#like intelligence or craft or their aggression

[kaythefloppa]

I'm not over this bc imagine if in the Chimpanzee and Me, Chris is the one to invent the Chimpanzee Disc for the Creature Power Suit.

[idwt-money]

I See Through You.

MDNI 18+

3.2k words

Satan!Noah sebastian x Lost soul!Y/n

Christian/Religious themes, Satanic themes, Corruption kink, Mentions of death, Wax play, Oral sex (male and fem rec), Unprotected sex, Squirting, Dirty talk, Mentions of breeding kink

“The Devil is real. And he's not a little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful. Because he's a fallen angel, and he used to be God's favorite.”

—

Noah's pov.

Fuck. It should be ME. I'm the fucking king.

—

Third person's pov.

He had been banished from the holy scene. His mind had been corrupted. He was God's favorite. The closest thing to becoming a god he would have ever gotten. Until…

His mind would run amuck at night. After the sun had set on the sacred land, laying in bed with his brethren just rooms away.

Day after day he had gotten sick of bowing down for the divinity. Growing like a disease. Growing and rooting itself deep within his bones, the veins that allowed his suborn blood to flow. Spreading deepest in the soul his God had granted him eternal life with.

Submitting himself to his almighty had become a tiring, weakening agenda. His hunger for power burned deep within his mind.

His position as the anointed cherub no longer satisfied his starvation for authority.

His attempt at dethroning God led him to be thrown, tossed, banished from the pearly gates every mortal soul had prayed to enter.

—

One of his now ex-brethren, bestowed a script to him. Curled together like an ancient pirate's map. On the scroll before him was one final message to the unholy individual from the Lord.

“Oh, my poor Samael. Where had I gone wrong? Pride, greed, envy. For how could you let them engulf your intelligence? To cause such rebellion? You, a lost soul, can no longer hold a position in my holy land.”

As he finished the script, he felt his soul burn and shrivel into complete nothingness. Nothing but a black void leaving him falling out of the sacred heaven he yearned to be the king of.

Falling through each layer of the Earth, he could feel his skin burning and aching as he did so. He landed in an unbeknownst hole, passing out on impact with rubble and dust falling upon him. On that cursed day, the eternal fire was born.

—

If you are cast out, what's your next move going to be? Will you return cold? Or will you turn up the heat?

Last thing I sold them, had been my dignity. But, the truth is the devil sold his soul to me.

To me.

To ME.

—

Noah's pov.

I had awoken in a displaced land. A funnel shaped cavern. Aggression and insanity ran cold through my veins. An inferno I was placed in.

If I wouldn't have an opportunity to rule the heavenly kingdom, I shall make my own. For lost souls, for sinners and those of who act upon blasphemy. For those who will not succumb to God. I will be the king of the mountain of purgatory.

For I will create a kingdom, not as its jailer, but as its healer. I will heal every soul that is not worthy of being in heaven. I will create an army, one so powerful that it can take down God and his disciples.

—

Third person's pov.

Noah, as he had renamed himself, had spent years stacked upon years building and crafting his domain. A safe place to heal broken souls that were undeserving of heaven.

He had now accumulated centuries worth of individuals who lost their spot in the promised land. They were all dependent on him as their ruler, their king.

He had rediscovered himself. He no longer was a spirit of God, rather the opposite.

He no longer had soft, white, pure feathered wings. Instead his back was adorned with a set of deep black wings. They were covered with coarse fur, rough to the touch. His once dark honey colored eyes were now pitch black. He had grown fangs that looked perfect to sink into a soft, flawless neck.

He had all he could ever imagine…except a love to sit beside his throne, to rule his domain with him.

His heart desired and thirsted for a true love. Although he had millions of souls in his kingdom, he hadn't met a single one that could give him what he needed.

They were all too much like him. He wanted someone he had coax upon him. Someone he could play a game with.

He hadn't taken a leave of absence since the day he decided to create his own space. Maybe it was time to change that. A trip to the mortal world.

—

Y/n's pov.

I sat upon a bench in the midst of a forest, taking in a deep breath of the midnight cool air. I had no place to go.

Parts of my soul, broken and seemingly unfixable. I was cursed to spend my days roaming the Earth as nothing but lonesome in my own purgatory. I would spend my day and night praying, atoning for my sins. Seemingly little, insignificant sins to anyone else were the reason I was stuck in this temporary state.

My Lord had promised if I could atone for my sins, I would be allowed into the promised land. I wanted nothing more, but my Earthborn body had long turned to dust, my hope slowly diminishing.

—

If God came down from his kingdom, he came down from his throne and we asked him if he'd take us back, he would surely tell us no.

We live and die in vain like treasure on a sinking ship. All in the name of a God we'd just abandoned and forget.

—

Third person's pov.

He had his eyes set on her. A lost soul, set in purgatory. Oh, how easy it would be to convince her to bestow her gift upon him.

She seemed perfect. Her skin having a soft glow to it. He knew if an Earth bound body could see her, they too would fall in love with the sight. Her glow gave off as a blue-ish tone, telling him all he needed to know.

As he moved through the trees, he watched as her panic became prominent.

“No one knows I'm here…unless?”

A small glimmer of hope shone through her sadness at the idea that her Lord had finally decided she was able to step foot into the holy divinity.

Her blood ran cold as a jagged finger ran across her skin.

She was so soft, the panic in her eyes set his body on flames. Her pure mind was one he could imagine 100 different ways to ruin.

—

Noah's pov.

“What are you doing out here by yourself, angel?” My voice came out rough and coarse, while hers was much flowy, softer than mine could ever be.

I took a stand of her hair, taking in her delicious scent.

“Wh-wha-! Who are you!?” Her chest was rising and falling like a scared little bunny, her eyes darting back and forth across my features.

“I know you've heard of me. The Prince of Darkness, Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, The Antichrist. Baby, I'm you're one and only-” I was cut off, her screech throwing her into a fit of madness.

“THE DEVIL!?” Her cry must have been heard for miles, to any other lost soul or angel that was Earthbound at the moment.

I pulled her to my chest, covering her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up. I'm here to make a deal.”

A deal with the Devil.

“I see through you, angel. I know exactly what you are. A lost soul, hoping to atone for your sins. Am I close?” I spoke my words slowly and calmly, not needing a miscommunication.

Her head weakly nodded against my heaving chest.

“I'm going to take my hand away, and you're going to let me talk. Do you understand?”

Another nod was given.

Removing my hand oh so cautiously, I let her sit back down, holding my finger up to my mouth, indicating she needed to be quiet.

“He won't let you in there, baby.”

“You don't know that.” Her words flew out of her mouth, cold and harsh.

“Oh, but I do.” My index finger softly gliding down her cheek. She must have been previously crying.

“I was his favorite, you know? I had more power than any other angel. I was second below God himself.” My hands now placed behind my back as I paced back and forth. I didn't miss the way she watched me like a hawk.

“I wanted more. I needed more. He was far too greedy. He casted me out, sending me falling through Earth's layers, down into the deepest parts of the plane. His sacred, holy land was too much to bear. So, I created my own. My own kingdom.” I watched the starry night sky, all the stars twinkling as I explained my story.

Looking down at her, her face was painted with many emotions. Confusion, anger. I smirked to myself, knowing I had her questioning the almighty spirit.

“B-but God is…is good. He's purity and kindness.”

I scoffed.

“Come with me, my sweet angel. Rule with me. You will have power and you can be your own divinity. I can give you everything he could and more.” I whispered the last part into her ear, letting myself smile against her skin.

“Why…why are you beautiful? I thought-”

“Thought I was red? With horns and an outdated tail?” My eyebrows furrowed together as I spoke.

—

I see through you, I know what you are. I see the devil more than I see God.

—

Y/n's pov.

He was beautiful. Gorgeously put together, with a black suit, dress shoes and tattoos staining his skin. He was so enticing.

My head was dizzy and I could feel my core slowly weakening. This was absolute insanity.

I had no idea why I felt the need to say yes to his offer. His words were smooth like fresh honey floating through my ears.

Although tempting, I had to be strong. He could be lying. I had read the bible 5 times before passing to know this is what he does.

He's seducing, he tempts your faith, your religion. He gets in your head. He tempts you with bad decisions. He had powers beyond man. He was the reason Eve sunk her teeth into the forbidden fruit. He was the snake that left hissing in your ears after you had committed a sin.

“Come with me, I can make all your dreams come true, little one. I can make you belong.”

Belong? Your soul ached and yearned to belong somewhere.

“You can give in to your sins, free of guilt. Free of shame. No worries of fear of punishment.” He made a tempting debate.

Is this what you wanted for yourself?

“He'll leave you alone, you won't see him like you'll see me. Is that what you would like? He'll send messengers to talk through. You won't catch even a glimpse of him.”

I couldn't stand the thought. My mouth spoke before my brain could speak.

“Okay. I'll come with you.”

—

Third person's pov.

A sinister smile spread across his lips.

“This will hurt a little.” He muttered as he tilted her head to the side. He sunk his teeth into her neck, covering her mouth as to muffle her cries. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt their minds morphing into one.

Giving her a mark. A mark to tell everyone how easily he had corrupted her mind. How she was now his.

Noah pulled away, licking away the blood that resided on his lips.

As for Y/n, she felt her body burn hot. Aching pain spread through her body, her soft blue glow now turning orange.

She watched as he cleaned up the mess, licking the blood away on her neck.

“Oh, my sweet angel. You've made the right decision.”

—

As the pair now made their way into the kingdom, innumerable souls congratulated their king on his new found love.

They soon after found themselves in the Devil's bedroom. She hadn't taken Satan for one to sleep much.

“It isn't for sleeping, I promise that, baby.” He chuckled at his own comment.

As soon as she took a spot on the bed, covered in soft, red sheets, he was attacking her lips.

—

Y/n's pov.

You weren't complaining. He had promised you an eternal life, free of guilt. What would be the point in worrying about it now.

You let his lips venture your body, his fangs gliding across your skin every once in a while.

He had started leaving purple marks across your neck, close to the freshly marked wound he had given you previously. A way to say you were his.

“Oh, fuck. Baby, I'm going to corrupt your precious little mind. Fill it full with sinful thoughts about me.”

He took your hand, moving it down his shirt, down to where his cock was painfully straining against his pants.

It caused you to ache beneath your own. Your mind went dizzy with the thought of him. He was gorgeous and was about to give you everything you could ever want.

You had taken some initiative and unzipped his pants while he took his tie off, throwing it somewhere unbeknownst to you. He undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt and you, quite frankly, gawked over his body.

