron went ballistic on him and the two other Decepticons that had been close by. Maybe he had done something wrong. He must have. “Waspinator’s fault,” he rasps, antenna flicking because there’s light up ahead, a building where he’ll be out of the snow just beginning to fall. Leaving the tree line, he drags himself inside, legs scrabbling and knocking over a metal can that clatters as it goes rolling and he collapses on the straw inside. So tired, burrowing in.

• Looking up from your book at the noise, you groan because the raccoons are back and they’ve tipped over the trash can. It’s late and you just want to ignore it and deal with it in the morning, but there might be garbage strewn across the yard by then. Standing, you tug on a coat, grab a flashlight, and a rifle just in case it’s a bear, not cute little trash pandas raiding your garbage. You’d left the barn door open apparently and you find the can turned over, but its contents not scattered everywhere. Maybe the sound scared them off? Setting the gun down, you right the can and turn as something shifts within the hay, rising slowly to tower over you.

• There’s a human with a weapon. Here to hurt him, because everyone does. They always do. It hurts to transform and reach for the human, but his injuries throw him off balance and he crashes down, knocking the little organic sprawling with him. And you’re screaming at him, your fear jangling through him making him curl forward, servos over his head. Waiting for a blow that doesn’t come. “Not hurt Waspinator?”

• Hyperventilating as the monster lifts its big head slightly, you can’t even scream. Voice overlayed with slow buzz, the thing had spoken. It’s gigantic, seizing your ankle when you try to crawl away and dragging you back, looming over you. All you can do is hold up your hands in supplication as those awful mandibles work and those glowing optics stare. “Don’t hurt me.”

• This is new. Someone afraid of him? It should make him feel powerful to be the one feared for once, but it just makes him oddly ill. Sitting up and gingerly touching the wound in his torso sluggishly bleeding energon, he makes a buzzing click of his mandibles. “No hurt,” he says as you scramble to your hands and knees to put some distance between you. “Already hurt,” he adds tiredly, and you hesitate in your retreat. Staring at the energon welling through his servos. You take a hand through your hair, expression twisting.

• All you have to do is run like hell. That thing, Waspinator it had called itself, is hurt too badly to chase you. But there’s something about its defeated tone that makes you feel guilty. This isn’t your problem. Big and scary was already hurt when he crashed in your barn. So why do you go over to the workbench and retrieve a roll of duct tape? He hisses at you, rearing back when you try to touch him and you freeze. “Cut that out,” you snap and his antenna flatten back. Not hurt Waspinator? You’d guessed with the way he’d worded that question that maybe he’s used to being hurt. That he’d fold if you acted aggressive and you were right. It’s unsettling to see a giant, metal death bug cringe like a puppy being scolded. But he doesn’t make a peep as you find the hole in his metal side and gingerly tape the leaking lines, trying to not think too closely on what you’re touching or that your hands are inside him rooting around. “Waspinator, right?” The way he’s just staring down at you with those wide glowing optics just cements in your head that he’s a big, really ugly puppy.

Next

[lesoldatmort]

Ghost 💀 | Drawtober entry V.

There in hell standing lonely on a vast and desolate plain A gnarled tree spreads its branches, crooked, bent, and bare. They reach for help, begging; twisting as in pain, And on its bark a face deformed, mouth open in despair. Between its thorny crown you see a light begins to shape-- Hungry souls that swoop and circle; owl-like they wait. It lures you in with memories; there can be no escape, For the voices of your loved ones against you used as bait A shining beacon in the dark, its design to lead astray The foolish folk who come in close, within a stone's throw plenty. So don't be fooled, heed this warning, keep yourself away! The ghost tree and its hollow souls are black and filled with ENVY!

Last entry to the drawtober challenge! It has been a pleasure to create another series and add more lore to my Hell Employees project. Thanks for checking it out! (and big thanks to @squeemu for collabing with me on the poems!)

💀 PATREON | bsky | X | IG | Prints&merch

[kr-starz]

Y'know that line, where Felicia says that they're all responsible for taking care of her kids? Vander, Silco, and herself? Specifically Vi because she's her first, but it's the fact that the two (Silco and Vander) are doing what they're doing out of love for Felicia and the kids. They look at them and see a better future for the undercity. Vander took in Vi and Powder because that's what Felicia would've wanted, because she entrusted them to make Zaun a better place in order to raise her kids. Yet, she never got the Zaun that would treat her kids right. But she chose the right people to raise and take care of them as best they can.

The kids barely know their mom, but they've taken every aspect of her being knowingly or not. They're stolen her spirit and they engulf every aspect of who she would've stood for. And Vander raises them with the morals of Zaunian's, he raises both Vi and Powder as best he can; but I like to note how Vi is more-so of Vanders kid, not saying Powder wasn't meaningful to him, I'm just saying Vi spent a lot more time after Vander, and took after him more. This is important seeing as how Violet turns out in the war, but she has so many aspects of Vander it shakes me sometimes.

Silco doesn't take in Vi, but he does take in Powder/Jinx. Powder is the only kid to just encapsulate all of the main trio. Which is why she probably turns out how she turns out. Silco, while he does split paths with Vander, I doubt that he has ill-willed intentions towards Felicia. Hell he probably thinks about her fondly while looking at Jinx. The reason I mention Vi turning out a lot more Vander-like is the fact that Silco has such a long term grudge against Vander that it seems like he see's a lot more of Vander in Vi than Powder; ESPECIALLY after their fight. So that's why he doesn't like Vi that much after all.

