#mechanical seal price

[swordsandholly]

def need more ditzy reader with mechanic 141- the only thing that tops my love for military men is blue collar boys <333

make sure to take care of yourself tho lovie!! don’t burn urself out :))

I for sure want to write more of her. Hopefully after this insane week at work I’ll be able to really sit down and crank out some writing. For now I’m battling my way through Ch 3 of Across the Way

But pls enjoy this little not proofread experimental snippet I wrote for ditzy reader

“Look.” Your landlord sighs loudly. Like you’re the one inconveniencing him. “I’ll send someone out.”

“That’s what you said two days ago! And three days before that!” You stomp your foot at no one just to get some of the anger out.

“I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

“Why can’t you-“ The line cuts before you can finish. The jerk hung up on you! What the hell!

You pout, plopping down into your desk chair and sighing. What are you supposed to do? You’re not allowed to call a handyman according to the lease and you don’t have a boyfriend right now. You can’t keep washing pans in the bathroom. It’s gross.

You huff.

“Alright?” Simon asks and you whirl in your chair. How does he walk so quietly?

“Yeah…” You pout harder under his steady gaze, slipping down further into the chair.

“You’re a terrible liar, luv.” His eyes crinkle in corners with a smile.

“Well…” You shrug, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. “My kitchen sink has been broken for a whole week and the landlord won’t do anything about it! I called and called and he just keeps saying he’ll send someone and then doesn’t!” Your voice pitches at the end, real annoyance bleeding through into the edges of your words. You fist your hands in your skirt.

“That’s all?” He raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just ask one of us?”

You blink twice, staring up at him. Your face heats and you look away bashfully - not wanting to admit you didn’t think to ask for their help. Stupid. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

“I’ll come by after work.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I’ll be there.” He nods before marching back into the garage. You just blink after him as he goes.

True to his word, Simon shows up at your door with a massive tool box in hand. Really, he still can’t believe you live in such a shit complex. Price pays you well enough. The locks might as well be paper-mache. Simon lowers his mask before knocking. He trusts you with his face - hell you probably forget it every time you look away - but he also wants you to trust him too. For whatever reason.

You’re staring when you open the door. Big doe eyes looking up at him and blinking slowly. He wonders what goes on behind those blank eyes of yours - if it’s nothing at all or such a chaotic dialogue that you can’t process it enough to pay attention.

All or nothing.

“Gonna let me in, doll?” He asks. You startle, not realizing how intensely you zoned out.

“Oh! Yes!” You jump out of the way, letting him into your small studio apartment. Every time he thinks your shorts can’t get smaller he’s proven wrong.

Simon takes a look around, huffing at the net full of stuffies hanging on the wall. Everything about your home is soft - soft colors, soft fabrics. It smells like vanilla, just like you always do when you come into the shop. His eyes lock briefly on a well-loved sewing machine covered in stickers with a project still under the needle. You must have been working on it before he got here.

Did you mean to leave your bra hanging on the back of that chair right by the kitchen? Lacy and lilac. He’ll have to remember that for some other time. Maybe your birthday.

“Let’s ‘ave a look.” He sighs, knees popping as he crouches in front of the sink. It’s a fucking mess, that’s for sure. At least you figured out how to turn the water off.

“Pipe’s busted.” He says. “I can seal it but it’ll take a sec.”

“Okay.” You murmur.

Simon sighs as he turns onto his back to get a better look. He doesn’t miss the way you stare blatantly at his midsection as his shirt rides up. He might adjust some to expose just a bit more.

You really are the least subtle thing in the planet, aren’t you?

“Can you come hold the light f’me, luv?” He points to the toolbox.

“This one?” You ask, as if it isn’t the only flashlight in the box.

“Yeah.”

“Like this?”

“Yup.” At first he expects you to sit silently so he can concentrate, but he quickly realizes that was far too presumptuous.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Si?” You ask quietly.

He huffs. “No.”

“Oh.” You chew your lip. “You seem like the kind of guy that would.”

Simon has never heard a bigger misread in his damn life but he’ll take it as a compliment, he supposes. “Why do you ask?”

“Cause this is boyfriend work and you’re good at it.”

Simon tries to see your logic - he really does - but he just has no clue how those things are even remotely related. Sure, guys fix things for their girlfriends but calling it ‘boyfriend work’ when anybody with two cents could do it is a bit silly. More than, if he’s honest. He just grunts in response, at a total loss for how to respond.

Simon looks down at you. The way you kneel as your cleaving spills out of your tiny tank top - one of many you insist on wearing so often. He can give into temptation just a little bit, right? “Gonna need you to get closer, doll.”

“Oh!” You scoot forward until your knees brush his side. So ready to listen. Cute.

“Can you lean in a bit?”

“Like this?” You lean forward, chest pressing against him while your hand splays over his midsection for balance. Fucking hell.