He was toned. He had tattoos littering his skin everywhere. His dark eyes watched as you took a long once over of his body.

“Fuck, you're beautiful. Truly.” Your words were quiet, seemingly scared that God would somehow hear or see the activities the two of you were getting up to.

“As are you. You'll be perfect at my side. For the rest of forever.” His hand caressed your face. He did truly find you breathtaking.

Your big doe eyes were something he could find himself staring into forever.

You were now something the holy trinity could never take away from him.

You pulled his pants down, causing his cock to be set free. Something roared in you.

You licked your lips before devouring him.

You swallowed his cock, slowly taking more each time your head bobbed up and down. Soon, he was reaching the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him.

His hands were placed at either side of your hand, using it as leverage to fuck into your throat. You took it so well that he could lose himself in your touch. The way your arms were wrapped around his thighs, helping him go deeper into your throat made him weak and want to crumble.

You felt your cunt wetten for him. The sight of his hair falling out of place and his chest heaving through your teary eyes made you need him. You wanted him to enter your temple and destroy it.

His thrusts became sloppy, faltering here and there. You pulled away from his cock, muttering filthy sins as you stroked him.

“Let me taste you. Give it to me, baby.”

You were forced down onto him once more as he let his seed spray down your throat. Letting it coat your insides felt like bliss.

It was mere seconds before he led you to lay on your back. His hands were clawing and scraping against you, in such need and hurry to remove you of your clothes.

The second your panties hit the floor Noah was nose deep in your pussy, taking in your taste and smell.

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth was left gaped. A hand flew into his hair, pulling and tugging at it, causing his once perfect hair to now be disheveled.

“Oh- oh fuck-” You gasped as he licked and slurped along your clit. No man had ever pleased you as Noah was right now.

He wasn't a man. He was a fucking demon.

His middle and ring finger slid across your wetness before plunging into you.

Something in Noah felt like this is what he had been waiting for. This is what he was made for. He was made for you.

His fingers quickly found the right way to please you. The calloused pads of his fingers rubbing the right spot.

You bit your bottom lip and he somehow knew you were close to toppling over the edge.

“Do it. Let yourself go. Let yourself be mine.” His voice came out as a growl against your cunt as his fingers quickened.

“No- I can't I'm gonna-” You couldn't finish your sentence before your orgasm took over your mind.

Your orgasm left a mess everywhere. You hadn't known until you heard the wet sloshes against Noah's palm.

“Oh my- I've never done that before. How-how did you…?”

“Done what? Squirt? Fuck, angel. I'm Satan himself. Did you doubt me?” He had an shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“Shut the hell up and fuck me.” Something took over you, all you could think about was his cock ramming into you. Destroying every thought you'd ever had of God and those “precious” pearly white gates.

“Look at you, mere moments ago you were trembling with fear. Now you're begging for my fucking cock.” He chuckled and crawled up your body, kissing and licking at your skin.

It didn't take long for him to position your legs over his shoulders, feeling his cock stretch you out as he entered you.

“Your body is a temple. And I'm here to fucking destroy it. I'm here to get in your pretty little head. Corrupt those holy thoughts with distasteful, nasty, sinful thoughts.” His words were venom digging into your brain, making your mind their home.

His thrusts were becoming faster, now that your pussy had gotten used to his size.

He had grabbed a candle that was permanently lit by his bed and watched the wax drip onto your skin. You hissed as each droplet made its spot on your skin.

Slowly but surely, Noah had made an upside down cross upon your stomach. You couldn't care for the dull burn the wax drips had left as they dried.

You could feel Noah's cock pushing its way into your fucking stomach. He was so inhumanly big, you almost forgot where you were and who you were getting fucked by.

Once the wax had set, you pulled Noah into you, clawing your nails deep into his skin. He growled over the feeling of your nails making dents so deep into his immoral skin.

Before you knew it, Noah's shoulders were bleeding and you were both merging into one.

“Noah, please, please harder!” Your words were barely decipherable as your second orgasm was approaching.

“Now. Give it to me now.” His words were enough to send you into a spiral.

As you had your own orgasm, Noah shot hot strings of seed deep into your womb.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna put a baby here one day.” Noah said as he rubbed your stomach.

He took the blood from his bruised shoulder onto his thumb, placing it onto your tongue.

"Forever, we are one."

He finally had a respective queen to be by his side for the rest of eternity.

—

Woke up in the light convinced my life had made it to its end. Burning up beneath the sun, while my father drained of blood.

If he's there, I've got a message for the man that's up above.

Fuck. You.

Taglist: @vinyardmauro @missduffsblog @lma1986 @embracethereaper42 @skulliecadaver-blog @mrscevans @viofcrows @gipsonnikki @philomenie @bloody-delusion-expert @bloodymug @millyhelp @fuckyouimstillstanding @cookiesupplier @concreteangel92 @bruisedleftknee @sprokat @itsafullmoon @darling-millicent-aubrey @eclipseeetop

[thesirencult]

PAC READING: YOUR DIVINE FEMININE'S AURA

Discussing your feminine's general aura and characteristics. Friendly for both men and girls/theys who like girls. You can also pick it to see how your aura is as a feminine ❤️

Book your reading by sending me a private message xoxo S.

Pile 1

7 of pentacles, 8 of pentacles, 10 of swords

Your DF has the aura of a sweet herbal witch. She lives in her little cabin in the woods and like a fairy she works on perfecting her craft. Greens and purples look great on her.

This is a slow and steady energy. This is someone who loves taking their time. She loves learning and implementing her skills. Making coffee becomes a daily ritual and same goes as washing the dishes.

Her attention to detail is immaculate and that can drive you crazy sometimes but you know that with all that good comes some bad. Very well presented, you can take her anywhere and all eyes will be on her. Very earthy, stable and focused on building a foundation for all things practical before she jumps onto commitment.

Her steady "working on myself" attitude stems from getting backstabbed one too many times. She knows that she has to build herself up and after that all her dreams will manifest. She is into self development and may love going through that tag on Tumblr. She may even be a blogger herself.

She is investing in herself and doesn't shy away from learning about accounting or law. Nothing will stand on her way to that cute fairy cottage *aggressive cute walk* 😉.

Pile 2

9 of pentacles, queen of swords, the magician

Whoever has this DF as a counterpart or has that aura, WOW. Miss Independent. A handful. We love seeing that *sprinkle, sprinkle* here. CEO. That's C-Suite energy!

This woman is someone powerful and dominant. Like a race horse you will always bet on because you KNOW, it will always come first 😉 (pun intended). She works very very hard for what she wants and similar to pile 1 she can be in accounting, finance and law. Good with numbers and her hands. I bet she has a dirty sense of humour.

From the first moment you see her you will know she is the real deal. Others blend in the background while she power walks in the room. Penetrating stare and red bottom high heels, her allure is different. She doesn't have to show dominance, others feel that she is the boss. Mami energy. Ferocious when someone comes for her loved ones. She could even be in law enforcement.

Red and brown. Symbolising high energy that's still grounded and serious. Do not cross her.

Pile 3

King Of Swords, Knight Of Wands, Ace Of Swords

Now, this one? A handful ! Try to tie her down. You just can't. A brat.

This person is very fluid. They don't care about terms and conditions. They are highly intelligent and her mind walks a thin line between spirituality and logic. The most unconventional, they will find a solution no one sees yet it's right in front of them. Highly intellectual and well versed in philosophy and math.

This reminds of a movie with James Franco where he played a start up founder who was into spirituality. A crazy genius. A party is a party and they will be there.

Partying in Ibiza? They've done that. Phuket for a Muay Thai Camp? That did that last year! Eiffel tower to try a croissant with pistachio filling? They just got back yesterday and guess what? They hate pistachios.

This person is the type to run a start up company focused on clean energy and when shit hits the fun they will call an astrologer and ask for recommendations. They respect everyone. They will listen to your mom and dad when they talk about their days and take mental notes of great ideas. They know great ideas come from the most unconventional places and fields.

Pile 4

Page Of Cups, Page Of Swords, The Fool (5 Of Swords + 8 Of Swords + 5 Of Pentacles flew out)

This can be my age difference pile. They will run you to the ground lol.

This is someone with lots of mental capacity. You ask them about World War II and they will tell you how Nazis and Churchill used astrology and why the war happened and after 5 hours you will be listening to them about Ancient Mesopotamia. "How did we get here?" You will think.

Well, it doesn't matter cause you love listening to their voice and their warm heartfelt laugh. They look innocent and pure and even if they try to intimidate you you will let them think they can but in reality they look like a cinnamon roll and they are a cinnamon roll. Their life was not the best and they have lots of trust issues. They may look innocent but their eyes hide a painful past. Like a kitten thrown out and left out in the cold they feel lost and unappreciated.

You listening to them means the world and you will be shocked at how appreciative they are and how loving with you. They are very romantic and they may have great expectations and daydreams about their love life.

I get that you might start off as friends and meet in a very random way on a daily run or while getting groceries or a tire changed. You will immediately fall in love with them and they will seem like they don't suspect a thing. Let me tell you, they know, they are just too scared to show their feelings and until you grab them and kiss em you won't know how much passion is brewing underneath this innocent and clever facade. They might turn into pile number 2 in a few years lol.

Ready for everything, you will always be a warm embrace and their home when they come back from exploration. You will love how they yawn while reading a book and how they stretch when they wake up showing revealing their tummy. They are cute to you, even if everyone else sees them differently, that's how you view them. They might be a black mysterious cat but you think of them as a tired little kitten waiting for a safe home that will accept them as they are.

[lullabyes22-blog]

A small detail but I just wanna say I LOVE your food worldbuilding in your fic! I get so hungry reading about the dishes 😭 was there any inspiration behind your thoguts on Zaun crusine or any other fun lore? I was also wondering if you had thoughts on Piltover crusine and how that compares to Zaun.

Thank you so much<3

I actually have a Foodboard on Pinterest for Zaun's decadences and delicacies!

Re: Zaun and Piltover's food-canons...

I'm basing Zaun on a hodgepodge of multicultural meccas like New York, Mexico City, Mumbai, Rio, Tokyo, Seoul, Istanbul, etc. Lots of different histories converging to form a diverse street-food scene where folks eat on-the-go. Given the Fissures began as a mining town, the fare is heavy on greasy proteins and starchy staples to keep the average worker on his feet. At the same time, owing to their proximity to the riverside, Fissurefolk have a taste for the ocean, too.