So seeing as Powder is more Felicia than Vander, Silco raises her and he raises her how he would. Because Powder is so young when he took her in, she is impressionable and malleable. Easy to convince of things; which brings me to a whole other rabbit hole I can't quite go down, but it's easier for Silco to tell Jinx that her sister left her. Similar to how Vander hurt him and abandoned him (I don't remember this part THAT much I apologize). But it's obvious Silco see's many similarities between Jinx and Vi, with himself and Vander. You know that Jacket scene? Where Jinx finds both Vander and Silco's jacks on the same rack? Where Silco's jacket is tucked neatly beneath Vander almost in a protective way. (That's how I interpreted it at least). It's similar to how Vi has protected Jinx as her older sister. Silco and Jinx get along so well because they're so similar to the other, and it makes sense for Jinx to be raised by Silco instead of Silco taking in Vi for any alt lore swaps.

Jinx is so loved. Not only is she raised by her mother, and her two godfathers, she has a sister willing to go to the earths end for her. She's so loved, yet every moment she's spent not feeling it, it ends up in destruction. And every moment she does feel loved, she feels that doom take over, that inevitability where the cycle of bad luck will happen.

Jinx is like a perfect embodiment of a Zaunian citizen; seeing as how she was raised by Vander, Silco, and Felicia. They all stand for different things in hopes of reaching the same goal. Felicia is given very little screen time, but within that limited time you're able to see that she is the drive, the desire and the hope you find in a person. The drive that makes you want to improve, the drive that makes you want to better the world and fight for it. Vander is the heart of Zaun, he drives it forward by keeping everything afloat, his morals and rules of "we don't turn in our own people" is just plain loyalty. He's the person achieving those dreams by setting the ground rules, he enforces and he keeps the boat steady. Silco is looking towards the future, he's the person who's actively making an effort in order to change, he's the brains of the operation and he does what he can in order to achieve his and everyones dream of hopefully making the undercity a better place for people to live in; and by people we mean his loved ones, and by his loved ones we mean Jinx. Because Silco is so fundamentally flawed as he's portrayed as a villain and acts like one, his cruelty is an understatement, but what he's fighting for still stands. Which is making Zaun a better place for Felicia's kids to be raised; it wasn't the path they thought It would turn out to be, but it was the path that he forged in order to get what he viewed as the perfect life for Jinx. Because he's fighting for her. And that's another reason why I feel like he's so keen on keeping her happy.

Anyways end of yap session, tldr; Jinx Is the perfect embodiment of a Zaunian citizen because she's been raised by the hopes, foundation, and future of Zaun (Felicia, Vander, and Silco)

[tee-dohrnii]

Hey!! I’d love to see Thalia and Gale being domestic, if you don’t mind!! Your art is GORGEOUS.

I’d also love to learn more about Thalia’s backstory or any Gale headcannons you had!

I hope this counts as being domestic I just can't resist a good nap time moment :') and I also wanted to just do doodles but I got carried away and started coloring 😭 coloring has never been my strong suit so I hope this is fine

And uaaa thank you for thinking my art is gorgeous!!! I'm honestly really glad to see people are enjoying my silly doodles here thank you!!

--- vv Thalia backstory blurb vv ---

In terms of backstory, honestly I haven't been able to flesh it out much yet! I also don't know much about dnd lore (I really wish I did) so anything I say here may not be consistent with lore :'D

However, what I have so far is Thalia used to be Thalia Adkrana, daughter of a noble family from a powerful bloodline of storm sorcerers. Despite being the 4th born child out of 5 children, since birth she's shown to be more blessed with magic than anyone in her family, powerful storms raging around her constantly when she was younger and destroying anything around her, causing trouble for her family. As she grew older, she may have logically understood how it is to keep her lightning under control, but whenever she gets very emotional her magic tends to lash out in response to her reactions. Growing up privileged and powerful, she also developed a bit of a superiority complex and an awful temper when things don't go her way, so not really a good combo when her magic gets unstable when she's upset.

Because of this, her family preferred keeping her within their property as much as possible to avoid dealing with her and to avoid troubling others, especially when one wrong outburst from her could ruin their family reputation. Growing up isolated from world didn't really help her grow and mature properly either, and her temper tantrums got worse and worse the longer she was kept in there and the more her family seemed to just give up on her. The only one she could really confide in and find comfort in was her younger brother.

Everything really changed when one day she decided to speak up against her family and demanding they let her leave the house, let her come with them to one of their social gatherings. Hells, she's been trapped in their property for so many years at this point she wants to engage with people, even peasants at this point because she'd rather deal with them than look at the same suffocating decor for even another second. Voices and tempers rising, she grew more and more frustrated as her parents kept shutting down every argument she could come up with, and the more the storms around her grew the more she proved that her parents were right for keeping her in. Angry at them, angry at herself, thunder roared and the lightning sparks dancing around her gathered into huge bolts of lightning, surging out of her in rage as if her magic itself was screaming out for her if her words and her voice couldn't reach her family. She knew they had every good reason to not let her out, knowing her own lack of control over her own emotions - but maybe if they trusted her just once, guided her, saw her as someone in desperate need of help instead of a stain on their family name, maybe things could've been different.

But that's not how we got to this point. A loud thud of a body falling flat on the ground snapped her out of her state and right beside them lay one of their servants, dead at her feet, and as if the panic she was feeling couldn't get any worse, just close by she saw her younger brother lying on the floor, badly hurt and crying out from pain. Immediately her parents, older siblings, and anyone who heard them nearby rushed to her little brother and the poor servant, doing their best to take care of the situation and Thalia stood there silent, watching her world fall apart in front of her eyes.

