#human!Poro

[snugglyporos]

Do poros eat shrimp? Just steamed with not too much seasoning, in case they don't like it.

Poros eat no meat. Or any kind of animal. It simply isn't something poros would do.

[macksting]

Stressing Out About Crowds 2: Retrospective

I’m sitting here in the same kind of slacks I’d’ve been wearing when I wrote that first entry. A few things I’ve learned: My options have expanded. I wear some skirts now, but I still don’t care for bright colors or floral print unless they’re very specifically comforting media references, like that lovely apron my wife made me based on Kyoko Otonashi’s apron in Maison Ikkoku. I am also more comfortable wearing tanktops than I was before, because I feel more right wearing them as a woman. Between my teens and my mid-30s, I did a lot more tinkering with my gender presentation than I was consciously aware of having done later, and one of the results is that, while I have added some lovely new things to the rotation, I was already dressing comfortably, wearing as much jewelry and makeup as I was ever gonna, and a lot of my more militantly feminist opinions about body hair remain largely true where they apply to myself. I shave my chest, stomach, and face for my own comfort, but neglect them on the whims of my mental health and while that’s not especially pleasant, it’s objectively fine. I can’t begin to say how important my beloved wife has been during this entire period, from when I first met her up to now and indefinitely hereafter. She has always supported my explorations, and I have hers, which is part of why some of this transition has been so casual and easy and mild. With her help, I already knew what I wanted; I just doubted it because the common transfemme narrative is predominantly of becoming girly and soft. I’ve remained easily frightened and incapable of really getting out of the house much since 2018, and continue to work around that and try to improve on it, but so it goes. An important aspect of my gender and presentation seems to be that I am, and remain, a rather upfront loudmouthed shrew. Frankly it’s kind of great. Like Molly, of course, it’s easy to be brave for someone else’s sake, but much harder to be so for my own. Omoide Poro Poro remains my favorite film. I still don’t really understand any kind of sweet but bittersweet, or at least it helps if it feels nuanced and real and human and complicated. In some ways my relationship with my lovie is preposterously pleasant and easy, and I try not to stress too much over it, but also try not to become complacent. Love can be easy, but a prerequisite of that is doing one’s share of the work. I still prefer functional things over decorative things. They’re not mutually exclusive, but like Al Sterling with the mother-of-pearl handled multitool, it means so much to me that something be useful and pragmatic. It is a kind of beauty all its own. I think Sterling’s journey will be more jarring than mine, of course. I still take my coffee black. It’s pleasant, functional, easy, and I like it. If my meds still allowed me to drink booze, I’d still drink it seldom, and it’d still be neat or on the rocks. I am, and perhaps always have been, the kind of girl who wants to grow up to be just like her grampa. I am frequently reforging continuity with who I was before the incident, and constantly trying to figure out what my future will be. It doesn’t look pleasant, to be honest, but that has little to do with my transition except insofar as it wasn’t going to be a very pleasant future either way; I get to face it now with... I guess something worth fighting for that isn’t somebody else’s.

[snugglyporos]

More confused poro chitters. None of this makes sense to poros! Is good to do what you say you'll do. Not understand what the whole giving life thing means though. Sounds very unsnuggly! Does not seem like something you would want to give or take. Seems very bad to poro.

Perhaps can give other things instead of equal value? Poros like snuggles! But also like snax! Poros are not very particular. Both are good! Perhaps, can get other thing she likes! No need for one thing.

Bast shot a glance down at Poro and the look on their face had her turn back to the work, carefully gesturing to the contracts.

"These are contracts or deals crafted in which I gave them something. They in turn must honor the terms of the contracts. Some of these contracts have yet to be fulfilled. But some have harsher payments. I have one in particular who refuses to give over their life for the life they asked for." She tapped it carefully, the paper threatened with pointed rage. "They've managed to find old magic that keeps me from collecting directly."

[konigbabe]

steal the thunder - I -

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x fem!sorcerer!reader Word count: 5.8k Tags/warnings: no y/n; unhinged reader; manga spoilers (Culling Games + Perfect Preparation arcs); fight description; canon-typical violence; there will be eventual smut in the later parts fyi Summary: There's murder in the air – with the Culling Games underway, a simple task of finding an angel turns to a fight for life when you meet a certain, static and 400 years old sorcerer with cyan hair and wicked intentions.

Artwork by poro (poro06625649) on Twittter [source]; divider by @skylightlantern [source] For a better understanding of the reader's CE and CT, visit this Tumblr post.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

There's murder in the air – an unsettling undertone that pollutes the atmosphere. Gentle breeze carrying the metallic fragrance of blood within its currents.

The dockside keeps quiet. Sky clear, devoid of seagull calls. Walking by colossal steel shipping containers, stacked high, the scent persists. Clings to the air like a persistent specter. Each step accompanied by the gentle lap of waves against the pilings, their rhythmic cadence a stark contrast to the horrors you've seen.A soothing lullaby in the midst of chaos.

The maze-like layout of the quayside comes to an end when your muscles strain, lifting off the ground and landing atop the steel structure.

A giant panda comes into view. Its relaxed posture, perched on hindlimbs, contrasts with its impassive countenance as it gazes your way.

"Panda," you address what some might believe to be an actual animal; innocent, cute and completely harmless. Except for this Cursed Corpse – your subordinate – is none of those things.

He fixes you with your very name; a disturbing familiarity in his eyes, then the words escape his lips.

"The smell of blood's so thick," he voices as you draw near, words cutting through the tension. "There must be about three people dismembered here–"

You hold up two fingers, the other hand nestled in your pocket.

"Two actually," you intervene, voice a measured interruption, "walked past a man with a hole the size of a soccer ball in his chest."

The memory resurfaces – the sight of the man, head drooping, neck bent at an unnatural angle. Eerie web-like burns sprawled across his bare flesh. The smell of singed skin and ozone hangs in the air, a pungent reminder. Yet, it's not just that which jolts your senses. It's the residual static of someone's cursed energy, an unsettling presence that lingers.

"But that's not what troubles me," continuing, you stand next to Panda, arms now crossed as both of you watch the lifeless skies, "something bad's here. I tried following the remnants of the cursed energy of the perpetrator but it was very faint."

"Could be an expert who can turn their cursed energy on and off at will…" Panda thinks out loud.