The end result is a very subterranean and industrial city that's very, very proud of its culinary heritage, even if the "cuisine" itself isn't exactly pretty or refined. There's a certain "ghetto hustle" to it, with scraps taken from wherever it's available, and improvised into something distinctly its own. Plenty of emphasis on cheap shellfish, squid, octopus, shrimp, clams, etc, as they're a hardier food source that can be found in great quantities downriver.

There's also a lack of sunlight, fertile soil, and fresh greens in Zaun. So much of what's grown organically Down-Low is the more straightforward variety of root vegetables, ranging from potatoes, rhizomes, yams, lotus, yucca, sweet potatoes etc. There's also lots of cellars with candle-lit rhubarb, and a very eclectic range of mushroom gardens.

As for meat:

The Deadlands, which are more of a 'wild west' type terrain in the FnF verse, sport a hardy ecosystem of cave-dwelling, marsupial-like creatures I've dubbed Sump-voles. They're furred, and the size of a medium-large housecat. They're extremely agile and intelligent, and able to survive off the sparse vegetation. They're the primary source of food for the folks of the Deadlands.

There's also sump-boars: bristly, foul-tempered, and omnivorous. A bit like wild boar, but larger and more aggressive. Their meat, while rather gamey, is a source of rich protein, and often cured and smoked, or served as a roast during the Equinox Feast as a 'last supper', a chance to indulge in some fatty, delicious pork before the dark winter months of austerity. Their hides are also a valuable commodity and can be tanned and used to craft clothing, their bones ground into powder for fertilizer, and their tusks fashioned into weapons, jewelry, etc.

In Zaun proper, the primary source of meat are sump-rats. For the chem-barons, they are raised in massive, hydroponic-like farms that cultivate the creatures on an industrial scale. For the poor, they're either the unfortunate victims of homesprung traps or the prey of the many, many feral cat colonies. The cats in Zaun are extremely large and muscular, bred to be fierce. They're often mutated and have been spliced with a range of different DNA, from gen-0 to gen-X.

There's no real 'normal' cat, dog, or bird in Zaun; it's a land where everything is a mutant owing to the chemical radiation that pervades every single facet of life, to say nothing of its ambitious history of genetic manipulation.

That goes ditto for the bugs.

Necessity breeds creativity, and Zaun's not averse to a little entomophagy. In fact, the more common, and less-fetishized, way to get one's protein is through the consumption of locusts, beetles, dragonflies etc. These are a mainstay, and you'll see them sold on every corner. They're generally fried, and have a very similar crunch to a fried cricket. There's also cave-wasps: nasty buggers who build their hives in the caverns, and have a sweet, honey-like substance inside their abdomen. It's considered a delicacy, and a luxury item.

The cave-wasps are also a rare species that actually produce honey (similar to the B. Mellifica, or Mexican Honey Wasp) and the honey they store, though it has a much thicker, gel-like consistency, is prized as a source of hydration and energy.

It's also a nifty hallucinogen, and can be mixed into ales, beers, and ciders.

In terms of fixings and flavorings: Zaun is an underground city. That means staples like sugar and spice are at a premium, and either imported from the harbor, or smuggled from Topside. However, Fissurefolk understand the importance of boosting their immunity with the right nutrients, and have a keen interest in herbal remedies. There's a strong apothecary culture in Zaun, ranging from quacks to savants. You'll see plenty of peddlers selling the dried mushrooms, roots, leaves, and other fungi, all of which can be boiled into a tea, or steeped to make a broth.

Two homegrown minerals Zaun prides itself on are its salt deposits and its volcanic rock. Both are extremely potent, and have sparked a range of industries from salt-curing to cosmetic masks. The rock salts are a rich source of iodine, and used to clean wounds. The volcanic rock has a high level of iron, and is ground into powder and mixed into broths to prevent anemia and boost blood flow. There's also a thriving industry for beauty products in Zaun. Because of the constant, humid air that lingers beneath the surface, it's common for folks to break out into acne, boils, or other rashes. The rock salts are a good exfoliant and antiseptic.

Jinx, for instance, has an entire apothecary's chest worth of creams, gels, and tonics she applies whenever she feels a breakout coming on. She's also not above mixing her own blemish cream out of a blend of rock salt, crushed-up coral, and a few drops of oil squeezed from a luminous jellyfish.

Silco, similarly, uses a combination of salt water and crushed-up volcanic rock to exfoliate the calluses on his palms and heels, and soaks once a week in a warm bath of rock salt, mineral oils, and medicinal Shimmer. He swears by the concoction, and considers it the secret to keeping his joints well-lubricated and his reflexes in fighting trim for running from stray bullets.

And Jinx's occasional tantrum-prone grenade.

The Zaunite diet is also very heavy on pickling. It's an excellent way to preserve foods, and a great source of vitamins. Their choices run the gamut from sour pickled cabbage to spicy, chili-garlic fermented fish to lime-spiked octopus. Pickling is a necessity. And, because there's not enough space for farms, livestock, or pasture land, a lot of the food in Zaun is preserved via canning and jar-making. There's a robust canning industry, and a very well-developed glass-blowing and masonry business, lauded for its innovative shapes and designs.

Finally, there's the beverages.

Zaun has a strong history of drinks, from fizzy, chemically-colored sodas to a wide variety of spirits. There's an emphasis on teas, tisanes, and coffees, as the underground water can't be fully filtered, and isn't exactly the cleanest. A cup of hot tea with some lemon and honey is an effective way to keep one's immune system up and running. Zaun is also famous (re: notorious) for coffee that's guaranteed to jolt you wide-awake after a nasty hangover. Their most famous brew is the Wake-Up Call, which is a mix of ground coffee beans, ground cacao beans, ground guarana seeds, a touch of cinnamon, and a dash of powdered cayenne pepper.

It's not for the faint of heart.

The most popular non-alcoholic drink in Zaun is cherry soda, which is basically a cross between Coca-Cola and cherry Dr. Pepper, but brewed with a mixture of fruits, berries, and a healthy dose of cave-wasp honey and citric acid. It's fizzy, and tastes amazing. It's also extremely cheap, owing to the fact that a lot of the fruits and berries are foraged from the caverns, and the honey is, well, free-range.

In terms of alcohol, there's a huge emphasis on beer, wine, and ale, owing to the fact that these can easily be canned and fermented, and can last for long periods of time without refrigeration. Potato beer is an extremely common, and easy-to-consume source of calories. It's light-bodied, and low-alcohol, with a range of styles, from pale-ale, amber, and dark. There's also a huge emphasis on hops and malted barley, as these are cheap to acquire, and readily available belowground.

Zaun's signature drink is made via fermented cavernfruit. It's very hoppy, fruity, and acidic. It's got a high alcohol content and is a great thirst-quencher. Then there's Devilfruit: a deep red liquor made from a blend of various berries, and a texture and viscosity similar to cherry liqueur. It's usually enjoyed neat, but can be mixed with a splash of mineral water, or served over crushed ice. There's also drinks fermented from unusual ingredients such as mushrooms and fungus. One, known as Dungeon's Kiss, is a cloudy, milky white ale made from the sap of a cave-dwelling species of mushroom. It's extremely thick, the color of a pumpkin spice latte, and guaranteed to get you hammered in five sips.

Zaun's drinks are all brewed, bottled, and served locally. They're a point of pride, and a great way for families to earn their fortune. It's a fiercely competitive industry, and there's a lot of inter-clan rivalry.

In the FnF universe, I imagine Piltover has a very different diet than Zaun, given its bucolic setting, proximity to the sea, and the fresh produce, dairy, and livestock they import from all four corners of Runeterra. The food culture is diverse and beautifully artisanal.

There's a bustling farmer's market, lots of bakeries and cheese shops, and plenty of emphasis on freshness, seasonality, and regionalism. There's also a strong tradition of wineries, distilleries, and breweries. As a city of commerce, they also have a robust, and thriving, shipping and distribution industry.

All of this reflects a more rigid hierarchy of social classes that is more centered on the "white plate" aesthetic. It's all high-quality and extremely nutritious, but it's also very…bland and uniform. In Piltover, there's little to no street food culture, and there's a general disdain for the sort of messy, greasy pap that's associated with Zaun. You don't eat with your hands; you use utensils. You don't slurp, slop, or smack your lips.

And you certainly don't lick the sauce off your fingers.

In Piltover, there are very clear rules about dining etiquette, and the "food world" is just another part of the culture around class distinction, refinement, and propriety. However, the rigidity and regimented nature of their meals can be very stifling, especially when compared to the raucous and rollicking culinary culture of Zaun. It's therefore not uncommon for Piltovans to sneak off Down-Low, roll up their sleeves, and enjoy a bit of greasy, sticky-fingered fun.

Most consider it a calorie-loaded, guilt-free "cheat day."

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (IV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here and this is part four 💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Our boy is recovering from Bad Stuff in the Watchtower (involuntarily). Danny gets a bandaid for a variety of wounds that definitely are not covered by a little adhesive bandaid, but hey! Bart’s trying.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Batman clicks on the projector screen. Everyone in the room has access to the slides and note-taking abilities on their tablets. The assembled heroes quietly select their app of choice, sit back in their chairs, and ready themselves for the meeting.

“Good afternoon. For everyone in alternate time zones, good morning or good evening as they apply. Before I begin the approved agenda for this meeting, there are developments on the base that everyone ought to be aware of.”

Click. The slide changes to a fuzzy image of an unusually dense collection of shadows in a typical medical-wing setup. The specific location isn’t clear, but the phenomenon itself is stark against the white walls and flooring. The static on the cameras is atypical for the quality of equipment used on the base.

“There is an extraterrestrial lifeform that has made Medical Wing C their territory. Yes, we know they are there. No, they cannot be moved at this time. Please do not try to take initiative in doing so. Please do not enter the aforementioned medical wing. If you see this entity outside of the medical wing, please leave, ignore them, or otherwise make your presence known. They are generally in search of isolation and seek to remain unseen. All known attempts at self-defense by this entity have been largely non-hostile so far, but we do not know how or if that behavior will change as they heal.”

Batman…takes a breath. Not sighs. The vigilante has more control than that.

“They are severely injured. The exact nature of their injuries are still unknown, based on their—unique physiology—“

Barry squints at the screen. Nope. The cloud still looks like a cloud.