“Perfect. Good girl.”

It’s bold and a bit uncoordinated even for him. Something Johnny would try. The purposeful choice of words seems to go right over your head. Instead you blush and smile, shifting your hips just a bit. Your chest pushes further into him. So soft.

Fuck.

You’ll be the death of him. Thank god you’re too unobservant to notice that he’s rock fucking hard.

He’s already done with the sink by the time of this little exchange, but he pretends to tighten some useless bolts anyway just to keep you against him a little longer before shooing you away. It’s cute, the way you scramble to get out of the way. Simon turns the water back on before standing, and gesturing toward the sink.

“Give it a try, luv.”

A little furrow forms in your brow as you step forward to turn it on, crouching and standing to make sure the leak has stopped. You turn the faucet off and whip your head around with a grin.

He’s pretty sure you burst an eardrum with the pitch of the squeal you let out, bouncing over and tightly wrapping your arms around his waist. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“It’s no pro-“ he cuts off as you push up onto your tip toes and press a kiss to his cheek. He can’t help but bark out a laugh. Little minx.

“Oh, I got some lipstick-“ You reach up to smudge it off but he bats your hand away. He’ll wear it back to the garage and show off the kiss he got. Johnny’s going to absolutely fume.

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Krill's Story I

a/n: I have... not much to say, although you should read the warnings. But I need you guys to know that this is 7.666 words long. I didn't make it this way intentionally, but if that isn't devilish, I don't know what is :')

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Nothing explicit yet just drug-induced neediness and description of a cock doing what a cock does, Size... adoration, Begging), Violence (Thrashing, Breaking of bones, fighting machines, Verbal threats, mention of medical tools, syringes), Getting drugged non-consensually, Description of being drugged up, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Mention of Slavery, Mention of Abuse, Depiction of spoiled Food and Seal Meat, Very long post

"It truly is an impressive recovery of such a valuable resource! Being able to compare the exact date from years ago with now makes for a great opportunity in our research, and now we have two of them! This is your chance to recover from your mistakes all those years ago!"

With pep in his step, your supervisor led you through the long, cagey hallway of the facility, making it almost hard to follow him with all the enthusiasm he was displaying. You, on the other hand, felt nothing but dread as you held onto the notes you had been giving about your new project, almost feeling scared to glance at the papers.

You already knew what they'd say. The mistakes they'd speak of.

Because you were already familiar with the mermen, who had recently been caught by the facility. You freed them all those years ago out of shame and sympathy. And you paid the price, your unpaid labor bordering on slavery. Your choice had been death or continuing their research, and after looking down a gun barrel once, you decided to invest in your studies instead, the company willing to further your education and allow you to continue testing and working with the poor creatures they kept here—albeit with supervision.

"Talent like yours shouldn't be wasted," your supervisor recited the words of the facility owner, but they sounded like a warning coming from him rather than encouragement. 

When he finally stopped at the door farthest down the corridor, you were appalled to see the number on it, finding it less than funny that they'd assigned the same room from years ago as your new laboratory again. All these little digs they made at you never let you forget that they were still angry about what you did to sabotage the facility—as if you could ever. These digs were just there to make you miserable and establish who your life belonged to. You were replaceable, but you wouldn't get out of this alive. If you wanted to survive and have even the slightest chance of escaping this place of horrors one day, you'd have to obey. 

"So do better this time," your supervisor said, smiling down at you smugly as he pushed the door open, the heavy metals screeching with cold, metal bitterness. Bastard, you thought, walking inside the laboratory. The grate floor spread above the large pool beneath your feet throughout the whole room, making your steps audible as you entered. The water was calm, undisturbed—suspicious.

"Oh, also, this one's been really angry ever since we brought him in. Better not let your head get bitten off! Would be a waste. You're too pretty to be a corpse just yet."

You whipped around with a glare, but all you saw was the smug grin on your supervisor's face before he shut the door with a loud bang. A mechanical lock slid into place with a whirring sound before everything became quiet around you. It was strange that they'd leave you here alone after what you did, but then again, there was no way you'd be able to recreate the mistakes you made. Even though you'd never receive any respect or sympathy from anyone in this cursed place, you couldn't help but stare at the metal door, plastered with warnings and reminders to leave equipment in the laboratory before leaving, wishing it would open again and let you out of here.

But that wouldn't happen.

It was ironic that they'd leave you alone with the merman you helped escape before, but the only way out was that door, and it needed a passcode to leave. One you didn't have. You'd eat, sleep, and work as they intended; there was no escaping this, even if the hope never left you. They didn't think you'd make it out alive unless they let you. Much less would you be able to help anyone escape again. Slowly, you turned forward, raising your head to look at the workstation on the opposite side of the room. You couldn't help from glancing downwards every few steps; caution was the only thing that kept you alive in this place.