The order to banish her from their home came soon after, no longer Thalia Adkrana but simply Thalia, removing her status and all the benefits that name gave. Since she so desperately wanted to go out and see the world, now the world is all she'll have and no home to return to.

Kinda really awful timing when shortly after she started her new unwanted life as an adventurer, she got picked up by a nautiloid and had a tadpole squirming its way behind her eye.

And also shortly after meeting poor souls who shared the same unfortunate tadpole situation she was facing, it's no wonder Thalia fell so hard for a certain wizard who showed her in one night how beautiful, intimate, and warm magic could be as it enveloped her whole being like a gentle embrace - that her power and her emotions were something she could learn to channel and not be afraid of, a perspective her family failed to teach her for years. And even if at times she still found herself electrocuting the waters they stood on in her anger or excitement and hurting them, or maybe her temper would get the best of her again and she would unconsciously lash out at them before she could even realize she was yelling, after every argument or petty insults thrown at each other, they would still watch out for one another and care for each other and soon after they'd be sitting around a campfire laughing and enjoying each other's company.

It's no wonder once she's found a family she truly belonged in and felt safe in that her true nature finally bloomed after being suppressed for so long - a kind, lonely girl who loved being around people and helping them in all the ways she wished she could've helped her younger self ages ago, never letting anyone get left behind and given up on like she was back then.

Although being out of touch from reality for many years did create a lot of very awkward moments when interacting with people during the beginning of their journey, she did learn very fast how best to compose herself in public - best she could when the ones teaching her are also a couple of social outcasts but hey it's fine.

---

Whew! That's a lot actually. Idek if any of that makes sense I'm not going to proofread all that :') I also don't really have any Gale headcanons I do really enjoy reading other people's headcanons about him though!

I hope this answer is sufficient ^_^

[ace-disgrace-on-the-case]

There’s something I love about Battletech that I’ve only now figured out how to word, and it’s the way ‘Mechs are treated in the setting (capitalized that way because in universe it’s short for BattleMechs).

If you’re not familiar with this line of thinking, let me introduce it a moment. In short, one of the things that mecha as a genre does is use mechs because they’re human-looking. It lets you take mechanized warfare, something famously cruel and dehumanizing, and humanize it, making it once again about lone heroic actors that tower over the battlefield. That can do a lot of things in a piece: it can let you really understand the emotional impact, war-is-hell style; it can be vaguely propaganda-y/wish fulfillment, in the sense that it defies the idea that one person alone can’t make a difference; it can even be used to make combat a person-to-person backdrop for what’s really going on (you could do a rom-com with mechs pretty neatly I think…wonder if that exists?)

Battletech seems to have this line of thinking built into the setting. From a Doylist perspective, I can’t guarantee it was on purpose, but shut up we’re going off the Watsonian rails.

The setting goes straight into it with the view people have of MechWarriors, the class of soldier that pilots Battlemechs across the battlefields of the Inner Sphere. The setting (especially in older eras) treats these warriors as knights-errant, crusading about in massive suits of armor for whatever cause they believe right--even if that cause is a bit of coin. Chivalric orders at one point really did and occasionally still do within the Battletech universe, and (again, earlier on in the setting) mechs are often passed down through family lines, making these machines into a symbol. What that symbol exactly represents depends from MechWarrior to MechWarrior, but no matter what it means something to them. They have some form of relationship with what it means to be a MechWarrior. To be one of these glorious knights.

But then, as all things must, it all comes crashing down when faced with the horrors of real life and the real-life battlefield. 'Mechs aren't invincible, far from it; they certainly aren't disposable, but in addition to other 'Mechs (the "romantic" opponent all MechWarriors wish to fight) they are under threat from VTOL craft, planes, tanks, artillery, and even properly trained infantry. The glorious knight, striding across the battlefield...can very easily lose their lives to their own notions of splendor. Combat, both in lore and on the tabletop, is brutal, and 'Mechs even if they survive often come away with massive holes, missing limbs, and pilots bloodied and bruised even from the safety of the cockpit. To say nothing of those that don't make it home, their ammunition reserves sending them up in a fireball of death, their reactors purged in superheated steam that could leak into the cockpit and boil them alive, their cockpit itself blasted from off the 'Mech's shoulders and leaving them nothing but a fine red paste. BattleMechs are glorious, yes, but at the end of the day it's still war.

It's still war. And war is hell.

So despite having the appearance of being an empowering machine in-universe, we can actually look at the BattleMech as symbolic of the kind of thing that really happens to people thrown into the grinder of war--they die. And it's not pretty. No idealism can protect you from the barrel of a gun. And you are most certainly cheaper to replace than all your equipment.

The designs of the 'Mechs lean into this depersonalizing angle, too. Many of them are, in the barest sense, humanoid:

But even then, it's the vision of a human filtered through a much more realistic military-industrial complex than something like, say, Gundam. And on the other end of this spectrum:

...are 'Mechs that look nothing like the people they're supposed to represent.

Looking at this through the lens of 'Mechs as something used to tell a story about humans, we reach a conclusion:

You think this story is about you. It's not. War is hell. Meat is cheap.

And that's actually really cool of Battletech to be so thematically tied into itself like that.