“—But the identified fluids they secrete have been recognized as at least partially composed of red blood platelets and a modified plasma. Based on their aggressive self-defense, the persistent seclusion behavior, and their general lack of responsiveness, the injuries are considered deeply severe and require rest to treat. It is imperative that non-medical staff and on-base heroes maintain as little contact with the entity as possible. We are attempting both delicate medical treatment and non-verbal communication, which have both failed thus far. We have reason to believe that the extraterrestrial is sentient and capable of communication based on—“

Click. The next slide is an image of a nearly-obliterated craft of some kind—tinted glass, wings, debris everywhere, twisted shards of metal that look like they scrape like teeth. Charred black everywhere. Barely visible is a torn–through upholstered seat ten yards away.

A hiss breaks the silence in the back of the room. That’s nasty-looking wreck.

“—This craft. It is relatively rudimentary in its design, and would not have held up to prolonged space travel, but would have required complex intelligence to start and maintain transport. Basic testing has proven that its energy readings, while not precisely contiguous with the Speed Force, show that it has been in contact with extradimensional phenomena. A non-sentient life would not have been able to pilot it successfully enough to crash it—much less to avoid the farmhouse in its path. The result is that we have an extremely wounded entity with no shared form of communication. There have been worrying observations by their medical team, however.”

Click.

This slide is blank.

“We are now pursuing the possibility that the entity has been attacked or otherwise held captive by human organizations here on Earth. There are persistent triggers of aggression brought on by medical settings, adults, and more specifically, any present medical personnel and equipment.”

Batman pauses.

“Their medical team has informed me that their persistent fear has made treatment…difficult.”

There’s a snort from somewhere in the room.

“If you discover any evidence of possible extraterrestrial captivity or torture or experimentation among your usual cast of rogues, please forward everything you are able to base for further investigation. In this time period where the Lanterns are unavailable to return to Earth, Martian Manhunter has been notified of the need of his presence on the base, and will hopefully help settle this matter. In the meantime, as a reminder: do not enter Medical Wing C, do not engage with the entity in any way. Simply make your presence known, and they will flee.

“Now. Onto our agenda. First article: whoever has been taking the toilet paper from the supply closet, stop it. The league is not here to fund your lifestyle habit of two-ply toilet paper.”

*

There’s more food available more often.

It just appears at the foot of his bed. Like magic. Or, like…like a really, really fast human child.

Some of the packaged foods Danny can’t eat without swallowing them whole, wrapper and all. They’re just too fiddly to get with his claws—the solution is to just swallow it and let the whole thing dissolve in whatever weird ecto-acid is churning in his stomach at the moment.

The rest is fresh from the bakery—or, well the base, anyway, however this moon base gets their fresh foods. Muffins and croissants and sausage rolls and other things he would expect to see on a coffee tray or something.

…Danny prods his stomach.

He’s been too sore to notice, but this half-state of being a somewhat-physical half-ghost is super, super weird. He can eat, but it’s not processed like food is in his living body. Everything he can digest just gets incorporated. Everything he can’t just gets…

He looks down at the slowly growing puddle in his bed.

…Maybe ‘spit out’ is too generous a phrase. Expelled? Excreted?

Ew. Okay that thought is kind of gross and he doesn’t want to think about that while he can’t move away maybe.

He knows, instinctually, that he’s wounded, but this half-and-half state stops him from feeling the specifics. Knowing how, exactly, he’s hurt. Experiencing the majority of the pain and distress.

He curls up on his bed.

Danny hates it here. Not because it’s bad (it is) but because he wants to be home. He selfishly, desperately wants to be home. He wants his rocket sheets. He wants his room with its glow in the dark stars.

…He wants his dad to heat up soup and sit with him, like when he was little and had nightmares. He wants Jazz to sit on the edge of his bed and read to him.

Danny wants Mom.

��…There is some other company here, though.

Sometimes, if Danny is mostly sated and kind of sleepy, the quick human buzzes in with a few of its age-mates. The two don’t get as close as the buzzing human can, because Danny can at least read the Excited!! or Nervous!! or Booored! energy on the human, which makes him more comfortable with letting it in close. Its friends seem to respect his space, though. They don’t go past his curtain, even if it’s open. They talk, but they don’t yell.

Danny thinks he’s getting the soft little bones back in one of his ears, but he can’t fully tell. He can hear that they’re chattering and he can hear which sounds they’re making, but he can’t understand any of them.

Auuuuughhhhh. He pushes the pillow more underneath himself. Does he have brain damage?? Is he…is he missing pieces of his brain??

There won’t be a concrete way to tell until he solidifies again. Gross. He doesn’t want to do that yet.

Or soon.

…Or at all, maybe.

Mom was so mad at him. Maybe he’ll be safe and he can come home if she…if he can’t be touched…?

…No. He remembers. Mom makes things for ghosts.

??Concern?Con??cern?

Danny looks up. Oh. He made the human vibrate all nervously. Danny’s fine. Well—he’s not fine but he’s not hurting more than usual or hungry.

The human is careful not to touch him when he doesn’t want to be touched, but Danny’s feeling generous. When the human puts its hands on the bed, Danny willingly brushes his knuckles up against it.

No claws. A peace offering.

The human goes suuuuper still.

…Uh. Did he break it?

And then it zoooooooms away faster than Danny can comprehend (he jolts) and sprints back with a whole lot of stuff in its hands, and a few things thumpthumpthump ono his bed. And.

Well. None of it smells like food? When he bites it, it doesn’t taste like food either. In fact the texture is…

Danny frowns. Turns over the object so he can see it better. (It doesn’t help.) Is that plastic?

Wait. Danny twists it in half. His wrists ache but the pieces rotate.

…It’s a rubric’s cube.

…Huh.

There are other puzzles too—things that taste like plastic and one that tastes like wood, which he might have dented with his teeth by accident. Whoops. Danny puts that one farthest away, in the hopes that he doesn’t accidentally damage it a second time.

…Huh. That’s. That’s nice.

Danny surprises himself and the surprised!surprised! human with a purr.

It’s not a lot. Not even monetarily is this little offering a lot.

But it’s more than Danny’s had in a long time.

[boxboxblog]

General Driving Styles in F1

Taking a break from the driver profiles, this post is a response to a fantastic ask by @mango-yoyo who wanted to know about general driving styles and what conditions/circuits they would suit best. Hope this answers your questions!

So as we all know, each driver has their own unique way of racing in F1. But looking at all the current drivers on the grid it is pretty easy to group them into certain categories, as they all have standout traits they display. Obviously these will be rather basic categories, and drivers can fit into multiple, but I hope you enjoy.

Aggressive

Probably the most obvious category is the aggressive driving style. Drivers who use this style push to the limits, brake late, and accelerate early. These are the guys you see taking the risky dive bomb maneuvers. While this style has a higher rate of mistakes, it can also yield some of the best results. Most WDC's have some degree of aggressive driving in their repertoire, and almost universally it is seen as a positive style. The danger comes when being overly aggressive, and so a balance must be found in order to best capitalize on the strengths. Things go wrong in spectacular ways for aggressive drivers when they get it wrong.

The best circuits that this type of style works at is ones with heavy braking zones and tight corners. Specifically, street circuits seem to suit aggressive driving the best. Monaco and Singapore are always standout performances for the most aggressive drivers, as they require the strong degree of confidence and intensity that aggressive driving has. As for conditions, aggressive drivers shins in wet or mixed conditions, where boldness reaps great rewards.

Drivers: Max Verstappen, Fernando Alonso

2. Smooth and Consistant

A driver with this style prioritizes tire management and a smooth approach to braking zones. They often brake early and accelerate late, allowing gravity and motion to help their car stay steady. This style minimizes unnecessary movement, meaning that they often pull the longest stints during races. This kind of style is positive for these reasons, but the more placid nature of this way means that driver can sacrifice pure speed in order to maintain there smoothness. Also, while consistency wins races so does having a bold move, and so drivers who do not add some aggression can miss out on high finishes.

The best circuits for this style of driving are high-speed ones where handling and tire management are key. Tracks like Silverstone (high speed), and Suzuka (technical) all bend to this style easily. For conditions, due to the way this style manages tires, they have their best results on hot dry days. Aggression on those kinds of days would only make the tires degrade faster.

Drivers: Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris

3. Strategic

This style is noted for the intense intelligence and race craft it necessitates. Drivers who use it tend to avoid unnecessary risk and instead bide their time, planning for the perfect moment before striking. The goal with this strategy is long-term race management, rather than quick overtakes. It shines best when tire management, fuel saving, and pit strategy are all in harmony. The negatives of this style is that sometimes waiting too long means that a driver loses their chance. Drivers who rely too heavily on this style can sometimes lose out on higher finishes when the perfect moment doesn't come to pass in time.

As for circuits, places like Spa are well suited for the strategic driver. The quick weather shifts and changing track conditions at Spa means that thinking ahead and focusing on strategy works out well. Long circuits and ones that require multiple pit stops also seem to work well with the strategic style. For conditions, wet is where this style shines, as a wet race is won almost purely by strategy.

Drivers: Charles Leclerc, Sergio Perez

4. Adaptive

The adaptive driver is highly flexible, with both strategic decisions and responding to their car's behavior. They tend to have multiple options available and adapt well to any conditions. They strike a good balance between aggressive moves and smooth driving, often making them the best of both worlds. Most successful drivers need to be adaptive to some degree. Adaptive drivers tend to be able to bounce between multiple teams with no problem, and if you spot a driver who has driven for many teams with success, they are most likely driving adaptively. The negatives of this style are small, but sometimes overly adaptive drivers can be too flexible and have trouble making a strategic decision before it is too late when they have so many options. They also take a lot of gambles. They must temper their adaptability with aggression and decisiveness to get the best out of this style.

For circuits, ones that tend to be unpredictable, like Interlagos and Baku, are where adaptive drivers shine. Being able to respond quickly to any weather changes or race incidents is how an adaptive driver finds success at these kinds of circuits. In the same vein, adaptive drivers shine in mixed conditions. They use their adaptability to change their driving styles depending on how wet or dry the track gets.

Drivers: Oscar Piastri, Nico Hulkenberg

5. Technical

This style of driving drives races with a technical precision that is almost computer like. They follow the rules to a 'T' and focus on strong race craft, consistency, and feedback from the pit wall. They have a deep understanding of how the car works and often work closely with the engineers on the car's set-up. These drivers make for the best test drivers, as their knowledge helps figure out the intricacies of the car, The negative of this style is that when thinks go awry (as they often do in races) technical drivers can sometimes have difficulty handling it. They do not often do well when frustrated.