But even as you made your way over to the station, your shadow undoubtedly making your presence known to the water, everything remained calm. The sound of machines running, keeping the pool intact, and the water bubbling from the pump were all that matched the sounds of your steps and breaths. For a "really angry" merman, this was suspicious. He must have known you were here, yet neither came to watch nor to attack you? You sighed inwardly, thinking about how much of a hassle it would be to actually get him to your examination area if you couldn't fish him out of the pool.

Once you reached the counters with the equipment, you set down the papers you had been given, spreading them out to scan over them. Even if you didn't want to interact again with these pitiful yet obscenely fascinating creatures, you knew that without any results from experimenting on them, you'd be stuck here for all eternity. The expectations were high that you'd find what everyone was looking for, even though the experiments were nothing short of cruel and disgusting. Drugs, surgery while awake, mutilations—those were just a few things you had watched the researchers do to these creatures. And for what? 

Eternal life. 

A fantasy.

How did you know? You were the one finding out that even if their life expectancy was closer to that of turtles, even the merfolks would die one day from old age. There was no such thing as living forever with the help of a mermaid's flesh, tears, or blood, and researching them brought forth interesting facts but not the results that this facility had been constructed for.

And yet, here you were, doing as you were told, trying to find anything that would be deemed interesting enough. 

You heard a splash behind you, making you whip around, trying to make out a sign of life. Even though the floor was raised a few meters above the surface and the partition was closed so nothing could fall in or jump out of the water, it was still unsettling to hear but never see the creature you were locked up with. You knew better than to show fear openly to apex predators like the mermaids, but it had been so long since they let you near one that you could feel its presence—or the lack thereof—frightening you to the bone.

But you had to keep going, no matter what. Turning back to your papers, you spread them out with shaky hands, scanning over the information the first-contact team had collected. A large species, presumably orca-related, male, mature, and chipped. The last fact had been underlined twice, emphasizing the importance of it. This merman had already been in the facility, and they tracked it back to when you had been foolish enough to think you could save them. It had been years. Yet he and another one, as you heard through the grapevine, had come back against any better judgment, making you wonder about the intelligence you knew these creatures possessed.

However, no matter how much information you could absorb through the notes, you knew you were only stalling time. The next step would be getting this creature out of the pool and proceeding with your experiments, but the fear made you hesitate. This merman had been starving for a week in preparation for his exams, and although hunger wasn't a good state for anyone to be in, it was thought it might help to be the one feeding them when you needed their cooperation. Like you'd do with an animal. Unfortunately, they were too clever to fall for these ruses most of the time.

You still had to try. 

Picking up some gloves, you went to the extensive double-doored fridge, pulling out the trays with seal meat on them. However, someone placed dead fish-heads between the pieces in varying states of decay. You took a deep breath, unwilling to give spoiled meat to the creature, even though you'd have to rely on it if you wanted to get anywhere. Picking out a slab of seal meat on the furthest corner of the tray, you just hoped it was mostly uncontaminated as you carried it over to the buttons that would part the floor into an opening from which the merman could be caught. 

You hated pushing these buttons, everything reminding you of the biggest mistake of your life. Sure, you saved three mermen from this cruelty, but look what your efforts got you. 2 of them came back, and you were nothing more than a slave. Nothing turned out to be as heroic as in the books you read.

The metal grated against itself as it parted wide enough to allow feeding. Smaller species could have stuck an arm through the gap, but you knew from the past that it didn't work for any of the large specimens. At least that meant you were safe from an attack for now, though it was debatable how long. The meat sunk further and further down into the blue, but nothing happened. You leaned forward over the gap in anticipation, waiting for any kind of appearance in the wet. However, when the water finally stirred, causing slight waves to appear, it wasn't a shadow that moved through it, and neither did it give any mind to the food. 

You jumped back in surprise, your body hitting the wall next to the buttons, when fingers lurched out of the water, gripping the ends of the partition and pushing them apart. Water splashed everywhere as the merman tried to widen the gap. The metal resisted initially, but even such a strong material bound to an even stronger machine relented under constant pressure. 

As the cool water hit your face, you finally snapped out from the shock, slamming your hand down on the buttons that would close the floor and set the machines into motion to work against the abnormal strength of a merman. The two forces rung with each other for a few seconds before the machine finally did its thing and closed the gap, but it felt like minutes of struggling, of holding your breath in anticipation. 

The merman held onto the metal for as long as possible, and you listened to the gut-wrenching sound of something breaking before he finally let go, the splashing of water dying down. The floor never fully closed, leaving a small gap not even your hand would fit through. Still, you were unsure if the merman succeeded in the end by breaking the mechanical device or if it had been his fingers that broke from the pressure. You wished you didn't have to find out. 