[kentopedia]

Can you drop some long series recs (any fandom!)?! I haven't had any come across my dash >.< Would love to read some!

omg of course!! I HAVE SO SO MANY RECS! a lot of the ones i've seen recently are ongoing, but i hope you give them a go & keep watching for updates <3 i have read quite a variety, so hopefully there's something for you tehe. some of them i haven't read yet, but have been on my list bc i enjoy their other works :) so i recommend them to since i know the writers are amazing!!

to have and to hold by @fedyenkas (chuuya, ongoing) - i just started this one today & it's so so amazing so far !! chuuyas characterization in it is sooo yummy. i haven't read a hybrid series before, so it's super unique to see how that fits into the bsd universe.

noble blood by @forest-hashira (satoru & suguru, ongoing) - i haven't read this one yet, but both of fallon's entries for my collab were incredible, so i can only imagine this is too! plus, the premise is SO insane, it's about dragon riders, and there's an entire sheet with all lore that they've created !! i can see how much love and care was put into this one, so i can't wait to check it out !!

oh, baby! by @tetsuskei (kuroo, ongoing) - i have yet to read the first part (everyone throw tomatoes at me) but risu posted some parts on her old blog & i read it there! it's so so sweet!! i looove all her writing, and dad!kuroo is just the cutest thing EVER.

waterloo by @fyorina (dazai, ongoing) - i haven't read this one yet either but i am SO SO incredibly excited to get to it. this one is going to be long, so it might be what you're looking for !! the first two parts are out already, and there's a posting schedule if you want to know when they're coming out :)

bulletproof love by @staryukis (gojo, ongoing) - i've really enjoyed this one so far and logan's writing is so captivating <3 it feels just like missing scenes from in between the canon jjk storyline. logan also has a mini zombie apocalypse series i've been excited to read after reading the other series !! it's dying (for your love).

regrets by @/kingkonoha (levi, complete) is so good !! i still need to finish it, but the concept is super cool & the reader is the antagonist so it's a really interesting spin on levi's actions in the canon universe.

tidal temptations by @fyodorloveclub (fyodor, ongoing) - i have also yet to read this one (cries myself to sleep my tbr is never ending), but everything flora writes is incredible, so i have no doubt this one is too. it's a merman fyodor fic, which is such a cool concept i'm so excited to see where it goes !!!

hell within reach by @/ddarker-dreams (chrollo, complete) - omg. ok i read this one like 2 years ago LOL, but it's finished and its about 80k long, and it's so good <3 i used to be an insane chrollo girlie & this is one of my favorite fics about him.

lover's delight by @lovelyluc (diluc, ongoing) - i don't even play genshin or know anything about it HSHFSDFH but this one is so sweet <3 you can really see how much awea loves diluc in this series, which is my favorite thing about reading fics, and it has so many of my favorite tropes !!

geheinisse by @honeybleed (jean & reiner, ongoing) - only the first part of this is out but it's SO INCREDIBLE. there's so much drama already, and nara does such a great job of setting the scene while getting you hooked immediately. nara also has a two part reiner fic (the first part is decades) that's completed and over 10k words that i'll never forget! her characterization of reiner is so yummy.

if it wasn't for him (would you have me) by @gojoath (yuuta, ongoing) - cella's the ceo of yandere yuuta, so if you're into him, i can't think of anyone else to recommend !!! cella wrote another yuuta series that i think is completed, so there are lots of amazing things to read on her blog <3

@osaemu has a streamer!gojo series that are all in the same universe & connect! they're so funny & everything sabs writes is amazing, so i encourage you to check out her work if you haven't

the lakehouse by @tetzoro (kuroo, ongoing) - rahhh i'm the worst bc i still haven't read this but aims is one of my favorite writers on here, so trust me it's amazing. this was written for october, so if you're missing autumn rn def read this one! aims also has another kuroo series coming soon <3

i know i left some people out, so if you're ever in need of any other recs, pls lmk tehe. and if you're a mootie of mine but have a series i didn't include, send it my way <3 but hopefully all these amazing ones will get you started!

[lesbiansforboromir]

Here's a more compact review of the War of the Rohirrim film for anyone interested! SPOILERS AHEAD!!

Positives;

The backgrounds were all very beautifully painted and the lighting really elevated the character design and smoothed over the janky animation. Where other aspects of the film fall off, often the background artistry and lighting over all of it still manages to convey a very dramatic and immersive moment to the viewer. It's probably the best part of the film.

The part where Helm's ice-ghost phase is teased was really cool and atmospheric and I got a little thrill of what I'd kind of always been wanting from this film.

Frealaf was pretty lovely (what little we got of him) and I appreciated that his darker skin tone was implicitely associated with his Gondorian heritage. I THINK I appreciate the idea that Frealaf's father was Gondorian, though I wish it had been better utilised.

I also really liked the moment where Helm is about to fight Freca and he gives his crown, signet ring and mantle over to Frealaf in this like... symbolic giving up of his Kingship in this moment where his actions are about to make him unworthy of it.

I appreciated Olwyn existing as an older female character in a purely action based roll.

Helm's voice actor and design were pretty cool, I came around to enjoying how much effort they put into making him extremely imposing.

Hama being a twink who was born to be a bard but forced to be a heroic second prince was a nice touch.

General Targg of Dunland might have been my favourite character, inspite of the fact that I am really curious to know where this organised military of Dunland is for him to reach the rank of 'General' in.

Negatives;

Gurl the racism. See here for more details.