Circuits like Barcelona or the Hungaroring, which have many high-speed and medium-speed corners, show off technical driving best. The precise handling technical drivers offer helps them find speed other styles don't have. For conditions, technical drivers thrive when everything is going exactly to plan. If they had trained for a wet race and the race is wet, they are happy. This does not mean that they do poorly in complex conditions, only that they had to have expected the situation to truly excel.

Drivers: George Russell, Valterri Bottas

Alright that is the basic overview of styles. Keep in mind drivers have a combo of multiple different styles and just because their names are under one does not mean that this is the only way they drive. Leclerc, for example, is known for his strategic racing but also pairs it with aggressive moves.

Hope you enjoyed and this satiated any curiosity!

Cheers,

-B

[jellybear455]

let me heal you is one of my fave fics ever!! could i request a dreamwalker!reader x tsu’tey where tsu’tey has to teach reader the ways of the people because if he teaches jake he’ll rip his head off and he develops a major crush on the reader

Thank you for your request! This took me way too long to do for some reason.

Tsu'tey x reader

Warnings: blood, violence, loss

Word count: 3.2k

Part 2

--

Pandora. A planet full of new colours, knowledge and danger. Compared to Earth, it was heaven. Except, you can’t get there by dying. Instead, you must pledge your life force to science. Even then, only incredible luck got me here. Not as much luck as Jake Sully had, though.

The ex-marine, paralysed from the waist down, had a brother. I remember when Tom died. There was no funeral. No one hold funerals anymore. We spent years together, learning about Pandora and preparing to be launched into space. Tom was killed barely a month before we were due to leave. Six years in cyro can’t fix that pain.

Now, I watch Jake Sully, standing in Tom’s tall blue Avatar body, marvelling at the dirt between his toes. Human or not, he looks exactly like his brother.

Today was our first time linking to the artificial Na’vi vessels. The lack of a mask on my face feels strange, but strangely relieving. The Pandora atmosphere, containing curiously higher percentages of carbon dioxide, hydrogen sulfide and xenon, feels different to oxygen, somehow thicker as I breathe it in. It’s almost an out of body experience. I can feel my body, and I know it is mine, but when I look, it feels as though it is someone else’s. But that will go away in time. For now, I will enjoy the new freedoms and sensations that come with the Avatar.

--

The next morning, at 0600 on the dot, I am in my Avatar, and we are soaring above the Pandora jungle. I lean out over the edge of the helicopter beside Jake, who is also in his Avatar. We are zooming low over a huge body of water, accompanied by a flock of purple creatures, that squawk when we get too close.

The air craft rises again, over the trees, before descending onto the forest floor. Immediately, I jump down, ignoring how Jake waved his gun around like an idiot. He pushes ahead of me as the helicopter shuts off, tail whipping my leg. I hissed in annoyance, but followed behind without protesting.

We trepassed through the jungle, and despite the mind-blowing scenery, all I could think about was Pandora’s humanoid inhabitants. The Na’vi. The people we were impersonating with our Avatars. I was fluent in Na’vi, but Doctor Grace liked to tell me that my pronunciation was off. I think she just likes to get on my nerves.

The Na’vi were hunters by nature, and dangerous creatures that could kill you without batting an eye. Or so everyone would have us believe. Doctor Grace says the Na’vi are intelligent, sympathetic creatures, no different from us. Either way, I am certain that they are watching us right now.

Green monkey-like creatures with 6 legs swing through the trees. Jake raises his gun, but I reach out to lower it.

“Prolemuris.” I tell him, watching as they cartwheel away from us. “They are not aggressive.”

“Relax, marine. You’re making me nervous.” Grace says loudly, rolling her eyes and pushing past.

Eventually, Jake keeps walking.

“So,” Norm speaks up after sometime. “How will they know we’re here?”

“I’m sure they’re watching us right now.” Grace replies nonchalantly, echoing my thoughts from earlier.

We emerge from the thick forest and into a clearing. In the centre is a small, rotting, wooden hut. Grace strides in confidently, and the rest of us follow, a little less certain. Inside is the remains of a school. Books, which used to rest neatly on shelves, are scattered across the floor. Most of the desks remain upright, with chairs tucked underneath, but some are upside down and have been strewn across the room.

I watch silently from the door as Doctor Grace trails her hand sadly across a desk. When moves to another part of the room to gather equipment, I approach where she previously stood. Squinting a little, I can make out the rough letters scratched into the desk. ‘Sylwanin’.

“What happened here?” Jake questions, snapping me out of my thoughts. He stands next to an old black board, which is riddled with bullet holes.

Grace inhales sharply, and I watch as she fumbles for an answer. She finally settles on avoiding the question entirely. “Are you gonna help us here? We’ve got a lot to do.”

--

As Doctor Grace and Norm collect samples from a tree root, I wander off into the jungle. I enter another clearing, this time filled with round, spiralling plants. My hand brushes one, and it shrinks back into a little bud on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Jake demands, appearing from behind me.

I can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl. “Watch this.”

When I poke another plant, Jake laughs too. I tough another, then another, and then they all shrink, leaving the clearing empty. My amusement fades away as Jake tenses beside me, and I spot a huge, armoured hammer-headed creature snorting at us from the trees. Jake yanks me behind him, and raises his gun. Fear spikes in my chest.

“Don’t shoot. You’ll only piss it off.” Grace’s voice crackles through the intercom in my ear.

“I think it’s already pissed off.” Jake responds, still pointing his gun at the creature.

“Trust me, Jake. That armour is too thick.” The marine relents, lowering his gun. Grace continues. “It’s a territorial threat display. Don’t run, or he’ll charge.”

“Thank what am I supposed to do, dance with it?”

“Just hold your ground.”

The animal huffs, pawing the ground, before letting out a roar and charging anyway.

“Grace…” I mutter, frozen in fear.

With a scream of his own, Jake ran, headfirst, towards it. My heart skipped at least three beats before the creature skidded to a halt, the webbed fans behind its hammer head spreading in alarm. It slinked away into the forest and Jake whooped in victory.

“Oh yeah! Who’s bad?” He shouted triumphantly. “That’s right. That’s what I’m talking about. Bitch.”

I laughed in relief, turning away from Jake to catch my breath. It did not take long for my blood to turn to ice again.

“That’s right, get your punk ass back to mommy.”

“Jake,” I whispered.

“Yeah, yeah you got nothing! You keep running.”

“Jake!” I hissed, a little louder.

Finally, he turned around. “What?”

The black, slick, panther-like thanator roared threateningly. It loomed above me on the tree, before leaping over us and growling at the pack of hammer heads. Jake raised his gun again in alarm.

“So, uh, what about this one? Run, don’t run?”

I grabbed his arm and pulled him in the other direction. “Run, definitely run!”

Leaping over a tree root, I rushed into the forest, Jake following close behind. I weaved around a tree, then through bamboo looking plants, then under a tree root. Still the thanator roared and crashed behind me. Launching myself off a particularly high rock, I curled my hands around a vine, using the momentum to swing myself up into a tree. The creature raced past, instead favouring Jake, who had taken refuge in the roots of another tree. He fired his gun desperately, but it did nothing to slow his pursuer. I searched my surroundings frantically, looking for someway to help. My eyes landed on the crack in the branch I stood across from.

My hands grappled for another vine, and I swung at the branch, hard. I was rewarded with a sickening crack. Still, the thanator dug at the roots, claws dangerously close to Jake. I swung again, once, twice, three times, until, with particularly loud crack, the branch plummeted to the ground, landing on the thanator’s tail. It screamed out, and Jake scrambled, running into the jungle. I grabbed another vine, sliding down and following after. The thanator kept screaming.

Jake ducked under a root ahead of me. Before I could make it through, the thanator soared over me, grabbing Jake by the backpack and swinging him through the air. He unclipped the back, and went tumbling to the ground. I rushed between the creatures legs as it shook the bag out of its jaws, and pulled him up with one hand. We kept running.

We hurtled through a break in the trees. The little control we had over our Avatar bodies was not enough to stop us as we realised we were fast heading off the edge of a cliff. I scream ripped out of my throat as the thanator snapped its jaws behind us. I crossed my arms over my chest and pushed my legs together. All I could do was hope that there was water beneath us.

My feet hit the rapids first, and the rest of my body followed. I did not have time to swim to the surface for air, because my head struck a rock, and I was rendered unconscious.

--

When I could think clearly again, the first thing I wondered was if I was dead. Then I realised that I certainly wasn’t, because why was my dead spirit being jostled around like a sack of potatoes? I pealed my eyes open, glad the light was not too bright. As it turns out, the person tossing me around was strangely familiar.

“Tom?”

The person looked down at me and grinned. “You’re awake.”

It was Jake, still in Tom’s Avatar. He had one arm under my knees, and the other across my shoulders, carrying me through the jungle. My head throbbed, and when I reached up to touch my forehead, my fingers came back with flakes of dried blood on them.

“How long have I been out?”

“Hours.” Jake said worriedly. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up at all. But hey, look on the bright side.”

He nodded ahead of us. A tall blue Na’vi woman carrying a bow stalked through the trees. She looked back occasionally, as if checking we were still there.

“Is that…”

“Hell yeah it is. She’s taking us back to their village.”

“Oh wow,” I muttered, taking her in. “What’s her name?”

“That’s a good question. I’ll ask.”

He did not get the chance, because his legs came out from under him, and we fell from the particularly high tree branch we had been walking across. I groaned loudly in pain when we hit the ground, unable to move as Jake frantically pulled on the rope around his ankles. As he tossed it away, more Na’vi on 6-legged, horse-like creatures emerged, wielding weapons.

Jake drew his knife, turning to see more Na’vi behind him. I struggled to stand, the pain in my head making me dizzy. I looked up, only to meet the eyes of a Na’vi. He aimed his arrow, no doubt laced with a neurotoxin, at my chest. I raised my hands in fear.

“Calm, people, calm.” The woman that had been leading the forest shouted. Despite being fluent, it took me a moment to translate the words.

The Na’vi pointing the arrow at me lowered his weapon, dismounting his horse thing, and stalking toward the woman.

“What are the doing, Tsu’tey?” The woman asked.

Tsu’tey. His name was Tsu’tey.

“These demons are forbidden here.” Tsu’tey replied.

“There has been a sign.” The woman insists. “This is a matter for the Tsahìk.”

I could not begin to comprehend what that meant, because my legs began to shake uncontrollably, and I fell to the ground again. Tsu’tey stared down at me, before grabbing me roughly under the arms and pulling me up on the horse thing with him, and laying me across his knees. I gasped, the sudden movement amplifying the dizziness in my head. I looked back to see Jake being dragged behind us by the Na’vi on foot.