Sinking to your bottom, you took deep breaths, calming yourself. Heart racing and head spinning from the lack of a constant airflow, you watched the water, terror, and anticipation mingling. If the floor broke, it would at least delay your second encounter with this creature for a while. But if not, you'd have given it one more reason to be angry. You watched as his dark shadow—no, body moved through the water, his movements agitated, restless. All you felt was misery, knowing you were causing this distress to him again.

You still had no clue which one of the three it was, although the body was too large to be the smallest of the three "Lyr". Due to the experiments, he had lost a significant amount of body weight and muscles, as well as his mental stability. They would have put him down had you not freed them, as he became a risk quickly. You thought you were doing them a favor by saving them, but you had no idea if Lyr ever made it out in the wild. Judging by the quick thinking and the strength of the orca roaming below you, it was more likely to be either "Nerrocan" or "Krill". Their names were burned into your mind like silent reminders of your biggest mistake and greatest accomplishment alike. 

But the secret was quickly revealed when the merman finally seemed to calm down, swimming out into the back of the room for a moment and giving you time to collect yourself, too. You were still sitting on your ass, none the wiser, when you noticed black and white hairs emerging from further down the pool, slowly, cautiously drifting back towards you. As if on the prowl.

Surely he was waiting for another chance to wreck the floor open and try to escape. There was no reason for this creature not to be out to harm you, and you were such an easy prey, caught in this room with him. Your death wouldn't be mourned, but you also couldn't help pitying this merman, not knowing that your death would probably be his, too. Soldiers wouldn't hesitate to shoot something that was stronger, more deadly, and had too much freedom if they had to, even if it was a valuable species to study. You wondered which merman it was, and feeling a little safer with the floor closed, you leaned forward, trying to make it out.

The most brilliant of red spied out of the water the moment you looked down at it. Unmistakably, like polished rubies, these eyes followed your every move. You watched your own muscles tense and the horror in your expression as you realized which of the three mermen it was before you saw your own gaze fill with sadness in his eyes.

Krill.

The reason you risked everything.

His brows furrowed, then lifted as if surprised, too, although his body stayed submerged, tense and ready to act. There was no way he'd remember you, was there? Despite your doubts, you raised a hand, giving him a silly little wave before addressing him directly. 

"Hello… again."

He said nothing, and you realized he must have forgotten you. It was better that way for now… even if it stung after all you did to help him. 

Holding onto the wall, you got back on your feet, not wanting to be such an easy target and so close to him. He could try something again, and you'd be at a disadvantage if you couldn't even walk. "I'm sure it's uncomfortable, but I need you out of the water for a while. You remember it, right?"

You held your palm above the button that would activate The Fisher, a machine that could detect and catch unwilling mermaids by itself. But you were still close to the opening, so any reassurance from the merman would have been nice to have.

"Go ahead, open that gate again. See where that gets you," Krill threatened, and you believed him. His brows furrowed, teeth gnashing as his anger returned, and you had to realize that he was no longer like the sweet merman you once cared for. Sure, he had been drugged and broken into submission back then, but he had still treated you somewhat kindly, gifting you rocks and following you around the enclosure like a lost puppy. If you didn't know it better, you two had been somewhat close back then, having come to an understanding despite your differences. That was not the case anymore, you could see it.

"You'll see, I'll get out of here, and you'll regret capturing me again."

That hurt. It hadn't been your choice. If it had been your choice, you'd have helped all those poor souls confined inside this facility, making sure that neither merfolk nor humans suffered the consequences of the greed of some rich people. But you had no choice in this matter. You never had. 

Pressing the button, you stepped aside so The Fisher could do its wonder. You didn't want to, but you had to. Didn't want to put him through the same torture again at your hands. But Krill had been foolish enough to get captured again, and you were foolish enough to still hold on to the hope that you could make a change in your life if you obeyed. This time, the machine parting the floor stuttered, and although The Fisher descended from the ceiling, it couldn't open. 

"You are a fool if you think you can capture me with that. Force me to play your little games again, Human!"

Even though you tried to ignore him, it was hard when Krill paced around the opening, taunting you. You had to watch the machines work and fail as the floor was stuck. The Fisher was unable to move as it detected the closed floor, and you wondered how you would proceed if the location became unsuitable to work with. 

With a loud crash, Krill threw himself against the floor, and you gasped as a wave of cold water splashed over you. As you sputtered, you heard the floor grating, the sound painful to both of you, evident by Krill trying to escape it by dropping below the water. But with the sudden opening appearing, the metal claws of The Fisher snapped forward, scanning and detecting where they had to go. 

Until you saw it with your own eyes, you could have never believed such a flimsy-looking machine could restrain the apex predator of the sea, effortlessly capturing him by his wrist, neck, and the space between his fin and tail. Sure, he could throw his weight around despite being restricted, but there was little he could do to hurt you unless he broke free. However, no mermaid ever broke free from The Fisher in your years of working here. It was that effective.