The overall narrative seems to me direly lacking in like... basis. I am lead to believe Hera's journey is about her reclaiming her right to choose her own life for herself. But she is never actually pressured into any choice, nor does it appear that her father ever restricted her freedom in any way. So I don't really see where her choices were actually removed to such a degree. If her desire is to see her choices respected by the men in her life, well that never happens for either Helm nor Wulf, who force her to let them die or to kill them, respectively. It feels like in their rush to censor any negative aspects of Helm they kind of removed the reason Hera is frustrated in the first place, he cant be TOO much of a misogynist etc etc.

This is twisted up within 'gurl the racism' but Wulf's manner and presentation make me FEEL like he is a villain we are supposed to mildly feel for? We see him as a child, we see him struggle with what he's doing, we see his clear desperation and despair and hear him talk about loneliness and suffering... but at the end of the day in the way that it is presented Wulf is fundamentally foul and deluding himself and all his problems appear to be of his own making. In general it is extremely uncomfortable for the 'obsessive stalker' villain to also every now and then say 'I am devastated because of how my dunlending blood has been prejudiced against all my life by your family and the wider rohir society' like... by only him mentioning it but it never being actually acknowledged by anyone else it just comes across so shallow and unsettling.

This is a review from my book-biased perspective so understand it within that lense but still gurl... the lore. What the hell do you mean the eagles speak a language only a wizard can understand? No they can just speak! What do you mean there is A watcher in the water in some undisclosed lake in Rohan somewhere? There is one Watcher and it's name is very specific to the doomed Moria expedition! At least give this new squid fellow a rohir name. Speaking of!!

IS IT SO HARD TO NAME ROHIR CHARACTERS IN..... ROHIRRIC?? OLD ENGLISH IS RIGHT THERE... HERA HAS NO MEANING... THERE ARE SO MANY COOL HISTORICAL ANGLO SAXON PRINCESSES YOU COULD CHOOSE FROM...

Included in the 'gurl, the lore' segment but in need of it's own post so I will try to be brief; (Theoden voice) where was Gondor... when a herd of Mumakil were marched by Haradrim mercenaries across the Anduin, up through the Pelennor, across Calenadhon and over Rohan's southern border... did they sneak by... were they stealth Mumakil, did they have elven cloaks too.

But also Where Was Gondor just in general. Like to the detriment of the actual narrative, opening up plot holes that didn't even need to be there, the fact that Gondor is ALSO supposed to be at war right now is completely ignored and discarded.

THE BATTLE OF EDORAS... TF ARE YOU ALL DOING! Like I know it is kind of hypocritical of me to request sensible war tactics when we're adapting Tolkien, he did not give a good example, but like... where were the horse archers, why are you charging down an infantry-only army, why even be on a horse if you aren't going to use greater mobility to your advantage, this isn't a siege, this is YOUR territory this is an open field!! Come on! AND ANOTHER THING, did we really have to make the victory of the Dunlendings over Edoras so disconnected from their own effort? Like betrayal is fine, but this was also a well supplied and competant force, and that was a major part of their victory. These were matched combatants! Just kind of another way in which the dunlendings were robbed of any cohesive motive, narrative or skill.

To my admittedly untrained eye... the animation sucks? Like it's clunky and janky and you can see the frames transitioning between each other, the movements often feel awkward and a lot of the drawings are just bad! The Eagles are SO stiff, as are the horses which seems like a cardinal sin in the Horse Lord Film. And then I couple that with the multiple completely unnecessary spinning camera shots Hera gets which are annoying, superfluous and a bizarre thing to spend time on when the rest of the film needs so much more care and attention. In general the GULF of difference between how beautiful the backgrounds are vs how bland the character art is is kind of jarring.

Hera's design.... I hate it. Look I know it's anime but DID Hera have to have thigh high boots... did she really... Why is she so pale if she's supposedly riding sleeveless across the vast countryside everyday? Can a single supposedly feminist film about a 'wild' female protagonist let that woman be like... dirty, or not so agonisingly thin, or give her messy or god forbid short hair. At one point when she is grabbed by a troll and hung in the air they linger uncomfortably long on her ass which her costume design is specifically designed to allow for maximum viewing detail.

The designs of the Dunlendings, Haradrim and especially the Mumakil are all so grim. Like I liked Freca's design to a degree, it was more potent with symbolism and patterning and such, but the rest of it is just SO FUCKIN- well they're ugly! and therefore evil! Do you get it? The ugly grey animalistic people are evil! The Mumakil have literal red snake eyes just so you know they're 'evil animals'. I can't take it anymore, at one point the guy who Eomer throws a spear at in the trilogy just... turns up, like it's literally just him down to the facepaint. And speaking of...

SHUT UP ABOUT THE PJ TRILOGY, SHUT UP AB- besties this film's intro plays alongside the ring theme... THE RING MUSICAL THEME!!!!?? Lines from the films are reused so often and so WILDLY outside of their actual context and meaning that it makes me flinch.

There is a plump little fellow called Leif who is the royal Page I think and everytime someone called Freca fat in such a vitriolic way I was like wow... I mean Leif is right there guys!

Overall a 4/10 from me, it is a watcheable but shallow film that I suspect was more of a cynical attempt by Warner Bros to keep their death grip on the rights to the books, since I think they would have expired if they didn't do something with them soon.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Planescape: The Inclementus Convolution

It is simple as hells go, there is the snow, the walls, and the shape of things that will haunt you for the rest of your days

It appears first as a troubling dream, endless anxious wanderings through a frigid and featureless maze. While most shrug off these visions others sink into a deep and restless malady, possessed by recurring feelings of being cold and lost. For some the dreams deepen, overtaking their waking life until they sink into an unwakung torpor, others are compelled to walk: seeking out winding alleys or wintry landscapes in the hope of finding a way OUT of the maze, only to find themselves transported to it bodily.