When the jungle began to thin out, a huge tree came into sight. This was where the Omatikaya clan lived. The tree was at least three times bigger than the tallest tree in the jungle, and Na’vi flowed in and out of the trunk from a cave-sized hole at the base of it.

We rode straight into the hole, and the horse things began to slow down. Tsu’tey dismounted, pulling my down with him. My legs were still weak, but I managed to stand.

“This is so cool,” I whispered, gazing round at the curious eyes of the Na’vi around me.

Tsu’tey gave me a funny look, before ushering me forward through the crowd, that parted like a sea. I could count the four fingers pressing into the skin between my shoulder blades, although his touch was not rough like before. Some of the people whispered among themselves, and others reached out to touch me, darting away quickly, as though my five fingers were contagious. A little girl grabbed some of my hair, forcing me to stop. My hair went past my waist, since I had not had the chance to cut it. I smiled at her, and she giggle shyly, letting go. Tsu’tey pushed my forward.

We came to a stop, and soon Jake was pushed into position beside me. The woman stepped in front of us, talking to an older man with a huge belt across his shoulders. He approached, scanning us critically. I made the gesture the woman had made a few moments before. Three fingers to the forehead, then forward. I see you.

“Why do you bring these demons here?” He questions. The commanding tone, plus the decorations adorning his body. He is Olo'eyktan, the leader of the Omatikaya clan.

“I was going to kill them,” The woman says. “But there was a sign from Eywa.”

That’s the second time she’s mentioned a sign. What does that mean?

“I have said before, no dreamwalker will come here.” The Olo'eyktan booms.

“What’s he saying?” Jake whispers.

“The alien smell fills my nose.”

“You smell bad.” I whisper back, holding in a laugh at the confused expression on his face.

“My father is deciding whether to kill you.” The woman says.

Jake shifts uncomfortably. “Your father. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

He steps forward, offering his hand, and the Na’vi behind him leap to restrain him. I step forward too, quickly shoving Jake’s arm back to his side. The woman shoves him back, and Tsu’tey steps in front of the Olo'eyktan defensively.

“Step back!” Someone calls. “I will look at the aliens.”

A woman descends from a stairway above. She is decorated too, but not as much as the Olo'eyktan.

“That is mother.” The younger woman says. “She is Tsahìk, the one who interprets the will of Eywa.”

“Whose Eywa?” Jake asks.

I groan in annoyance. Can he be anymore oblivious? The Tsahìk circles us, pulling on Jake’s braid and tail, then running a hand through my hair and examining my fingers.

“What are you called?” She asks, her Na’vi accent dripping over the English words.

“Jake Sully.”

“And you?” She looks to me.

“My name is (Name).” I say in Na’vi, gesturing I see you to her as well.

The woman huffs a little, then withdraws a small pointy spike from her necklace. She reaches out suddenly, slicing it across both out faces in one fluid strike. I recoil in shock, then stead myself again. She licks it with her tongue, and her expression immediately changes to one of surprise.

“Why did you come to us?” She questions.

“We came to learn.” Jake replies confidently. I look at him out of the corner of my eye.

“We have tried to teach other Sky People. It is hard to fill a cup that is already full.”

“My cup is empty, trust me.” Jake insists. “Just ask Doctor Augustine, I’m no scientist.”

“Then what are you?”

Jake is silent. “I was a marine-“

“He is a warrior.” I cut in, thinking as quickly as I can with the pounding of my head. “Of the Jarhead clan.”

“A warrior!” Tsu’tey cries. “I could kill him easily.”

“No.” The Olo'eyktan stops him. “This is the first warrior of the Sky People we have seen. We need to learn more about him.”

“My daughter, you will teach him our way.” The Tsahìk says.

“Why me? Why not Tsu’tey?” The other woman hisses.

Her mother’s lips twist a little. “They will likely kill each other before the day is out. It is decided. My daughter will teach you our ways, Jakesully.” She approaches me again.

“What about her?” Jake asks, gesturing to me.

Yeah, what about me? Butterflies flap in my stomach. What if she kicks me out? I’m not a warrior. I am a scientist.

“That depends. Are you a warrior?”

“No…” I say. “But I can learn, too.”

The Tsahìk cocks her head. “Why should I believe you?”

“She is a warrior.” Jake cut in. “Just a different kind.”

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Saving your ass.” He mutters back. “She came here to save her people down on Earth. She will learn, trust me.”

It is silent, as the woman before me contemplates what to do. “Tsu’tey, you will teach this one.”

Tsu’tey growled. “But-“

“You will learn, child, or you will leave. Now go.” Tsahìk waved her hands. “You must begin immediately.”

With a hiss, Tsu’tey stalked toward me, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me through the crowd. I stumbled on my own feet, struggling to keep up with his pace.

“Why are we in such a rush?” I huffed in annoyance when we had ascended to a higher, less crowded level of the tree.

“What is rush?” Tsu’tey asks, still leading me through the village.

“Um, to do something quickly, I guess.”

We stop at large hut. As we go inside, I take in the three women sitting in the corner, and the piles of bowls containing brightly coloured pastes around them. The rest of the floor is covered with woven mats.

“This is the healing hut.” Tsu’tey says.

10 minutes later, we emerge again. The wound on my head is clean and covered with a patch. The healers had retrieved a few garments of Na’vi clothing. A cloth top winds around my back, across my chest and loops around my neck. A second, much smaller cloth dangles between my legs, held up by a strap that curves above my hips. It definitely covers the extremities, but not as much as I’d like. I suppose this is a part of the learning.

Again, Tsu’tey grabs my arm, leading me further up and into a large communal level. In the centre is a bonfire, and Na’vi circle it, all crouched on their hunches. We walk right through the crowd and sit at the front. Tsu’tey hands me a rolled up leaf. Upon opening it, I pick up one of the contents. It is a beetle shaped thing. Tsu’tey crunches on his own, so I follow suit. Its hard on the outside, but soft and smooth in the middle. It kind of tastes like chicken soup, just… solid.

Beside me, the woman from the forest pushes Jake down to sit.

“Hey,” He says to me.

“Hi.” I wave back, munching on a beetle thing.

Jake talks to the woman, who eventually introduces herself as Neytiri. Tsu’tey hasn’t said a word to me since we left the healers.

“So, Tsu’tey, what is this stuff?”

“Teylu. You call…” Tsu’tey pauses to search for the words. “Beetle. Larvae.”

“Oh.”

[violet-moonstone]

HTTYD Sibling/Family Relationships

Some things I wish we got more of in the franchise are A) family relationships, and B) other young people in Berk who are older or younger than the main 6 riders and Gustav.

We didn't, so here's my headcanons.

First one isn't very original because in the books Snotlout and Hiccup are related and Snotlout says he's "next in line" in THW but I would love it if Spitelout and Stoick were canonically brothers (or brothers-in-law!!!), making Hiccup and Snotlout cousins too. I want Hiccup and Snotlout, despite being only-children, to have grown up like brothers who can't stand each other. Before the events of HTTYD, Snotlout teases Hiccup about how he'll usurp him, but when Hiccup trains Toothless, the rivalry becomes even worse, as Snotlout finds himself in second place - this already happens to a certain extent in RoB/DoB, but now it's more pronounced. Them improving their relationship and avoiding the pitfalls of Stoick and Spitelout's rivalry is even more meaningful. Also as we know from comments Snotlout has made about sewing, his mother is a sweet lady who teaches her son crafts. Too good for Spitelout, tbh. Would be nice if she were also a fierce fighter who is super good at sewing too.

Fishlegs is a very protective older brother to a younger sister who is similarly sensitive and sweet. He, however, stops being sweet the second anyone poses emotional or physical danger to her. He loves taking her flying on Meatlug when she's still too small for her own dragon, and he's always teaching her dragon facts. I think his parents are very sweet as well. His mom is a super tall and busty Viking lady very while his dad is smaller. They're both sheep and yak farmers and not really the warrior type. Fishlegs got his love of animals from growing up on a farm.

Astrid is the youngest of at least 3 older siblings (either brothers or sisters, doesn't matter) who are all very accomplished. Each excels in either strength, intelligence, or stealth, but they're all pretty brave fighters in general. (I'm thinking she has at least one brother who is very strong but not super bright - big himbo energy. Ruffnut probably has a crush on him, and it creeps Astrid out). As the youngest, Astrid feels like she has to live up to and exceed all of their abilities. She also *hates* being the baby of the family, which is why she's so aggressive. One of her parents is doting (probably does something in crafting) while the other is very intense (a warrior).

Ruffnut and Tuffnut are the middle siblings of a huge-ass family and have lots of extended family as well. Literally everyone in their family is chaotic as hell in their own unique, Thorston way. They do everything from farming, fishing, smithing, fighting, etc, because there are so many of them. Berk is already a small community, and it's very common to have at least one Thorston relative somewhere in your family. Eventually, they have to identify Thorstons by jobs, landmarks, or well-known events (Those are the Baker Thorstons, or the Cliffside Thorstons, or the Thorstons-that-Ruined-Snoggletog, etc.)

[horoscope1078]

Kenan Yildiz ???

Kenan 🥰

Sun in Taurus, Kenan's core self is steady and grounded. He’s probably super determined and values comfort; both in life and on the pitch. A Taurus sun often has a love for the finer things, so he might enjoy the perks of being a professional athlete.

With his moon in Pisces, Kenan is likely very intuitive and sensitive. He might feel the emotions of those around him deeply, which can help him connect with teammates and fans. This placement often brings a creative flair, so he might have an artistic side too.

Kenan's Mercury in Aries means he communicates directly and confidently. He likely thinks on his feet and isn’t afraid to express his ideas quickly. This can be a real asset in high-pressure situations on the field.

His Venus in Taurus emphasises loyalty and a love for stability in relationships. Kenan probably appreciates beauty and comfort, which can reflect in his style and the way he interacts with his loved ones.

With Mars in Pisces, Kenan might approach his goals with a blend of intuition and compassion. He might not be the most aggressive player, but he can be creative in his play style, using his instincts to navigate challenges.

Jupiter in Libra suggests that Kenan finds growth and luck through partnerships and teamwork. He might thrive in collaborative environments but may also reassess his beliefs about fairness and balance in his life.

Saturn in Cancer indicates that Kenan values security and may have a strong sense of duty towards his family. He might work hard to create a safe space for himself and others.