You watched as The Fischer pulled Krill out of the water, shiny droplets of wet falling off of him, elevating every muscle, every toned ab on his belly. He was glistening in the unnatural lightening of the laboratory like a precious gem, and your heart clenched with sadness, knowing there was nothing you could do for this beautiful creature. You had to cover your ears as he began shrieking and cursing, most of it in a language that you never bothered to learn as you'd be incapable of ever speaking it. Siren was more of a singing rather than talking in the first place, and though you liked to sing to yourself, you'd never learn it on a level that could match the skill that his language required.

As you watched him, the first thing you noticed was his size. He had grown, although the rough weight and measurements would be taken by the machine holding him in place. The time in the ocean seemed to have done wonders for him. His fins were intact, and the tag on his tail was blinking despite being such an old model. Since then, there must have been at least seven upgrades over the years, and you'd be responsible for changing it eventually.

Once he was dragged onto the research area, he finally seemed to calm down a little, although he glared at you, fury revealing in his eyes. The Fischer restricted his head movement, but his willpower remained. "You are truly the worst," he sneered. "First, you let us go, then you capture us again. What do you think we are? Your little playthings? Is it fun to mangle us? You enjoy this?"

Testing his strength against the shackles, Krill twisted and turned in the hold, but you tried not to give his words too much attention. He was different from how he was years ago, and you had to say goodbye to the semi-good relationship you two had before, the precious image you had held onto of him. Both of you were fighting for survival, as pitiful as it was, and you had a crapload of tests to run before they'd let you get away from him and pity his fate and yourself. 

With new-found confidence as you watched him rendered immobilized, you returned to the fridge, luckily not encountering any more poor attempts at making life hard for you as you opened the drawers full of tranquilizers. There was yet one to be found that could entirely knock out these creatures, but they had a significant calming effect. And—as you hoped—pain-relieving. Because there were a lot of things you had to do to him that wouldn't be easy for both of you. 

Gathering the tranquilizer shots, various test tubes, tools, and your to-do list on a tray, you carried it over to a table closer to him, taking deep breaths to brace yourself. You were tense, your fingers growing numb from anxiety. You had been assigned to the labs for most of the years, rarely encountering a merman again after what you did. And although you trained for this, the thoughts of hurting him were twisting your stomach. 

"You might think it's fun for us humans, but I wonder what you were thinking coming back here. Maybe you enjoyed the treatment more than you let on, hm?"

Your voice was feeble, even when you tried to act superior. Bantering wouldn't magically develop a relationship between you two, but you couldn't endure the silence when no one spoke. It felt wrong—like he was going to attack you again any second. You needed to keep yourself anchored to reality, or you might have fainted. After everything you went through, you couldn't remember the confidence you had to allow yourself to do something as drastic as release three orcas from a highly secured facility like this. A shame, really. You deserved confidence as you were one of the best, after all. 

Even if you couldn't let him know, you still felt anxious about something happening. You returned to the original counters, providing you with everything you needed, put on new gloves after wiping your still-wet face from being splashed with a towel, and proceeded with a mask and apron to achieve even the smallest amount of cleanliness. You'd be unable not to hurt him at the end of this session, but you at least wanted to avoid him dying from sepsis as well as getting his blood all over yourself. 

"I do not," he snapped, watching as you prepared everything, seemingly having given up fighting the machine but not you. "I came back for Nerrocan."

"Huh…" you mumbled, intrigued by this information. So it was Nerrocan who came back here, not Lyr. Interesting. "Risking it all for your cousin?" you asked, and his eyes narrowed.

"I see you still remember us," he snarled, his lips parting in a cocky grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. Krill looked… uncomfortable almost. You couldn't blame him. This all must have been beyond uncomfortable for the merman. 

"And you, me."

Silence befell you two again as you picked up the tranquilizer, wrapping your hand around the container, surprised when you realized what you were doing. It had been so long that you thought you wouldn't remember your old habits. You used to always warm the drugs so they wouldn't be so bitterly cold when applied on the mermaids. 

Krill flapped his fin despite being restricted, and you looked up at him, catching a glimpse of worry as he looked at the syringe in your hand. "Ran out of the good stuff, eh? I remember it being purple, not that icky color," he mocked, but he didn't sound as confident anymore as he was before. 

"Should have come earlier if you wanted that. I heard this one has interesting side-effects when applied."

Rounding the table, you noticed his fin flap again pitifully, almost making you hesitate. He seemed nervous, muscles spasming in the tension of his restrictions. Stepping up to his hips, you felt his eyes follow your every step, almost making you feel reminiscent of the past. You took the integrated step upwards at the side of the research station, effectively standing above him now to see better. Everything was perfectly laid out so that your work could be done effectively. That's how you had to see it, too. This was work, nothing personal.