Occult scholars of dream and dimension have named this phenomenon the Inclementus Convolution, and conjectures on its purpose and original architects feature in many a forbidden tome. What these dabblers have failed to understand is that the convolution is not a thing of artifice but part of a great unknowable entity, which uses the maze to filter-feed from the multiverse the way a great whale uses baleen to trawl the sea. While the exact nature of this entity will be discussed below the cut, whats far more interesting is how the appearance of this dream labyrinth affects the lives of others.

A series of disappearances has the party tracing the city’s backstreets tracking rumours of a slaver gang or some kind of monstrous presence. Imagine their surprise when they not only find one of the lost individuals wandering in fevered confusion, standing before an alley from which unseasonable snow billows. 

Nearly swept up in the convolution as a child, a minor noble has bent the wealth of her station towards determining the meaning of that traumatic vision, becoming a notable patron for adventurers as she sends them off to explore various ruins or gather scraps of potentially relevant lore. The party are hired by her for a mission, but weeks later when they return from their delve they find that her estate has fallen prey to an otherworldly influence. They’ll need to brave the twisting halls of her manorhome and the hedgemazes that sprawl across the grounds if they want to get paid, and maybe rescue their hapless benefactor in the process. 

A fairly simple bounty mission to track down an occultist hiding in the mountains and bring him back alive quickly goes out of control after he opens a portal to the convolution inside his cell, transforming the surrounding guard barracks and its prisons into an eacheresque tangle backing onto an eldritch landscape. With other prisoners looking desperately to escape and panicking guards looking to arrest everyone they don’t recognize, will the party be able to escape before the whole structure is subsumed into nightmare?

The entity at the centre of the maze is seldom seen by those lost with the expanse as the upper reaches of the towering walls are obscured by an omnipresent cloud cover. As such no earthly name has been given to it, as the miles long tendrils it sends skulking through the corners are often confused for individual lifeforms which some call. It is not malicious, nor is it strictly sentient, it is simply a lifeform doing what it has always done to survive, nevermind that it involves pinching beings from across the cosmos. Creatures that die within the convolution desiccate, their bodies becoming dried out husks as the moisture within them is absorbed by the surrounding stone to feed the entity above and later join with the ever present snow, the built up condensation from innumerable victims across time.

Future Adventures:

Lost souls from many worlds have left marks on the walls of the convolution, pleas for help, attempts to map a way out, epitaphs and memorials from those that knew their end was near. One of these happened to be a sage with secret knowledge most relevant to the party's ongoing struggles, meaning if that they want to find it for themselves they're not only going to have to find their way into and through the labyrinth, but also Ariadne their way back out after finding and deciphering the message he left.

Though very little can survive long in the endless halls, there are some interdimensional oddities that have managed to persist around the fringes, carried from one world to the next as the Inclementus seeks out new victims.

The most fearful of these passengers are a remnants of an alien empire known as the Tssol who were led into the convolution when their god-prince decided to lead his people into the otherworld following a "holy vision" (and the encouragement by his less theisticly inclined siblings looking to clear a path to the throne). The survivors of this royal expedition have endured for centuries by by carving their city into the oldest walls of the labrynth, where the entity's fleshy stalks merge with the endless walls. They worship it, subsisting from the meat sloughed off as it grows and using the remains to feed fungal farms, counting themselves blessed for following the god-prince's vision. Those that stumble into the maze are of particular interest to them, as individuals affected by Inclementus influence are capable of wandering in and out of the aberrant realm allowing the Tssol warriors to ride out and launch raids on other worlds.

[brabblesblog]

Lore Dump: Whither and Remember

Art by my bestie Leira Art

With Remember ye not the former things finished, I can now post a sort of look into the internal logic or lore for these two fics.

Spoilers for the fics below!

Disclaimer: I am by no means saying this is absolute truth. We are all welcome to headcanon as we want, and that is the beauty of fiction.

The main premise for Whither is that the Rite of Profane Ascension did not do anything to alter Astarion’s personality. He was the same person as he had always been - irrevocably changed by what he (and Tav/Ban) agreed to do in the process, yes - but there was no fundamental alteration. The Vampire Ascendant is a new creation by Larian. I interpreted it as him taking a step in combining the benefits of being mortal and vampiric. Raphael after all, had said that the rite would return the 'arousals of man' to him.

Then what are the consequences of such a deed? This is where a quick delve into infernal pacts makes itself valuable.

As revealed in Remember, there are two: the Pact Certain and the Pact Insidious.

From the Forgotten Realms wiki on devils, under Faustian Pacts:

The Pact Certain was a contract that the devils favored, because it was fast. The mortal immediately handed over his or her soul to Baator on death for some services. Barring proving that the pact was signed under some form of duress like threat of torture, these pacts' terms were impossible to adjudicate.

The Pact Insidious was a bit different. Here, a mortal and a devil agreed upon exchanging services. Namely, the devil provided the mortal with something and the mortal had to act in some manner that the devil wanted to. It was possible to make multiple follow-up contracts that gave the receiving mortals more benefits in return of additonal behaviors it had to follow. Failing to act in such manner meant that the mortal lost the contract's benefits. Agreeing to such a Pact Insidious in itself was not an act that shackled one's soul to Baator, but acting in ways that were specified within the contract or contracts meant that one acted in ways that put him or her ever closer to reach Baator on death.