You let the idea sit for a second. Could it be the case? Could someone in this colony be capable of doing it? Known, registered sorcerers are absent here. The majority are newly awakened, scarcely equipped to comprehend a sophisticated notion like this. And why would they feel the need to hide their cursed energy?

No.

Dismissing your doubts, you shake your head and stride toward the edge of the shipping container.

"Don't think so. Nevertheless, we're here to find that angel girl and negotiate with her." Stepping onto the container's edge, unfazed by the high drop; balancing skillfully, you extend one leg over the edge, about to step into empty space. In a seamless motion, you touch down on the solid concrete ground below.

Panda follows suit, rolling off the shipping container with agility, landing right beside you. Then he stands, an odd combination of human-like stance and panda appearance, more akin to a person in a panda costume than an actual animal.

"Our safest bet is to leave the docks. Fast. Just play pretend, avoid any unnecessary conflicts and make it out of this colony in one piec–"

The sentence's left hanging as a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. Panda falls on all fours, frozen still.

"Ah," a deeper, resonant voice rumbles from your right, the words echoing as the familiar sensation washes over you. A sudden buzz inside your mind, an abrupt surge of awareness regarding another sorcerer's presence. Heart mirroring the rapid flutter of a startled bird's wings.

Their cursed energy, concealed and latent, manages to evoke an almost primal response within you. A sense of fight or flight.

You pivot to face the uninvited presence before you.

A cascade of hair, vivid as a robin's egg and kissed by the hues of a clear summer sky, is gathered into twin buns atop his head while tendrils of untamed locks dance freely in the breeze, resembling a stormy sea. Longer bangs frame the contours of his face, softening his visage.

He stops when his eyes – the same uncanny shade as his hair – bore into yours. Carrying what you'd guess is a Nyoi staff slung over his shoulder, he stands at a slight angle. Excludes casual confidence, a sense of poised readiness.

"Another one," he breaks the silence. You stand your ground in response to his observation.

"Not interested in a fight," you remark, hands risen in a defensive gesture. Yet you don't dare take your eyes off the sorcerer. Ready and composed.

Panda, ostensibly cautious, inches closer to you, fur bristling in sync with his unease towards the newcomer's presence. The air tightens, charged with the unspoken potential for violence.

"Kogane," he calls out to the shikigami, summoning it like a wisp from the aether; the small creature materializes, its hue the shade of a serene lake, light and amicable as it floats near his head, "is the panda a player too?"

The shikigami screeches its answer, its words setting everything in motion.

"Indeed!! A player! Yep!!"

"That's a function," your pondering voice meets a forced silence. The state of perturbed ambiance vanishing as your thoughts are cut off.

A flesh of white. Empty space occupies the spot where the sorcerer was standing less than a second ago.

You sense his presence before your eyes even settle on his countenance; his eyes, framed with short zig-zag lines reminiscent of lightning bolts underneath them, a furious cauldron of murderous excitement as they lock onto yours. They widen with a manic intensity. An undertone of madness lurking deep within their depths.

A predator's gaze fixated on its prey.

In a heart-stopping moment, time stands still. The world around you fades into a blur as a primal instinct takes over. Your body reacts; a precision born of pure reflex – muscles coiled like springs, you counter his attack with a swift and calculated movement.

His volatile energy crackles in the air. Your hands snap up. Fingers attempting to curl around his bandaged forearm. Channeling your cursed energy to your clavicles, the place where his palm lays flat against you –

But your reactions prove inadequate. You're too slow. A shocking speed and heavy push; a surge of force is sent through your body, catching you off-guard. The ground beneath you becomes a temporary adversary. Your balance disrupted as you're sent flying backward.

Back colliding with the hard, metal steel of a shipping container – you watch in horror as the sorcerer mercilessly attacks Panda. Using his staff as a weapon. With unnatural speed and agility, Panda struggles against him; his valiant resistance a testament to his determination, his form a blur of motion as he evades the sorcerer's attacks and manages a few good blows of his own.

Your body feels light. A tingling sensation surging through your veins. Electric current's rushing beneath your skin, setting your pulse racing and your focus to a razor's edge. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouth. Mingles with the adrenaline in your body. Every nerve firing in response to the raw energy pulsing through your body.

It hits you then–

"Heh, electricity," you mumble, the word slipping from your lips as you raise your palms, clenching your fists. Feeling the tingling in the tips of your fingers. The slight buzzing in your ears.

–his cursed energy has a special trait. One certainly hard to defend against.

Barely seconds have passed since your body was forced to rest against the ground. It still feels too long with Panda barely matching the man's speed and force.

Gritting your teeth, the urgency of the situation anchors you, overriding any pain or disorientation as you fight to regain your footing. A sense of pride fills you when you watch Panda use his technique, striking the sorcerer with enough force that'll easily knock him out cold. One of Panda's winning moves.

Except it doesn't.

"Nice one," the man's voice rings out. A taut smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Your teeth clench, disbelief intertwining with unease as you watch. With a predominated precision, the sorcerer maneuvers his staff, entwining it with Panda's arm in a smooth motion that catches you off guard.

Exerting a forceful pull, he forces a grimace from Panda. Right arm caught in the vice-like grip, a sickening crack underscores the moment. Followed by the nauseating sensation of Panda's arm being torn from his body. Violently. And mercilessly.

Panda stumbles. Pain and agony escaping in a cry. The sorcerer doesn't waste a second. Hurls the arm back at Panda, using the momentum to charge forward. Palm aiming flat against his chest, he sends Panda flying backward – the same way he did to you. Causing your junior to experience a similar sensation to yours.

The cyan-haired man straightens, seemingly relaxing, already content with winning the fight.

"But I'm not impressed," he taunts, words an ominous echo of the violence just unleashed, "It's too ordinary."

Feeling the concrete beneath your feet, you take deliberate steps forward. With an inkling of Panda's potential strategy, you expel the pooled blood from your mouth, spitting it onto the ground.

"...Sukuna, you know where he is?" The man's words flow, attention diverted, ignorant of your presence.

A fortunate circumstance.

"No clue," Panda responds. His reply burdened with weariness and defeat; yet his gaze remained fixed on you, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as you position yourself, tension radiating from his weary form.

The sorcerer scoffs; a contemptuous tilt of his head, a gesture laden with superiority. "Sounds like you know something, then," he snarls, his grip on the staff constricting as his fist clenches, "Spit it out. I'll be merciful."

With the sorcerer's back turned you raise your arm. Your gaze remains fixed upon the convergence point of the two delicate lines, their path crossing at the very heart of the expanse that's the upper part of his broad back.