"You don't have to do this," Krill suddenly said, unusually calm but determined. "You're not a bad person, you saved us before."

This time, you did look directly at him, giving him your full attention for a few seconds of silence. His gaze didn't waver, didn't move away. He meant what he said. At least, that's what you were supposed to believe. Sirens were prone to lying to get what they wanted, and Krill did not want the drug in your hands, warmed up by your palm wrapped around it. But it wouldn't stop you. You gulped, inhaling deeply. It couldn't stop you.

"And now I have to save myself. Please hold still so I don't hurt you."

Diverting your attention back to his hips, you drove your hands along the slick surface of his body, trying to find any space capable of being squeezed. He jerked once when you touched him, trying to get away but ultimately pressing his hips up into your palm. Eventually, you found a soft spot, pinching the skin between your fingers. Krill shuddered, his body twisting, but The Fischer kept it in place. You'd be safe, even if you hated yourself for doing what you had to. 

The syringe punctured his flesh with only a bit of resistance, and you injected the liquid tranquilizer quickly, stepping away when you were done to watch what would happen. The medication used to be a fickle thing, sometimes agitating, sometimes drugging the mermaids out of their minds. But it usually took a while before it worked. Not this version, though. So many things changed since the last time you worked with the mermaids. But it was cruel all the same.

You listened to Krill groan in pain and relief at the same time. Pressure built, his body twisting and arching, with his spine bending uncomfortably for you as the drug spread throughout him before every muscle seemed to suddenly give out, relaxing him completely and making his body sack in his holds almost lifelessly. Worried, you stepped closer, searching for a pulse. It wasn't for another half a minute before you noticed the even rise and fall of his chest, his gills flaring even though he wasn't using them. The seemingly calm state of the merman made you bolder, although the fear of him faking something never subsided. You walked up to his face, staring into the clouded rubies of his eyes, surprised to find them moving around still, searching for something or someone, despite being slower, less alert than before. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, unsure if he could even hear you, but you felt terrible seeing what you did to him. Even if he was a creature that wouldn't hesitate to kill you, he didn't deserve to go through what the facility wanted him to. Reaching up, you brushed the hair out of his face, the strands gently gliding through your fingers without any resistance, almost as if they were a liquid defying all the physics you knew. 

Even after all this time, you remembered he used to have longer hair. It used to float above the water, coating it in strings of glossy silk. But now he sported a wolf cut that fitted him just as well. Part of his hair had turned white, with only the top remaining in the same black you were used to. You wondered if it was because of the experiments or just a natural change of color over the years when his head suddenly turned, his cheek feeling heavy as he rested it in your palm. Krill seemed as unaware of his actions as he should be after being forced into surrender by the drug, but it seemed to make the forgotten part of him that felt safe with you submerge again, the feeling almost the same as from the past. You quickly caught yourself falling back into thoughts of things long gone and got to work, cutting off both black and white strands with small scissors, hoping it wouldn't suddenly agitate him. But Krill remained unresponsive, and you pushed away your guilt to quickly store your samples.

Focusing your mind on your work, as there was so much to do, and you didn't want him to recover his strength before you had completed most of the preparations you had to make. You measured and cut down his claws, trying your best not to cause any harm to him and quickly storing the talons for further research. The size of his hands was massive, and you marveled at their humanness for a moment, driving your finger gently over the ridges and joints. Unfortunately, as expected, some of his fingertips were broken, smashed by the struggle with the floor grates. You wanted to clean and wrap them securely. But when Krill let out a long sigh, sounding almost pained just by your touching his hands, you immediately stopped, fearing his wrath upon regaining mobility.

You did further measurements on smaller areas like his hands and fins, everything that could be deducted more thoroughly by hand than by machine. Every time you came around to his head, you looked into his eyes, the guilt threatening to wash over you when they locked with yours, steadfast despite him being out of it, so you quickly moved on. 

While you were at it, you connected his chip to a reader, interested in the data that could be found on it, and removed the jewelry that hung from his body. It would only be a hindrance to your experiments, and perhaps remnants on the metal could determine where the merman was originally from. However, the weight of some of the decorations he had prided himself with—like his necklace of teeth—weighed so much that you needed to drag them over the floor, wondering how this could be efficient for a predator.

"So far, so good," you mumbled as you let the program run its course, wiping off some sweat from your forehead with your sleeve and looking at the situation for a moment. It had been too long, you couldn't really remember the exact procedure to which you should have stuck, but instead of giving your to-do list the attention to find out, your eyes fixated on something else—scars. Albeit not uncommon, there were a lot more now than you remembered, and you raised a hand to his tail, sliding your fingers over the scarred tissue, putting slight pressure on it.