Uranus in Pisces, this placement brings an element of innovation and unpredictability. Kenan could have a unique approach to his craft, often surprising others with his techniques and insights.

Neptune in Aquarius suggests a visionary mindset. Kenan might be drawn to progressive ideas and could have dreams of making a difference, whether on or off the field.

With Pluto in Sagittarius, Kenan may undergo transformations in his beliefs and worldview throughout his life. This retrograde position can make him introspective about his journey and growth.

The North Node in Aries suggests Kenan is meant to embrace independence and assertiveness in this lifetime. He may need to work on being more self-reliant and bold in pursuing his goals.

Lilith in Leo brings a flair for drama and creativity. Kenan might have a strong desire to express himself and be recognised for his talents, which can translate into his performance on the field.

Chiron in Aquarius indicates that Kenan might carry wounds related to belonging or individuality. However, this placement also suggests that he has the potential to heal himself and others through community and innovation.

Kenan Yildiz has a mix of creativity and sensitivity. He’s charming and has a great eye for fashion, with a natural artistic flair. His personality is unique and independent, but he can sometimes be a bit overly empathetic or prone to escaping reality. Emotionally, he’s stable and charismatic, but deep feelings can sometimes complicate his relationships. He’s practical but also has a strong imaginative side, especially when it comes to art and communication.

He is someone who can easily connect with others, though he might be influenced by outside opinions. He has a strong and sometimes intense personality, though he might not always be aware of how he’s coming across. In his career, there could be moments of instability, but he has the drive and energy to push through and succeed. He’s intelligent and open to growth, but struggles with staying focused and can sometimes doubt himself.

Kenan Yildiz is deeply empathetic, but he needs to watch out for being taken advantage of and could struggle with avoiding reality at times. He can be very determined, though this sometimes leads to unintentionally influencing others. He might have trouble with memory and understanding emotions, which can lead to confusion or self-deception. Big life changes could push him toward personal growth, even if it feels challenging. He craves independence, but often finds it hard to focus on his true priorities, feeling torn between following his own path and dealing with life's hurdles.

[delta-orionis]

Wait so what’s SOMA? You like it a lot apparently

SOMA is a 2015 sci-fi horror game from Frictional Games, the same studio responsible for the Amnesia games.

I think SOMA is ideally experienced blind, but in the least-spoilery terms I can think of: it explores themes of existentialism, transhumanism, consciousness, artificial intelligence, and identity.

The story does a very good job of presenting the player with what basically boil down to existentialist thought experiments. You meet lots of different characters who all have wildly different philosophical opinions and views, and none of them are explicitly stated to be correct; the game encourages the player to come to their own conclusions.

In mildly-spoilery terms: You play as Simon Jarrett, a man who was recently in a car accident that killed his friend and left him with a traumatic brain injury. One day he gets an experimental brain scan to supposedly help aid in his treatment, but after the scan he wakes up in a dark, abandoned underwater research facility that appears to be filled with aggressive robots that believe themselves to be human. The story revolves around Simon learning how he got there, what happened to the facility and its inhabitants, and potentially finding a way out. (This is all stuff that’s revealed in the first hour or so of the game, it gets wilder from there)

That’s my pitch for the game, basically. If that sounds interesting to you I highly recommend giving it a try. If you’re like me and hate horror games, the game also has a Safe Mode which tones down a lot of the scares and makes the gameplay easier. (Some people argue that this basically turns the game into a walking sim, but I personally think the game’s story is well crafted enough to give the game merit even if it’s less scary in safe mode.)

And if you still don’t want to play it yourself, there’s tons of playthroughs on YouTube. I feel like different streamers and YouTubers have different perspectives on the game’s moral dilemmas, and it’s interesting to compare and contrast their opinions.

(I know a lot of my posts have been rain world themed lately, but before that this blog was primarily a soma blog, lol. It’s still one of my favorite games ever. I have two whole sideblogs dedicated to it, even.)

[goodluckclove]

An Open Letter to a Professional Author

I came across a writer here who I imagine will probably never see this, but their presence was enough to make me pretty mad for two days now. I've decided to pen a little statement to this Long-Term, Professional, Full-Time, Published Author who makes a habit out of being deeply unpleasant in a way that apparently has only attracted an audience of other deeply unpleasant people.

People here seem to like it when I get mad. So, uh, enjoy?

Dear Professional Author,

I came across a post of yours on some feed here the other day and enjoyed your commentary. It was one of those writing memes that sort of called attention to actually writing as opposed to just thinking about your project - the kind that people usually respond to with some sort of joke expressing their repulsion at the concept.

You responded with distaste and I generally agreed. The tone was a little aggressive for me, but that kind of humor also leaves me generally confused. I personally ended up concluding that the self-deprecating humor was a coping mechanism for a larger issue that keeps these people from writing - intimidation, lack of confidence, physical or mental pain, things like that. You seemed to think it was a matter of will, which I found to be an approach that at the very least was well-intentioned.

Turns out it wasn't.

First off, I should say that this isn't about your political beliefs. Your political beliefs that are really more like general human beliefs. I don't want to get into that. Instead, I just want to talk about your writing. You are a full-time, published author, as you say in nearly post where you talk about writing. A major point of pride to you seems to be the fact that you are traditionally published. Any other method doesn't seem to be as legitimate to you. That's interesting to me.

You also don't seem to have much of an audience outside of people who mainly come to agree with your politics. I didn't really see a single positive interaction between you and another writer on here for as much as I was willing to scroll through your blog. That's also interesting to me.

I didn't spent too much time on your blog once I realized that you were definitely not the kind of person I would ever want any interaction with. What I did want to do is use your presence indirectly to prove a point that I've been wanting to get into for some time now.

To put it simply, I'll say this: a career in professional writing is not actually as cool or important as you might think it is.

Now I'll be direct and say that I've never been traditionally published for anything longer than a short story or long-term, unpaid column. You don't give any details on any of your writing, as far as I've seen (Once again - interesting!), so there's a chance you've made more in contracts and royalties than I have. But I'm a working writer. I've had a career in ghostwriting and technical writing. I've written and produced plays that have been featured in festivals in multiple states. I'm not speaking from a place of no experience, is what I mean to say.

What I also mean to say is that - while I view writing in many ways as a spiritual and healing act that I couldn't live without - it's also a job. It's not always exciting, and even when it is exciting it's only exciting to me. I consider the best date night to be when my wife works on video game development while I write my draft. I leave the house on a regular basis, but it's mainly to go to different places to write.

In short - I love to write, but I don't think it makes me cool. Or interesting. Or valuable. Or intelligent. Or just generally fun to be around and talk to. These are things I strive to cultivate in other aspects of the way I live and grow as a human being on this planet.

Being a Professional Author in one particular genre doesn't give you authority over the craft as a whole. You can't just throw yourself into conversations and start with I'm a published writer and assume that means you have the final say on any discussion. Believe it or not, in many cases it does not matter.

Lots of people are published traditionally, and it does prove some level of validity in their line of work. But there are a huge variety of people in the world of trad pub. There are people who write books in genres that don't apply to writers here. There are people who write books that aren't very good. There are even people who write trad pub books that are very good, but their careers are sullied by the fact that the authors themselves are not good people.

Being a successful writer does not mean you're a good person. Being a writer at all does not mean you are a good person. I believe in Death of the Author to an extent, but when that author insists on making a presence on a public website and doling out advice and opinions to other writers the lines start to blur considerably.

Writing is a job. You work it over a period of time and learn skills and strategies that work for you. The same applies to virtually every other job, including ones that society views as less romantic as something in the arts. Can you imagine me breaking into your home while you're making lunch and telling you how to arrange your cheese slices based on what I know as a full-time, professional sandwich artist at Subway? You might be interested based on leaning something you didn't know about a place you might've eaten at before. But that does not entitle me to your respect on its own.

I am not entitled to your respect based on how well I learned how to make a sandwich based on my hypothetical career at Subway. Just as I don't deserve it solely because I know two card tricks, can get out a variety of stains, read most of the works of the major beatniks, can make a really good carbonara, or any other specific about my life that ultimately does not play a huge part in who I am as a person.

When I am on my death bed, I hope to god the core of my character was not the fact that I typed stories from my brain until I got carpal tunnel. If my obituary begins and ends at "writer", no matter how positive the qualifier is before that, it will be the greatest failure of my life.

Because I am a writer. But that does not matter. It does not matter if you're a writer. It can be fun and enjoyable if you are, even better if you make a living at it, but it doesn't mean you'll be happy. It doesn't mean people will like you or perceive you to be the leader and teacher you might think you are. It certainly doesn't give you a free pass to throw cruelty at strangers for truly no real reason.

Professional Author, you had a chance to raise up the next generation of an industry I assume you must value. You're choosing not to, and that's fine. You don't have the obligation to. You do have the choice to not get involved and pretend to give advice that ranges from vague to untrue. You seem to be taking that responsibility very seriously.

It's like some twist on crab mentality, where instead of dragging crabs trying to escape the bucket you're swiping at anyone who tries to crawl in with you. Then, as they struggle, you're looking down at them and making comments on how easy it is to get in the bucket, if you only just do it and maybe read some books.

To all of us, I say this: question authority, even in the arts. Especially in the arts. Nobody knows as much as they say. That includes me, but I do know this - any branch of publishing feels really good. It's scary but it's fun. If you're traditional published or indie published or self published, it says nothing about how good your book is or how good you are as a writer or how valuable you are as a human being.

Don't be this lonely bucket crab. They seem mean and I'm tired of talking about them.

Best Regards,

Clove

[inkedwingss]

Thoughts on creating as someone who doesn't paint anymore

I could say the process of creating usually starts from an observation or a feeling from reality (mine or not), so we have mainly characters or human situations that provoke a reaction – which moves me. It could also be a need to protest against something I find unbereable or the need to hold an immense and especial moment captive; the former in fiction, the latter mostly for poetry.

But when I start to write, I also shift into this commitment, passion, or duty to the words and to the text itself. This is never manifested before, only through the writing; the literature, the langue becomes bigger and demanding. The portrayal should be self-sufficient, the intelligence of the reader and their particular perspective, respected. Even honoured, I would say, by giving them something true and raw, where they can explore, think, and feel by themselves (if that makes sense).