"I won't be," you declare; voice carrying a firm tone. A deft flick of your wrist – the current of cursed energy takes the desired shape before it's hurled toward your target. Slashing the air in front of you, aimed right at him.

His gaze veers to the side. And in a fraction of a heartbeat, he moves; executing a skillful sidestep. Body positioned to face you from the side, both hands now gripping his staff, aiming it at you; a glint of fervor ignites his eyes as they widen, locked onto the shipping container stationed behind Panda. The unforgiving force of your attack rends the shipping container apart, leaving two gaping slashes that could bisect a man.

You don't give him time to react properly.

The moment blood begins to stain his white robe crimson red from the nick on his shoulder, you lunge forward. Like a bull being waved a red flag. Feet imbued with your cursed energy, reinforced to ensure protection.

As you close the distance at a breakneck pace, you sense the distinct composition of his cursed energy. With your fingers curled around the staff, your eyes meet his, a faint grin playing at the corners of your mouth as you tug on his weapon with your full body weight. Lifting your legs off the ground, you use the staff as a fulcrum. His body feels resilient, akin to forged steel, against the soles of your shoes.

With the potency of your cursed technique coursing through your strike, the man is propelled backward, his body hurtling through the air. The Nyoi staff clings to the concrete. Left untouched upon the impact.

Flying through a shipping container, he quickly finds his footing. Stance shifting in response to your aerial maneuver. Legs splayed to establish a firm foundation, you focus your intent on targeting his jaw. Fists charged with cursed energy, you hit once; knowing how troublesome the push-and-pull effect of your technique feels once your flesh makes contact–

"Not bad," he manages to spit out, the corner of his lip stained red. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip as you sprint toward him.

The surroundings blur into a muddled backdrop, irrelevant in your unwavering concentration. The sorcerer becomes the sole axis, a focal point in a world that seems to slow to a crawl, even though only a fraction of a second has passed.

The tip of your foot touches his; a mere whisper of contact between two opposing forces.

"Not bad at all."

–he counterattacks. Hand darts forward. Grabs your wrist. With an economy of motion, he employs your own momentum against you. His grip becomes a pivot, briefly throwing you off-balance, diverting your forward surge into an unexpected spiral.

Fluidity. That's how you'd characterize his movements. A seamless transition from being a passive target to an active agent.

His chest brushes against your back as his right hand remains locked around your right wrist. Single-handedly swinging your body like a marionette, you exploit the vulnerability of your position. Using his grip as leverage to move backward, simultaneously grabbing hold of his bandaged left forearm and pulling. Crashing your body into his, redirecting the movement into a collision.

With a potent surge of intention, you force the prepared rejection and attraction effect within your clenched fist, propelling it like a bolt toward the rear of your skull. Teeth gritted, you throw your head back.

Crack.

He stifles a groan, a step taken back but footing resolute. A red trail paints his nose as you swivel to confront him. Pausing briefly to charge your energy again, you grant him a moment to speak. His expression freezes as he locks eyes with you

"You," he speaks up, his voice textured with the tang of iron as his tongue grazes his lips, "Have we met before?"

With your hand still tingling, the ripples of sensation spread up your arm, an electric current tracing a pattern beneath your skin. Your head sways subtly, dispelling the notion of a previous encounter. "Unlikely. You'd be history."

A chuckle dances from his lips, a response to your retort. "What's your name then?"

You share it deliberately, each syllable a measured beat in your dance around one another. He nods, his head tilting with self-assured grace. It's then that he takes his stance – feet planted firmly, palms outstretched, a grin playing on his lips.

"The name's Hajime Kashimo."

The words hang, a telltale echo–

Hajime Kashimo.

–recognition snaps into place when you repeat his name in your mind.

The Hajime Kashimo, the sorcerer whose score reaches a hundred points; a mark that sets him apart from any other Culling game player (except for the intricate Hiromi Higuruma). Hakari's elusive target.

And here, right before you, stands the man himself.

"Hey," you call out, a new determination blossoming, your stance embracing the challenge; retreat is no longer a consideration, "if I beat you, can I get your points?"

The corners of Kashimo's lips twitch, smile fading like a wisp of smoke carried away by the wind. Expression blank, with only his brows furrowed as he responds, "Sure, but you tell me everything y'know about Sukuna," his voice lowered to a dangerous undertone, a velvet threat veiled in words, "that is–if you're still alive."

He charges then. Doesn't spare a single consideration. The air crackles with tension as his presence engulfs you. His hands make contact – not with fists or strikes – but with the calculated pressure of his open palms. You feel the weight of his touch on your skin. Pressure on your left, then on your right ribcage.

"Don't disappoint me now," breath tickles your ear, voice a tantalizing, dangerous melody. His fingers anchor firmly onto your right shoulder, an assertive grip that both commands and unsettles, while his other hand exerts a calculated force on your left shoulder guard, propelling you into a spin.

Your training surges forth, a symphony of muscle memory and instinct harmonizing within you. With the resilience born of countless battles, you swiftly adapt your stance, shifting your weight to face him.

An annoyed huff leaves your now-bruised lips. You channel your own cursed energy, a torrent of power surging through your veins.

Detain an attack when it comes,–

Knees bending, body swaying to evade the incoming fist; your left hand grips his left wrist, fingers tightening with determination, followed by your right driving into its intended mark.

–and send it away when it retreats.

Your palm meets the solid plane of his chest with a resonant thud; pushes and then pulls him back to you before sending him away again; successfully pushing back against Kashimo's pressure. It's a momentary reprieve. One that sends the sorcerer tumbling back, makes him roll on the ground, lending on one knee.

"Here I thought we were just getting started," you quip with a hint of playfulness amidst the dance of combat. Moving swiftly towards the target. As Kashimo's force ebbs, you seize the opportunity, your muscles coiling like springs.

"You're getting me–" he barely makes it back to his feet before you're at him again. With enough cursed energy imbued into your foot, utilizing the momentum of your motion, leg rising up in a calculated kick – only for Kashimo to shift; a fraction of movement that proves decisive. His arm weaves beneath the arc of your thigh, a sinuous and serpentine maneuver that seeks to entwine and subdue. As his grasp tightens, his fingers snake around your throat, lifting you from the ground, suspending you momentarily.

"–quite excited," he concludes, his voice tinged with an eerie excitement.