Krill's body jerked immediately, and you jumped back from him, observing the merman. His head rolled forward in the restraints, tired eyes searching for you but unable to focus. 

"Not there… touch..." His speech was slurred, another effect of the new drug, but you couldn't help but smile faintly at him, seeing how he still resisted. 

"I need to count them," you explained, hoping it would soothe his mind. If he could understand it. You couldn't be sure it had any effect, but if you were in his position, you would have wanted to be told what was going on, you thought. "It won't hurt, I promise."

Measuring tape in hand, you placed your clipboard with an empty page on top of his body, moving from his fin slowly upwards and jotting down your findings. There were a lot of prominent scars standing out from his body markings, but even more smaller ones barely visible. It felt quite intimate to search his body so thoroughly, but it had to be done. Krill moved pitifully against and into your touch as if unsure where to go and unable to understand what was happening. Even if it made you lose your balance a few times, you let him, feeling bad for all you were doing. It was the slightest bit of freedom you could give him without risking your own head.

By the time you reached his chest, some clarity had returned to his eyes, and he couldn't control the sounds coming from him. You tried not to agitate him with pressure and touch, but you had to do your work. An arrangement of chirps and sighs, some grunts, and nervous jittering rang out, echoing through the rooms. Deep breaths pushed his chest out, and sighs bordering on moans shivered through his whole body. But you were content as long as he didn't throw his weight around and push you off the step and into your medical equipment. 

"Must you be so thorough," he slurred as you examined his chest, following the curve of his pectoral muscles with your fingers. You looked up at him, his head crooked to the side, still too heavy to hold up on his own despite the metal neck brace, but his eyes were clearer now, following you more intensely. 

"I have to, I'm sorry. I don't want it to be uncomfortable, but I have to document them."

Writing down your finds on your clipboard, you must have pressed it down a bit too hard on his chest because Krill's head fell back, a long groan escaping him, back arching again. "Sorry…" you repeated, the guilt beginning to eat you up, but he only rolled his head in the restraint. 

"No…" he muttered. "Not uncomfortable... I feel weird. It's hot. Make it stop."

You were unsure what to do, but there were only a few more scars before you'd have to move on to his arms and, eventually, his backside. You wanted to at least get the chest ones down before you would have to give him another shot of tranquilizer, as Krill was growing more restless every time you touched him. You wished the examination could have stopped there. That you could have released him and put him back into the cold wet, but you needed to finish this. Even when he started gnashing his teeth and twisting in his restraints again.

"What are you doing?!" he suddenly snapped, much more coherent than before, his head jerking forward, ruby-red eyes glowering at you. You tried not to let it get to you, tried to make it quick so he wouldn't have to suffer, but Krill wouldn't let it go. 

"Stop it!" he demanded as you inspected another small scar around his nipple. It was barely visible against the lighter-toned skin there, but you found it, grazing over the nub a few times while working out the details of the scar you needed. Krill was getting more aggressive with his protests, lashing out at you while many different kinds of sounds escaped him, and it was almost amusing to think that it was because of your touch. You couldn't help spreading your palm over his nipple once, letting the elastic of your gloves weigh down and rub over it, causing every muscle in his body to harden instantly. You shouldn't have abused this situation like this, but seeing him react so sharply, his breath coming out in a drawn-out hiss, was somewhat a relief. Knowing it wasn't all terrible, all cruel and painful. But you caught a grip on yourself quickly, working efficiently until you could finally step away once you had found every last scar on his chest.

"All done," you assured him, unable to keep yourself from grinning a little as he let out a strained but haughty hmpf. He was almost back to his new normal, which made you glad. The drug was awful, but it was good to know he wouldn't be broken down this easily. Your back was turned for only a second when you heard him rattling in his restraints, more clear in his mind again as it seemed. It caused you to want to tease him a little.

"I liked it better when you were quiet, Krill. You didn't react to every one of my touches as if I was trying to seduce you."

"How dare you! I can't believe I am back here with you as if you are…" The word seemed to elude him as he bit his tongue, and you turned to look at his face, so much tension in his expression that you thought he was going to burst. Krill wasn't looking at you for once, focusing on his own body. Walking up to him again, his gaze shifted from straight down back to you, a spark of something you couldn't pinpoint washing over him. Insecurity? Fear? No way. 

"Don't come closer again!" he hissed, tossing a bit more in his restraints, and you stopped in your tracks, subconsciously listening to him like an idiot. But Krill wasn't being malicious; something was wrong. Even though you two weren't on friendly terms, you could tell something was off. His gills were flared, pupils blown wide open. He looked mostly like the monster you had to believe he was, but there was a sense of panic that an apex predator shouldn't ever display unless something terrible was happening to them. And you couldn't ignore it, or him for that matter.