The rite could have concievably been a Pact Insidious. Seven thousand souls for the luxuries that mortals enjoy and vastly increased power. In this situation, Astarion would get to keep his soul until his death, at which time he would inevitably end up in Cania.

This is the dilemma Ban and Astarion encounter at the end of Remember, and what they attempt to address in the third installment, For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell.

Why does his behavior change post-ritual, then? The fics are framed and informed by a background story for the pair that follows in-game dialogs and events faithfully. Readers of Whither already know the answer to this, and I will say the answer is best discovered reading through its chapters.

Anyways. Thank you for listening to me yap! I've had this idea in my pocket for the longest time, and I'm glad it's now out in the world. And if you ever hear these of these pacts anywhere else - you'll know what its origins are.

[huggingtentacles]

The lore in From Software games was always meant to be not just discovered, but interpreted.

"When Hidetaka Miyazaki was a child, he was a keen reader, though not a talented one. Often he’d reach passages of text he couldn’t understand, and so would allow his imagination to fill in the blanks, using the accompanying illustrations. In this way, he felt he was co-writing the fiction alongside its original author. The thrill of this process never left him – and it is very much there in his arcane and fascinating video games..."

^ borrowed this paragraph from this article

This post is for everyone who still thinks that the games developed by From Software such as Dark Souls, Bloodborne and Elden Ring have "one correct story" that the players have to "figure out".

Fromsoft lore design has always been fun and unique, because it made players look for clues and ask themselves questions. The story isn't simply told to you, you have to discover it on your own by being curious and attentive.

While plaything through these games you discover more and more puzzle pieces, and it's really rewarding to put them together. It drives a sense of exploration, immersing you deeper into these worlds. Some people dedicate hours of their lives to figuring out these puzzles, and some YouTubers built their entire careers on doing that and sharing it with everyone.

But if you were going into this with the mindset that you'll eventually "figure it out" I have bad news for you... You won't. I'm not saying that to disparage you or anything, I'm stating that it's quite literally, and very intentionally, impossible. The puzzle doesn't have all the pieces in it. There will always be gaps, and depending on how much of the details actually matter to you, most of the puzzle will just be gaps.

Even more so, there are so many ways to arrange the pieces, and they will all fit, and your puzzle won't have the same solution as your friend's.

Hidetaka Miyazaki made these games with the intention for you to be the co-author of the story. You can make it personal, or you can share your interpretation with the world. Miyazaki just gives you the puzzle pieces, and anyone who's trying to push their own solution on you is an idiot.

Hell, there are even very plausible theories that even the item descriptions within the game, the literal written lore, can't be trusted in some cases. It's batshit insane to state that there is one correct vision for the story.

Miyazaki himself stated that he has a perfect vision of the lore in his mind, but he would never ever reveal it or confirm anything, because it would ruin all the fun.

"That being said, he does have an intended ‘perfect’ vision of how the Dark Souls story should play out in his head. However, he has no intention of actually revealing what it actually might be...

...he is perfectly content at any story that players might form in their minds."

^ borrowed this paragraph from this article

Share your interpretation, without forcing it on others. Your interpretation is as good as any. Don't ruin the fun.

[regaliasonata]

I've been meaning to make this post for a while

So Power Rangers has 30 years of lore and stuff packed into it and this made me analyze a few things pertaining to the ranger powers.

See every team is different in the sense that their abilities can be labeled into various categories, like some characters using mystical energy or technology but there's a bit more to it. Tokusatsu has a full list of different power sources and it made me think a bit here, btw this is just in a general sense when it comes to ranger powers and not fully the individual ones each of the teams have.

Basically I decided to place them in depending on the themes and overall potential of their powers.

Each team is covered under one of the following five, Technological, Elemental, Spatial/Temporal, Spiritual and Magical

1.)Technlogical powers such as RPM, SPD mainly rely on the usage of advancements and mechanical assets to their abilities. Though however capability wise it's reach stagnates as the tools and powers depend on how advanced the tech is(like if you have futuristic stuff that can access universal energy, can be on par with some top players in the PR multiverse)

2.)Elemental, like in Samurai, Lost Galaxy and Ninja Storm specific rangers in this category can manipulate or even conjure specific aspects of nature at their disposal. In my mind however the capabilities can also be somewhat limitless as the specific way elements are applied factor in( like if fire is associated either creation and light, being able to make life or even spark heat in the universe)

3.) Spatial and Temporal, specifically relating to teams like Time Force. These powers mainly orient around the control of dimensional or time like aspects, from freezing and speeding time, controlling dimensions like the Triassic Dimension with Conner in DT, or just anything you can think of there. This one is definitely up there because there isn't really a limit, I mean Conner controls reality with the triassic shield and time manipulation is already busted. Time Force rangers are a problem in fight match-ups.

4.)Spiritual, my favorite btw. Connects mainly between Wild Force, Jungle Fury and probably Zeo. Spiritual powers such as aura projection like utilizing animal spirits or having abilities attuned to one's soul are a few ways of using this, however depending on the person and overall situations the spirit can do a lot more. Say releasing your inner might and having a strong willpower may result in your abilities being able to transcend beyond most things(think a bit like HXH with Nen or JJK's cursed energy). Like the phoenix with Camille, if she developed it more then the power to revive or even give life would be broken as hell.

5.) Finally we have Magical, hello Mystic Force. Magic in general is just busted, applications all around depends on what type you're using and there are three main sources, Good, Dark and Neutral. In the show the rangers were given magic from the townspeople due to their beliefs within it as well. This basically cements that as long as you believe in magic then you have an endless source of it...which is just overall crazy and places this high on the list as well.