Once the hand is freed from contact,–

A heartbeat's pause feels like an eternity. With your legs rendered weightless and no stable ground beneath you. Despite the vulnerable position, your mind remains steadfast, honing in on Kashimo's Achilles heel. His hands are preoccupied, his grasp unwavering but his neck and face exposed.

–carry out a strike with it.

Seizing the opportunity, you make the most of the opening. Your palms press against the sharp contours of his cheeks, each hand finding its place on one side of his face. In one swift and deliberate motion, you channel the wellspring of cursed energy that resides within you into your technique. The currents of your energy converge between your palms, weaving a tapestry of arcane force that manifests as a palpable vacuum, centered precisely where his head rests.

It's an intentional manipulation. One – if done right, that is – could even lead to a cataclysmic implosion. A violent severing of life from the body. But you don't want to kill him; not yet at least. You need the points. And so, you temper your approach, exerting only the necessary amount of energy to induce a sensation of compression.

As the feeling envelops him, Kashimo's expression shifts, a flicker of realization that dances within his eyes. He instinctively withdraws. Bandaged forearms push at your body, sending you hurtling backward; a testament to his strength and strategic finesse.

"You cheeky little thing," a bead of blood traces a path from the corner of his eye. At the same time, another droplet emerges from his nose.

This time it's him who doesn't let you regain enough control as he charges at you. His approach swift and unrelenting. The tables are constantly turning – now being his time to dictate the tempo.

Another dance of offense and defense plays out as the two of you clash once again. Each move a deliberate response to the other's actions.

Chase the movement of the opponent–

As the flurry of his strikes slices through the air, you find yourself navigating the ebb and flow with a synchronicity that borders on the sublime. With a hawk-like focus, you track the trajectory of his hand, your senses attuned to his every motion.

While his hits continue to swing through both empty space and meeting your body, a fleeting opportunity presents itself. With the precision of a seasoned sorcerer, you follow the path of his hand with your own, fingers closing around his forearm as it narrowly misses your cheekbone, the other digging into the open slash wound on his shoulder.

–to continue the attack.

It earns you a hiss. A "Tsk," coming from his damaged lips.

One fluid motion; one that belies your strength. You capitalize on the momentum of his own swing, utilizing your grip to exert control. Your foot surges forward with unbridled force, the sole of your shoe connecting with the vulnerable juncture of his knee.

Kashimo's reflexes kick in as he instinctively leaps back the moment your foot makes contact with his leg. His visage bears the marks of battle, a canvas adorned with streaks of red, the vestiges of blood from the prior exchange. A mirror to his appearance, your own face likely reflects a similar narrative. Marked by the intensity of the confrontation. By his pure, physical prowess. One that, even if you use all your cursed energy, you're certain you couldn't match.

The shadows of weariness begin to cast their subtle touch on you. A weight that tempers your movements and shadows the clarity of your thoughts. Each calculated step, each strategic strike, seems to bear an additional burden now.

Still, resolute, your unwavering determination fixated on Kashimo, persevering in the face of creeping exhaustion.

Then you take off.

With a surge of action, you propel yourself into motion. Pivoting on your heel, you sprint toward the towering container crane a mere few meters behind. Kashimo's quick thinking registers in the corner of your vision—a flash of white on your right, drawing nearer.

"Running so soon?"

His taunting words reach you.

"Just limbering up," you reply. Muscles tensing, you feel his energy almost brushing against your own. So, with a leap, you vault into the air. Fingers curling around your ankle.

Time seems to slow as Kashimo's grip tightens around your ankle, his fingers like a vice attempting to anchor you to the ground. The world spins around you, the crane's towering structure becoming a blur as your body is abruptly yanked back, denied the freedom of flight.

Instinct kicks in, your mind racing to find a solution. With a swift twist of your body, you channel the energy within, your cursed power surging to your fingertips. A burst of force courses through your arm, the concentrated energy propelling your free leg forward in a powerful kick. Your heel connects with Kashimo's face, the impact forcing his grip to release.

In the split second of regained freedom, your body soars toward the container crane.

Muscles strained, you manage to grab hold of a protruding metal edge, fingers gripping with an iron determination. The harsh clang of metal meeting metal reverberates through the air as your body comes to a halt, swinging slightly from the momentum before you propel yourself higher onto the structure.

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. The distance between you and Kashimo now a tangible reminder of your evasion. His frustrated gaze meets yours, the tension between you electric and palpable.

"Nice try," you retort, voice laced with a mixture of weariness and defiance. There's an undeniable satisfaction in defying his grasp, in proving your prowess even amid exhaustion. Without wasting a moment longer, you hoist yourself up more, using the crane's structure to propel your body upward. Your form melds with the steel as you ascend, a maneuver to gain the vantage point.

Gotta limit his movement to the minimum.

Kashimo's expression shifts, a glint of admiration piercing through his irritation. "Impressive," he concedes, the words carrying an unexpected note of respect, "but you can't run from me."

He follows your lead. The two of you ascending the crane in a synchronized rhythm

"I told you, Kashimo–," you declare, your voice echoing between the steel beams as you reach the crane's zenith, standing face to face on the narrowest edge.

Now standing face to face on the crane's uppermost beam, the narrow back reach providing only small support. Your breath heaves, each inhalation a reminder of the intense exertion. Across from you, Kashimo's gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression deceptively relaxed.

"–that I'm only stretching."

His eyes, however, tell a different story – a depth of focus that cuts through your form. Anchoring onto you with an unwavering intensity.

A mournful melody weaves through the metal lattice, the wind's haunting whistle creating an eerie harmony with the tension in the air. The gusts playfully tousle both your hair in the process. You steady yourself into a stance, your body a testament to both resilience and purpose.

"Plus I want those points," you remark, a hint of determination coloring your words.

It's then that you charge — cursed energy flowing through your body like currents of compressed emptiness. A void. Unyielding. Relentless. And pneumatic.

With a flick of your wrist, you send it slicing through the air. A blade of nothing. A thin line etches across his chest, traversing from ribcage to his already wounded shoulder — a mark of your earlier endeavor. Nowhere to dodge now that he's standing between two metal beams.

Or so you thought.

Kashimo charges. The white of his robe tainted with scarlet. The cut isn't deep.

He must've reinforced his cursed energy.

"Tsk," you utter. A flicker of irritation crosses your features. Agitated. With waning stamina, the dwindling reservoir of cursed energy depleted by your previous usage; this could've been your last-ditch effort.