When I write, I see myself in the same place I used to be in my old atelier: surrounded by alchemical glass jars and suspicious mediums, be the lovely stink of turpentine, while I hold three or four brushes in one hand. Spots of self-made oil paint everywhere (even on my cigarette). Detached from time and space. Swimming through layers, layers, layers. Carefully adding a sparkle (a small word), by the corner, delighting in the contour, in the process of weaving the meaning, and connecting them. Painting aggressively, or really fast, just to step back and wait until I know it was time to go for the delicate, intricate work.

It was a portal that I would open, back in those nights, to meet the Ineffable. The expression was not mine, I was only a vessel willing to go through the pain and joys of labour. Giving light, giving life, what a humbling task! The craft is pleasure, even through possible moments of discomfort – you can't live without it. Writing is like that for me.

After spending almost ten years in a full block, I just hope that in the same way writing came back, one day, painting also will; and my my arms will be open, I promise.

[thriplerex]

Hermit Craft Rising AU: RD-82g "Cyberdog"

“Greetings, warmbloods. I’m off to sharpen my bones now.”

RD-82g, later known as the Cyberdog, is a quadrupedal, canine-like autonomous robot with a highly advanced, nearly free-thinking AI only restrained by the programming locks of Sahara. During its trial phase, it developed an unusual flair for dramatic theatrics and frequent philosophical tendencies but remained no less lethal in its intended purpose as a hyper-intelligent combat prototype. Despite repeated testing, it proved to lack much desire for actual combat with living beings despite its potential for such: instead of hurling rocket grenades, it preferred to hurl insults and exchange dramatically aggressive banter with its targets, much to Travis’s chagrin. He re-assigned it to the other Terraformers instead, who mistreated the Cyberdog with threats of memory wipes and activation of receptors that simulated pain (the latter of which did not actually exist in its systems.)

In the events of Rising, Impulse encountered it in the breakaway state of Perimeter and defeated it in combat. Finding its vocalizations amusing, though, he salvaged what was left of the Cyberdog and had ConCorp release its programming locks. After its acquisition and being rebuilt by ConCorp, it finally had the chance to exercise true free will and banter without fear of repercussions, although much of what it theatrically vocalizes remains vaguely threatening despite its intentions.

Age: 3 (since construction) Hometown: N/A, but constructed at an undisclosed facility in Canada Signature weapon: A retractable whip-pickaxe made of classified material, prominently showcasing a shimmering resonant blade. Reports have noted that it can split a semitrailer clean in two.

Greetings, cyberdog(s) and citizens of the interwebs! How could I not make the Ren-diggity-dog into the robotic canine? A few liberties were taken with the original Blade Wolf design to bring it into the context of HCR: I swapped out the chainsaw for a diamond pickaxe-like weapon and redesigned the head to incorporate Ren's signature diamond sunglasses and make it more "dog" than "wolf." Finally, I ditched the blades and other pointy bits to give the "Cyberdog" a somewhat more organic look.

Theme: V.S. the “Cyberdog” (I'm My Own Master Now - Instrumental)

Hermit Craft Rising AU Masterpost

Art by Winter

[hologramcowboy]

You said in your Jane Eyre answer that Jensen has an “emotional depth” but I am mostly if not only see emotional immaturity. The way he talks about being a father, comparing hos feeling for his own kids, rolling eyes to Elta and mostly the fact he is still with her in this f-ed up marriage… I like her and big SupNat fan (1-5season) but I think his emotional intelligence is not good. I would love to hear your opinion on that.

Thank you for the great question, anon. To answer it, I must make a clarification: I was referring to Jensen's acting strictly. While playing Dean Winchester, Jensen has proven emotional depth. Meaning he is an actor that can access deep emotional states. Does he use that ability? Often not, especially nowadays. As for real life, he does come off tone deaf on a lot of topics and he definitely doesn't exercise emotional intelligence when it comes to his audience and the way he portrays himself. He hides behind a carefully crafted persona but due to conflicting feelings he ends up coming off as passive-aggressive towards his own family. He seems to be in the dark about his own self. I hope he finds happiness, in whatever form that may come in. An actor's real-life persona can be extremely different from his celebrity persona as well as from his acting persona. Some of the shittiest people on this earth are some of the most talented actors who are also revered because people don't know their real life personalities. My point is, don't mistake someone's real life personality for their acting range. As humans we can explore many depths of our psyche, we just have to be willing to do the inner work required. The stage or the set are often cathartic to actors precisely because they get to play out aspects of themselves they don't get to express in real life. Someone completely shy and reserved could be a firebomb on set just as someone extremely charismatic in real life might not translate well on screen and come off as unlikeable. It all depends on how the camera sees you and what type of inner work you've done. Some people pierce the screen and then seem completely anonymous when you met them in real life, to the point where you fail to recognize them. Jensen belongs to that kind of category of actor, as far as I'm concerned. Meaning that his onscreen charisma and flair have zero to do with his presence in real life and that his magnetism does not translate in person. It's definitely a case of the camera adding a new dimension to his overall look. That's just my opinion, of course, and I am strictly viewing him through an acting lens. They say Marilyn Monroe could turn off her charisma and become anonymous when she wanted, she had full control of her presence as a performer and actor. That was a result of years of study, years during which she developed a persona that to this day fascinates. Jensen didn't study much as an actor so whatever charisma the camera gives him fades away as soon as the cameras stop rolling. That's because as an actor you have to develop your charisma, culture has a lot to do with it but so do many other things an actor can pick up. People superficially view Jensen as "hot" and know nothing about him beyond that and that's because he has no branding. The persona he's developed is entirely superficial. I would really LOVE to see him embody that iconic man he sometimes brings to life on screen. There is no one who believes more in his potential but all of my believing has to be matched by profound inner work on his side.

[doodlebob54]

I felt like shearing more info about the sea critters au, bc im bored, so here it goes

Mintiy, she is based on a killer whale and has an extremely playful nature. She comes from Arctic Waters and got separated from her family when she got captured by earth dwellers. She isn't very fond of them as they caused her to lose her family. (Mintiy belongs to @marbarmars )

Sasha, unlike their land counterparts, Sasha doesn't have coloured hair nor a skeletal arm they are a fighter fish with a missing eye using keelp as a bandage and mistaking playfulness with needless aggressiveness, they can also be extremely territorial at time to time. But extremely welcoming to those they meet outside of their territory.

Fawful, he is a leopard seal that was brought to the warmer waters via boat as a group of fishermen caught him, and he escaped but got trapped in the warmer environment and doesn't know how to get back, he made his glasses out broken bottoms of bottles and sea weed tieing them together, he may look adorable but he did eat an penguin once, he is extremely intelligent but also curious which got him chased by dark star.

Dark Star is a great withe shark that dwells near underwater caves. He is extremely aggressive and predatory around any living thing he enjoys eating other mer people and can smell blood from 400 miles, which is really impressive he doesn't go out of his territory for too long, so no other creature steals it he also heavily avoid ls kelp forests .

Bean Star, she is a sea horse with beautiful yellow and green patterns. Her domain is the kelp forest, and she is very nurturing and kind to other mer people. She is always up for helping those in need by providing a safe home and a lot of food for anyone who gets here. She created a safe bubble around the forest, keeping those who would harm others outside of it

Naspi, he is, like Sasha, a fighter fish, but he is more chill than them. He takes a great interest in human stuff, especially hippie themed ones. He takes refuge near the docs, where he has access to all the garbage people throw at the ocean. He crafts his own custom jewellery made from fishing net, sea glass, and plastic. His plant powers are only limited to plant life in the ocean. (Naspi belongs to @parmsnik )

Ben, he is a captain on a battle ship sent to concure the port by his Queens orders (i changed the status of Elder princess Shroob). Unfortunately, he fell in love with a siren (aka Sasha) and had a half blooded kid with them, and now he is afraid of confrontation from his leader. (Ben belongs to @aliencatwafers )

Peasley owns a hunting ship, as he hunts down mer people for their skin, blubber, or even meat. Despite his charisma and cute appearance, he is a complete sadist as he takes great joy in capturing the sea critters.

Rallye, she is the daughter of a sea critter and a captain, she being half blooded allows her to be a great swimmer and a diver as her anatomy is similar to the one of an amphibian

[evartandadam]

Im creating an original character to pair with Sasori, please tell me a list of personality traits that he’d like! :)

There’s canon Sasori and younger, human Sasori, and they are different in terms of challenge. I will go with canon Sasori (the 35 year old puppet version) for now, and I can give details on his younger self if that is the one you’re interested in.

Canon Sasori basically requires someone who can’t die LOL. Someone who is immune to poisons, or is somehow his worst type of opponent in battle. He needs to respect this person’s strength. He looks down on humans and thinks he is better than them. So this oc must be strong as a ninja (he has zero interest in normal people), and also must be brilliant in a craft of some kind, and be able to challenge his dominance in conversation.

Someone with a personality like Deidara’s, however, is too neurotic and poking, and will end up killed by Sasori 😂 Sasori would value someone with a consistent, logical way of thinking. So not too over the top- someone with a pleasant, calming presence, who still holds their ground. If the character is too aggressive or childish, he will not be interested in them.

Sasori must also feel safe with this person, and Sasori’s trust must be earned. His whole life, he was alone, and raised to kill. He will need to know this character means him no harm, or he won’t go near them.

Sasori in canon is pretty much asexual, but he could possibly be interested in a physical relationship ONLY after creating a bond with someone. He is demisexual for sure. He would be attracted to the mind and capacity to appreciate art, especially his own. A physical relationship is possible, and could be close to a normal one or not, depending on your hcs for his body. But he will always prefer giving to receiving.

The only way to woo Sasori is to coax him into seeking your oc’s affection through words of affirmation and appreciation for his work. It also helps if he needs them for something.

An example scenario is your oc is a target for him and he is surprised to find his attempt didn’t work for some reason. Another would be he needs your oc for information, and the character entices him with words over time. It doesn’t matter if your oc is beautiful physically- he will only appreciate it if he’s already obsessed.

Most importantly, no matter what, this character must get past the phase where he wants them as a puppet. This person must mean more to him alive than dead.

This is very hard, and he is by no means easy 😂 He is one of the most psychopathic characters in the show, so it would take a lot for him to care.

So basically: strong, level-headed, intelligent, good at conversation. Sasori appreciates sarcasm as well, so if your oc can make him chuckle like an old man does, that’s good too! Resilience and unbridled optimism are sort of required to seek Sasori, because he’s clueless. The character will get along with him more if they allow him to dominate them after a bit of a “fight”. Emotional intelligence is also a good perk.

Reminder you can write your oc in whatever way brings you joy, these are simply things I’ve thought of over the years! Thank you!