Now I can't really choose which powers would rank over each other as all of them could overpower the other depending on who uses it but this was nice to analyze. I'd love a full on special with the seasons fighting each other or being able to full amplify their capabilites to see what chaos ensues. Wonder what you guys think?

[hipsterfireshaman]

y’all we need to fucking talk about how deep the lore for Love and Deep Space goes. I’m literally crying after reading all three of Zayne’s Anecdotes back to back.

Spoilers for those Anecdotes: A Pure White Heart, Never-Ending Winter, and Still in Dark

A Pure White Heart is the account of an intern who temporarily gets to work under Dr. Zayne.

This is for sure set in the timeline/lifetime/whatever that we (MC) play in; Zayne is a renowned and respected doctor, with a cold exterior that makes it hard for people to see the utmost care and dedication he has for everyone. The pedestal he’s placed on as a top surgeon as well as his demeanor isolates him from everyone around him, and it takes a while and genuine effort for people to understand him.

(never mind how sad I got when everyone in the operation room was talking about a type of strange dish, Zayne pipes up with a joke, and everyone just froze—silent and unsure if Zayne was scolding them or something. Poor guy. I’ve got chronic RBF so i felt way too seen by this anecdote)

Never-Ending Winter is also most definitely set in our timeline with the Zayne we know. This anecdote sheds way more light on the Mt. Eternal Incident in the Arctic we as the MC heard about on our trip there.

I’m unsure just how much time has passed since this Incident to where we were in the timeline of going there for our reasons, just that Never-Ending Winter took place before the start of our story in Love and Deep Space.

Y’all the writing for these anecdotes is batshit, and I say this before even getting to the third anecdote. The dark shit that happened on Mt. Eternal rivals that of mainstream analog horror and modern creepypasta.

It was tragic af too, and all it really does after answering some questions I didn’t know I had about Mt. Eternal and the Incident, is give me more questions about what Zayne is doing back there after all this time. The end cutscene after where the story leaves off in chapter 8 shows him doing something over the ice in the Arctic, no doubt being the unfinished business he had planned when we parted ways. Is he excavating William???? because OHHHH BOYYY. Zayne was the source of William’s corruption? Which leads into the third anecdote and what it tells us about Abominations.

The third Anecdote, Still in Dark, is n u t s. Similar to the Little Mermaid-esque timeline/“Myth”/AU/whatever that Raphael has going on, this doesn’t seem to be set within our current reality/timeline/whatever(it’s so hard to say, with constant overlapping with others and questions left unanswered). Linkon City seems to be a thing of the past, and the way of life for everyone has changed in to something a little more post-apocalyptic.

Zayne is a serial killer who is hunted by a detective!!!!! LET THAT SINK IN. WHAT THE HELL. On top of that, he’s not killing people in cold blood like what the detective initially believes, but hunting down people that are turning into Abominations, a sort of precursor to Wanderers that may or may not be the cause of frequent exposure to Protocores. (source: the mother of Georgie that reached out to Zayne in fear of her fate after watching her coworkers change for the worst. We have to learn in the hardest of ways that it might not just be due to exposure to Protocores— that it might be contagious. Poor Georgie.)

On top of everything else going on, higher ups seem to actually be aware of this situation!!! ITS A GOVERNMENT COVERUP. THIS IS WHAT I MEAN WHEN I SAY IT RIVALS THE WRITING OF ANALOG HORROR MASTERPIECES AND CREEPYPASTAS.

Again, Linkon City seems to be something of the past—this Zayne seems to be connected through it through space and time through his dreams of a separate reality or timeline with MC. If this is actually the same timeline, and instead just way later down the line with some reincarnation shenanigans or something, something bad happened to Linkon City. The Abomination outbreak is reminiscent of the Mt Eternal incident and what happened with Zayne and William. Zayne was the source of William’s infection. Just what the fuck happened up in that mountain??? Not to mention the fact that in our current place in the timeline, Zayne is back there, POSSIBLY excavating William. What if he’s the one setting off the apocalyptic events that make Linkon City a place of the past tense? Chillsssss.

It doesn’t even stop there with the web of connections; something happens with Zayne at 27. The MC in Zayne’s dreams notices something is off with him. She (we) can tell it’s not Our Zayne. Maybe I’m just thinking of the worst case scenario, but what if it parallel’s Georgie’s fate. What if Our Zayne is the dream of the monster—the abomination, and it wakes up on that special day. And This Zayne is reliving it through time and space because it’s all just one big circle.

Beyond the Anecdotes and the current story, the Jasmine Flower that has a little cameo in Still in Dark is incredibly significant. It’s seems to function as a countdown in Still in Dark. To what? Who knows. Zayne turning into an abomination leading to the death of MC? A Future Diary’s-esque countdown to Love and Death?

But it stems (ha) from Zayne’s Myth: Tower of Secrets. I’m not sure when this takes place in the big ol’ timeline or whatever, but it’s seemingly the most detached. I’m only about 59% through it, but the fact that it’s in a very different time/universe/reality is clear from early on. Zayne is literally a cursed wizard in a tower and it’s giving Magic-High Fantasy instead of the usual Science Fiction-Spacepunk the usual story is.

I could go on for hours. Sorry if this seems like the ramblings of a madwoman. This has been the most consumed by an otome game I’ve been since Mystic Messenger and its cathartic and All Coming Full Circle for me. I don’t have anyone else to talk to about these things so here I am, shouting into the void.