The final move.

And it failed.

It makes him smile. A sinister twist of lips that morphs into a grin. Moving fast, his expression resembles one of a predator closing in on its prey. The ruby stain on his robe seems to accentuate his aura of danger, a stark contrast to the pristine white it once was.

As your body contorts and arches backward, you skillfully evade the incoming fist aimed at your face. Your unwavering gaze remains locked onto his intense stare. With your palm pressed flat against the ground of the crane, you swiftly raise your leg, delivering a targeted strike to the meat of his thigh.

But before your maneuver can fully unfold, his hand seizes your ankle, pulling you towards him and locking your leg in place as he maneuvers over your body. Kashimo's grin widens, a predatory glint in his eyes that triggers a ripple of unease down your spine.

As his fist whizzes past your face, you seize the opportune moment to mount a counterattack. His fingers, still harshly locked around your right ankle, you push and pull against his grasp. Leg successfully moving to close over his thigh, the other hooking around his hip.

Legs now firmly encircling his waist, you use every ounce of your strength to push. Destabilize the sorcerer. Break his foundation. Disrupt his equilibrium.

The outcome? Both of you soaring through the air and down the crane. Kashimo's form aligns perfectly with the approaching solidity of the dockside concrete.

A rapid free fall, gravity's pull unrelenting.

If you're not getting the points, he's not getting his answers either.

His eyes momentarily flit to the ground below. Unspoken recognition of the shared peril that binds you both. The realization dawns in his eyes, widening them momentarily, before his gaze settles onto your face once more – unimpressed. Jaded.

"Oops," you jest under your breath, fingers finding purchase on the fabric of his torn clothes. An unhinged smile on your lips, eyebrows lifting in a mix of audacity and exhilaration. The wind sweeps through, rustling your hair with a cool caress that contrasts starkly with the warm stickiness of blood on your skin.

"It's accumulated enough."

That's the only forewarning you get. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts; an electrifying tension that dances along your skin. You sense the already familiar tingling as the static charges from the man beneath you. Kashimo's cursed energy now gaining intensity.

His open hand thrusts towards your face, a surge of energy gathering at his fingertips. Only to get countered by your own palm. Flat against each other. Forcing a focal point of energy converges and resistance to form. As the push effect comes into play just in time with waves of electricity.

The crackling intensity escalates, its tendrils reaching out with an insatiable hunger. Only to be pushed back by your own manipulation acting as a steadfast wall. It's a symphony of sensations — the tingling of your skin, the hum of power in the air, the gradual crescendo of pressure between your palms. The vortex throbs and pulses, a living embodiment of the forces you both wield.

The thing is – The conductivity of the vacuum…depending on how you look at it, it behaves in two different ways:

Firstly, when you examine the motion of charged particles with a constant velocity within a vacuum, you encounter an interesting phenomenon. Unlike in other mediums, there is no opposing force acting against these particles. Consequently, maintaining a steady current across any surface within a vacuum demands no additional effort.

However, a contrasting phenomenon manifests when we consider the existence of free charges within conductors. When an electric field, denoted as E, is imposed upon a conductor, it triggers a flow of electric current. This internal charge movement gives rise to a current density described by the equation: J = σE, where σ symbolizes the conductivity of the material. Notably, within a vacuum, σ assumes a value of 0; hence, electric fields lack the capacity to spontaneously induce current flow.

In this context, the vacuum departs from the role of a conductor. Even materials known as insulators, which typically restrict the flow of current, possess conductivity values that are low but not completely absent.

As a result, the resistance exhibited by a vacuum effectively amounts to infinity—particularly when you define resistance through the lens of how charge carriers in a substance respond. Viewed from this perspective, you could liken the vacuum to an insulator, given the absence of charge carriers that are essential for the propagation of electric current.

So in the end, your innate ability functions like an antistatic force.

It should be enough to counter his attack. Neutralizing his endeavor and ricocheting it back to him. Only if his other hand, clenched into a fist, suddenly hasn't entered your line of sight, aiming for your jaw.

The controlled push-only effect falters. Then crumbles. The void's pull reclaims all that Kashimo had imparted, drawing it back with an insatiable greed.

"Damn you." It now comes down to the last aspect of your technique.

Implosion.

The energies within your vacuum field converge, collapsing inwards with a blinding intensity. A jarring impact against the back of your head – or it might be the ending of your fall. Everything's just confusing. Everything blurs into a disorienting haze of continuous events.

The unforgiving touch of concrete grates against your scraped back. Each breath, now shallow and ragged, causes pain.

Above, the sky stretches wide and boundless. Until the sight is blocked by a mop of cerulean blue hair. Two buns somehow still in place. Same-colored eyes staring at your form. Arms folded and a countenance marred by bloodstains and scrapes. Each leg positioned on either side of your hips before one presses against the flat of your clavicles.

"You're quite durable," Kashimo retorts, pushing his weight down on you, "that should've killed you right there."

"Heh," you manage a wry chuckle, your voice strained but defiant, "guess I'm full of surprises."

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of almost-amusement dancing in his eyes. The world around you seems to blur at the edges, the strain of the plummet combined with the failed attempt of your innate technique taking a heavy toll on your senses.

"It's been a while since I've encountered someone who can keep me on my toes this long. Now tell me," your name rolls off his tongue in a taunting lilt, "where's Sukuna?"

The distant sounds of the dockside begin to fade, replaced by an eerie emptiness. Despite your unwavering determination, a tide of dizziness threatens to engulf you, and you struggle to maintain your focus on Kashimo's face.

"On vaca–"

The weight on your chest vanishes abruptly. Kashimo's foot makes fleeting contact with your cheek before returning to its original place.

"Don't play with me. Spit it out."

"Oi," a voice calls to your right. A voice you know; Hakari's, "It's not very chivalrous to strike a lady like that."

From here, everything dissolves into darkness.

The world sways, a disorienting dance of shadows and sensations. Light pressure settles on your stomach with sounds echoing faintly in the distance. A gentle, steady rhythm envelops you as if you're being cradled in a cocoon of safety. Your limbs feel weightless, as though the ground beneath you has transformed into a soft cloud that carries your burdens away.

Your mind struggles to tether itself to the present, grappling with the fragments of consciousness that slip through your grasp. Colors blur, merging into a hazy kaleidoscope of fleeting images. The arms that encircle you exude warmth thought. One that lulls you back to sleep.

Yet you manage to summon the strength to part your heavy eyelids. Through the haze, you see a blur of black and white on top of you. Head resting upon something firm and solid – a breastplate, you realize. The rhythmic cadence that envelops you is accompanied by the subtle rise and fall of breath, a heartbeat that resonates beneath your cheek.

"Panda," you murmur, voice a tentative whisper as you attempt to comprehend whether or not you're dreaming, considering the creature on you is now a size of an actual teddy bear.

The toy-sized Panda remains seated on you but looks your way, emitting a surprised yelp at the sound of your voice, before swiftly turning his gaze forward again, "Hakari, she's awake!"

Your vision – still blurred – manages to trace a figure walking at the edge of your peripheral sight – left arm missing, shirt gone (he's shirtless, you discern), and crowned with purple hair. Hakari. But if Hakari's walking in front of you. Then…

Lifting your eyes, you suddenly lock onto a fleeting sight of vibrant cyan hair. The once-pristine white attire now soaked and marred with splotches of vivid red, creating an unsettling contrast. Your heart skips a beat as the realization dawns upon you.

It's Kashimo who bears the weight of your limp form.

"She's gonna pass out soon again," his voice carries vibrations that travel from his chest to your cheek with his gaze fixed upon you.

And he's right as your body, weary and battered, succumbs once more to the embrace of slumber.

[cauldron-of-oddities]

A snipped that took over. @jm-chrome @youmaycallmeyourhighness

This is your doing, making the Ekko and Jinx poros way too cute.

The great cookie heist

Ekko had been eyeing the confectionery bakery for weeks. With its smells of butter and sugar, three tiered cake displays and sweet buns, and cotton candy cafe terrace, it was beyond enticing. The promise of so many treats luring him in. And then he'd seen it. The most wonderfully enchanting tasty looking cookie ever: The size of a plate, with gooey chocolate chips, wafts of vanilla, and cinnamon rising from it and it had electric blue popping candy sprinkled all over it. And when you broke a piece off, you could see it was the chewy sort.

It would be his. He decided with stars in his eyes. He'd be charming, puff himself up for an extra bit of fluff and roll around, and give wide sparkly eyes. And no human, yordle or other could say no to him. With careful consideration, he picked his target. The chirpy blond, with her hair in a bun, and far too frilly apron and a sucker for cute.

Confident in his choice, he sets about with his charm offence. What was it humans said? Oh yeah, rizz. The next day, he makes sure his orange scarf is just so, and he shuffles from under a table. Fluffs himself up a bit, trills happily, and for good measure offers a coin he'd found.

“Aww, aren't you adorable?” Yes! It's working!

“Would you like something, sweetpea?” Yes! He warbles as much. He dashes past the girl to the display and leans up by the cookie. The girl laughs, “Well, would you look at that, your coin’s half the cookie, and because you're such a cute poro, you get half off.”

Success! She comes back round the counter with his prize when a streak of blue, white, and a dash of pink pilfer the cookie out of the shop attendant's hand.

There's a pink paw print on the blond's forehead, who looks completely dazed. That paw! He knows who the culprit is. Turning to the high-pitched victorious warble, he sees her: Jinx.

Up on one of the parasols, with a smug look, she chirps, teasing him. There, between her horns is the giant cookie. She sticks her tongue out and wiggles getting ready to jump, daring him to catch her.

He glares at her with a growl and a wiggle of his own. He jumps to the parasol, and she hops right over him to a table and down to the ground and runs.

No! That's his! With a dash, he takes off after her, racing through streets their speed ruffling skirts, tripping pedestrians, and knocking hats off heads he tries to snag his cookie back.

Then she dives between the legs of a vendor, under the narrow gap of his cart, and Ekko goes crashing into the wheel with a poof. He can hear the vendor above him fussing over him, picking him up, and patting him on the head. Mumbling sadly, he mourns the loss of his treat.

He's been placed down on one of the park benches and told to take it easy for a bit. Crestfallen, he does. Why his cookie? And worse, why her? He liked the pretty poro, with her downy fluff and blue streaks. Murmuring sadly, he hopes he gets another chance.

There's a nudge against him and a rueful warble. Turning, he sees Jinx looking regretful, wobbly, with big, watery eyes, the cookie still held between her horns. Her hiccuping chirps told him she only wanted to play. She drops the cookie next to him, looking away.

Ekko feels rather fuzzily warm at that. She wanted to do something together with him, not steal his cookie. He headbuts her softly and warbles. Next time, she should just ask to play. A pleased and questioning ‘murrrp’ is his answer.

He licks her then and gestures the cookie, breaking it in half. He can barely push her half to her before he's tackled in a cuddle, nuzzling her face into his side.

He's feeling beyond chuffed while he bashfully grumbles something along the lines of “next time you get the cookie”. With that, he finally gets to chomp down on his hard earned treat.

[learnyouabiology]

Fun Fact: Starfish get around using a hydraulic system!

I want to start off by saying: you may have heard that starfish have sea water instead of blood! This is not true!

Before I explain, let me point out this little dot that every starfish has (and I SWEAR that this is relevant)

(It’s like they all have lil’ buttons on! 1, 2, 3)

This little spot is known as a madreporite, from Italian madre (”mother”) + Latin poro (”pore”). 

What is it? Well, to over-simplify:

The madreporite is basically a pressure valve for the insides of the starfish. It lets water in and out of its water vascular system as needed. In order to prevent debris and sea life and other non-desirables from getting inside the starfish, the madreporite filters the water that it takes in.

this is what the madreporite looks like up close:

(Name origin: apparently someone saw that and thought “huh, that kind of looks like madrepore coral, but tiny! They... weren’t wrong.)

Now, you may look at the name “water vascular system” and think “hey, I know ‘vascular’! That's related to blood!” This is a reasonable misunderstanding.

While in humans, the circulatory system is part of a vascular system (along with our lymphatic system) in the starfish’s water vascular system, seawater is NOT analogous to blood in a circulatory system. Or, well, it’s complicated, because it does do some things that are similar to a mammalian circulatory system, such as transporting certain types of immune cells, but still (source: Ferguson 1966)

Instead, these seawater-filled tubes are used for things such as the movement of starfish arms (and their little tube feet), which in turn allows them to move around their environment, find and consume food, and stick to surfaces. Mammals generally don’t use their circulatory systems in this way (if I am wrong about this, PLEASE let me know, as that would be absolutely WILD).

(diagram of a starfish’s water-vascular system, revealing the starfish’s final form: some sort of fidget toy, I think)

I admit that “starfish use seawater instead of blood” is a much more attention-grabbing headline, but it’s not true, and it’s also kind of sad, because the water-vascular system is really cool without the misinformation!

(before you ask, yes, this entire post was prompted by one (1) person saying something that was WRONG, and that person may or may not have been related to me 😤😭😭😭😭😭)

The water-vascular system is, essentially, a hydraulic system. By adding and expelling water, as well as opening and closing internal channels via muscle contractions, starfish can create positive and negative pressure within their bodies. This allows them to “flex” their tube feet in surprisingly complex ways, among other functions.

(these^ are a starfish’s “tube feet”. They are little structures with suckers on the ends. If you’ve ever held a starfish in your hands, you probably felt these feet holding onto you. They have a surprising amount of strength!)

You can imagine this sort of like how a whacky inflatable tube man uses air pressure to straighten up and fall down, except with hundreds in one connected, complex system (and also the pressure is more tightly controlled in order to prevent all that flailing, and also to allow fine control required for things like ripping open a mollusc shell).

(I always imagine this when looking at starfish tube feet. And now, maybe you will too! join me. 1, 2)

The confusion regarding starfish blood being seawater is understandable, but in the end it’s essentially a misunderstanding.

Plus, starfish have coelomic fluid, which is honestly more analogous to blood.

Coelomic fluid is, basically, the fluid that fills the starfish’s body cavity between all of its organs and such, facilitating nutrient transport, gas exchange, and overall being more blood-like than the water-vascular system in general (Andradre et al. 2021).

And ok, technically the liquid part of coelomic fluid comes from seawater, ultimately, but that would be like saying I, a human, use tap water for blood. And, ok, yes, there is water in my blood, and that water came from the tap, but no one would say that I have tap water instead of blood! Except my brother but he also says trigonometry doesn’t exist so we will be ignoring his opinion at this time.

(a more detailed diagram than the one before. The coelomic fluid is found in the coelomic cavity! Also, as a bonus, you now know where a starfish’s anus is! Enjoy this new knowledge next time you look at a starfish! source: x)

Starfish aren’t the only animals with a water vascular system and a madreporite. They can also be spotted in other echinoderms, such as sea urchins, sand dollars, and sea cucumbers (although in the sea cucumber the madreporite is inside the animal, so you probably won’t see it in the wild).

That said, starfish have my favourite madraporites, because I think they look like little badges. They all win the award of being lil friends (and also keystone species that are essential to many marine ecosystems. So.)

This has been Fun Fact Friday, telling you all about wacky lil friends who have funny little feet and DO NOT HAVE SEAWATER INSTEAD OF BLOOD!

I will do battle with my sibling later, as is tradition

Sources under Read More:

Andrade, C., Oliveira, B., Guatelli, S., Martinez, P., Simões, B., Bispo, C., ... & Coelho, A. V. (2021). Characterization of coelomic fluid cell types in the starfish Marthasterias glacialis using a flow cytometry/imaging combined approach. Frontiers in Immunology, 807. 

Ferguson, J. C. (1966). Cell production in the Tiedemann bodies and haemal organs of the starfish, Asterias forbesi. Transactions of the American Microscopical Society, 200-209.

Mao, S., Dong, E., Zhang, S., Xu, M., & Yang, J. (2013, July). A new soft bionic starfish robot with multi-gaits. In 2013 IEEE/ASME International Conference on Advanced Intelligent Mechatronics (pp. 1312-1317). IEEE.

[risingshine]

Gasp! Himiko human needs help! Do not worry! Baby blocks shall help! And get Kachiporo and Chiporo to help! Otherwise, baby blocks will be sad!

"Oh, um...thank you?" She couldn't speak poro, so the sudden enthusiasm seemed weird to her.

Is kami of shrine! Will hold down fort!

bweh?

[raging-soul-of-fire]

The poros gently headbutt red human! Is silly.

Aura very gently bumps her head against the poros, being mindful of her horns, which was mercifully easier on the small fluffballs.

[paleobird]

Hm. That did not have the desired reaction. They begin to share the one brain cell and begin bringing mama from earth 2 more things! Leaves! Flowers! Insects! Rocks! Are trying to find the thing she likes.

Granted, the blocks do understand the concept of quarries, are baby blocks, have many blocks, but have not figured out that siblings among humans do not need to look similar. After all, poros all mostly look the same.

"Ava, I think they're worshipping me as a goddess and trying to appease me!"

"...I think they're just confused. Guys, you don't need to give her stuff, she's fine!"

"Aw, but Avaaa--"

"I am NOT letting you convince them to make a giant pile of random stuff in the middle of the living room, Ina."

"Aw..."

[guesst]

mairuma roleswap au for the ask game?

okay so i spent a while thinking about who to roleswap n i think. sulli n delkira.

since sulli is missing instead of delkira, maybe poro ends up being the headmaster of babyls while they search for sullivan. the other staff remain the same

delkira is the one to get summoned to take in iruma. when iruma is taken to the demon world he is introduced as "delkira's ward" -- theres something about iruma that made sullivan take him in instead of refusing the suzuki's request as he SHOULD have done, which delkira also sees. maybe theres spmething about iruma that will help them find sullivan

while iruma is still sent to babyls n put in w the misfits the staff r perfectly aware of him being a human. delkira took him in after all, he isnt 'illegal'

sullivan has been trapped and his mana is being siphoned off by the six fingers and kirio when he joins the six fingers.

HOWEVER sulli did manage to put a bit of his mana into the ring of gluttony -- instead of alikred, we have sullikred or whatever. he recognises the mana in kirio's collar as his own n even though sullikred from the ring isnt strong enough to point it out at that time he definitely manages to tell iruma later

sullikred still insists on iruma being his grandson

delkira is v happy to discover sullikred

[snugglyporos]

@darkseraphscorner

The baby blocks are square because they are baby blocks. They stare at the tiny human. Then slowly approach. Are fluffy and soft and warm like other poros. But seem very serious! Perhaps they are merely cautious?

[coablt-and-codys-hoemtuck-blog]

Admins are @cobalt-axolotl and @codyton

All of the characters in the au

Trolls:

Mesony Archit (typheusCulled)

Aktina Tsyncou (typicalGeneric)

Tanngri Pyren (goatedGuardian)

Sleip Caballus (caffinationAddict)

Angil Pandun (timelessCaptain)

Kamain Poro (crocodilianArbiter)

Mazaco Ferthur (cervidCandlebearer)

Eyuma Tyto (grubCollector)

Bastei Mata (tigerTemptress)

Limuli brachyura (complicationTailer) (he he problem sleuth reference)

Kovouri Velona (carcinizedAbhorrent)

Trigo Beyla (totalConspiracist)

Cato Bubal (adrenalineAdelaide)

Mesha Ovisi (goneTrading)

Humans:

Nick

Clover

Adri

Lizz

Andrea

Sam

[hawon-ee]

絵本『おばけのマールとすてきなことば』に登場するアイヌ語｜Ainu words in the Picture Book 'Marl and the Ghost and Some Beautiful Words'

国立アイヌ民族博物館　第６回テーマ展示「ミナ ミナ　おばけのマールとすてきなことば」展｜2024年3月16日（土）から2024年5月12日（日）まで・国立アイヌ民族博物館 ２階 特別展示室

To note: This sheet of paper seems to be guided towards the foreign tourists, as the chart's translations goes in this order: (After Ainu) English, Simplified Chinese, Korean, Japanese.

For the Ainu language, it is categorised as アイヌイタㇰ (Ainu language). The categorisation of each language is done in their own respective language.

I will be only translating to the languages that I know. Unfortunately this means I will not archive the Simplified Chinese translations here. I apologise (I don't know how to write them).

For my own convenience, I will change the order of translation to: Japanese, English, Korean.

Lastly, I will also flip the order of which alphabet of the Ainu language writing system appears, with the Roman letters coming first. This is just because I wrote it down in these letters first, and has no other meaning behind the switch-up. Both are presented in the chart.

apkas ・ アㇷ゚カㇱ・歩く・to walk・걷다

mik mik ・ ミㇰ ミㇰ・ワンワン・woof woof・멍멍

irankarapte ・ イランカラㇷ゚テ・こんにちは・hello (greetings)・안녕하세요

rekte ・ レㇰテ・〜を鳴らす（ムックリなど）・to play (a mukkuri, etc.)・~을 울리다, 소리를 내다 (묵쿠리 등)

poronno ・ ポロンノ・たくさん・many・많이

ku=ewen na ・ クウェン ナ・ごめんなさい・I'm sorry・미안해요

mina ・ ミナ・わらう・to laugh, to smile・웃다

ku=iperusuy ・ クイペルスイ・おなかがすいた・I'm hungry・배고프다

issorore ・ イッソロレ・こんにちは・hello (greetings)・안녕하세요

ikatay ・ イカタイ・こんにちは・hello (greetings)・안녕하세요

inankarapte ・ イナンカラㇷ゚テ・こんにちは・hello (greetings)・안녕하세요

isiorore ・イシオロレ・こんにちは・hello (greetings)・안녕하세요

irankarahte ・ イランカラㇷ゚テ・こんにちは・hello (greetings)・안녕하세요

keraan ・ ケラアン・おいしい・tasty・맛있다

horippa ・ ホリッパ・踊る、踊り・to dance, a dance・춤추다, 춤

rimse ・リㇺセ・踊る、踊り・to dance, a dance・춤추다, 춤

upopo ・ ウポポ・座り歌、歌う、踊る、踊り・a seated song, to sing, to dance, a dance・앉아서 부르는 노래, 노래 하다, 춤추다, 춤

pirka ・ ピㇼカ・よい・to be good, beautiful・훌륭하다, 아름답다

iyayraykere ・ イヤイライケレ・ありがとう・thank you・고마워요

opke ・ オㇷ゚ケ・おならをする・to break wind, fart・방귀를 뀌다

aynu ・アイヌ・人間・human・인간

kotan ・ コタン・むら・village・마을

nupuri ・ ヌプリ・やま・mountain・산

poro ・ ポロ・大きい・big・크다

pet ・ ペッ・かわ・river・강

upas ・ ウパㇱ・ゆき・snow・눈

amam ・アマㇺ・こくもつ・grain・곡물

This was from a sheet of paper given by the Upopoy Museum when visiting in 2024 from march to may for their special event. Every once in a while, they have a specific new theme for their ever-changing spare exhibition room.

If you want the book for Marl the Ghost, it should be available on Amazon as a pdf or as a physical copy. There is a Japanese version and an English version.

Thank you for your attention.

[linklewinklewoman]

Wait! cannot have the fun with the baby birbs just yet! Have remembered what they were so afraid of that made the yellow ring appear! Need the help! Are turning into bad blocks! Mamas are mad at blocks! Need the advice and help from big grandma human and green human! Need help to be good blocks so they can help defend mamas from bad things! Mamas starting to not like blocks! will end up being abandoned in mine shaft in rain if are not good blocks! Are worried!

Listen baby poros. Rogard is wise, yes? Is big protector of the flock and friend of poros. It's impressive, he knows. So you can trust what he says. Are babies, yes? Babies have important job in family. To be the best they can. Your mama might feel sad or be away, but there is a big secret. She feels love always for babies. Just like poros always want to snuggle no matter what. Isn't that true? Poros are snuggly like mamas are loving. Rogard knows. Knew Linkle's mom. Very sweet. Rogard really liked her.

Anyway, how about a promise? Rogard will come with baby blocks to magic mama and birb mama. Will help explain how you feel and will show they still love you forever. Perhaps they will share snacks? Would baby blocks like that?

[songofsilentechoes]

Hm.

How would one handle this with baby humans? Woolbur has not encountered many. So cannot say. But assumes that it simply must be discussed in terms a poro might grasp. Hm...

"I have no idea. I don't really think I'm responsible enough for kids or babies either."

"I can babysit them fine, but my living space was kind of my own so I could have a place to be myself. To recover and recharge. Haven't really had that since the poros took up residence. I can push them on others, but it's a temporary fix at best...and it's been going on for long enough that I can't really rest, knowing it'll be back to chaos soon enough."

"And before you bring up Pebble and Wicht...Pebble is a tiny golem and turns off when I don't activate him with mana. And Wicht doesn't need me to be taking care of her. She's a person, not a pet, and doesn't take up much space."

[risingshine]

Poros have many sources as to why they like big doggo human! Shall bring many paper rectangles with squiggles as proof.

"Daww, thank ya poros~" She will happily accept the squiggles! She can't read them, but it does seem like a lot of reasons! And they get all the snuggles for the squiggles!