"Hey!" you called out, hoping your voice could ground him from whatever he was going through. Stepping closer despite his body thrashing wasn't easy. You had to be careful, but you weren't heartless enough to leave him to his own demons after you caused them. The drug could have had hallucinogenics, which would not only have put you in danger but Krill too. You needed him if you ever wanted to regain some recognition or freedom in this place, and he needed you since you were probably the only person in the whole facility who would do anything to make the experiments at least a bit more humane. You couldn't abandon him like this after all he's been through.

Instead of putting yourself at risk of being thrown across the room by Krill accidentally slamming his body into you, you stepped up to his head instead, waiting for the moment that you could grab onto him and hold on with all your strength. You expected a struggle that would leave both of you wounded, but the moment your hands clasped around his face, Krill went rigid, suspiciously still. Another wave of fear overcame you, your instincts telling you this was wrong, but you tried your best to stay strong for both of you. "Shh, shh," you mumbled, calming him, and finally, the strength in his neck gave way, and his head fell back. 

You two stared at each other for some silent seconds, and you rubbed your thumb over his cheek comfortingly. "It's all your fault," he uttered, exhaustion washing over his expression. You couldn't blame him for feeling this way, and you made sure his hair wouldn't sting his eyes by swiping it out of his face gently, still shushing him like a parent would to their child. He looked like he was in severe pain, as if he felt fear for the first time in his life. You couldn't believe it was true, but you felt heartbroken for him all the same. Even if he was called a monster, even if he was a killer and a creature or an animal. Even if he wasn't like you, he didn't deserve any of this. 

"Why are you doing this to me again?" he asked, his voice cracking as a wave of sadness washed over his expression. You had never seen a mermaid actively being sad. Angry, panicked, drugged, yes. But sad? You didn't even think that was possible. What could you do to soothe this whale of a man to the point that you weren't suffering the consequences of other people's decisions? Nothing came to mind, and it was awful.

"I haven't done anything yet, just precautions," you assured him. "You're okay, you're safe. I can't change what I have to do, but I promise I'll try to make it as painless as possible. I–"

"No," Krill interrupted you. "Not that. Not the experiments. This." 

You heard the restraints rattle, causing you to look up at his hand, his cut-down, broken claw pointing downward at his body. You halted your comforting, leaving your palms on his cheeks while looking at Krill with a confused look before you stepped away, fully aware that he looked after you, even forcing his head forward again to watch what you were doing as you stepped around him. 

A loud gasp escaped you as you watched the tip of his cock exit from its slit. The moment your attention was on it, it shot out inch by inch until its massive size stood proudly, pulsing and jerking above his hips, having emerged fully within seconds of horror and amazement. A glistening drop of pre-cum collected at the tip as you stared at the massive erection, the bubble popping and spilling onto his chest as you watched it, unable to look away.

"I tried to forget," Krill lamented from behind you, his body sacking in the machine holding him up before tensing and straining again, a pained groan escaping him while his cock flopping in the air, unbothered by its owner's distress. It only produced more pre-cum and jerked ever so often, the shaft pulsing with need. 

"I wanted to forget you so badly."

You forced yourself to look away from his cock, and Krill let out a brief trill in response, sounding almost disappointed. But he didn't shy away from your eyes, gazing at you, defeated and a little… desperate. 

"Help. Me," he breathed, and you let out your own shuddering breath at his request. You only ever wanted to tease him. You didn't want to cause any pain or suffering, especially not the sexual kind. It was unheard of that the drug caused the mermaids to act this way. But you were about to learn what caused this.

"Why me?" you whispered, knowing now he could hear you. 

"Because I remember every touch of you. Every moment we spent together. Every little piece of memory we made in this godsforsaken place, and I need you. I already feel like I'm losing my mind, and I can't take it anymore. At least take responsibility for what you're doing, this is your fault."

"Krill…"

"It's useful for you, isn't it?" he suddenly changed his tune. He looked angry, but the twisted desperation was unconcealable. "My seed. You can have it. Take it all if you must as long as you do something." 

His words were followed by a groan, sounding in so much pain, and you watched his cock jerk, hips lifting, trying to reach an unavailable source of comfort, a connection to something that wasn't there. "Fuck, I held it back for so long. You and your shitty drugs! I had it under control! I didn't need you at all—didn't even think of you!"

Another long howl escaped him, head rolling from one side to another. He looked completely out of his mind when his gaze fixed on you again, needy and desperate. You had no way to find out if it was because of the drugs, and that worried you. 

"I lied," he confessed, his breath leaving him ominously. His admission was completely out of character for a creature like him, which took you aback, but when Krill looked back at you, there was a different kind of determination in his eyes. A savage one—mad even. You wanted to run away, far, far away from him, but his eyes, full of drugged madness and terrifying adoration, didn't let you act on your whims. As if he hypnotized you.

"I thought about you constantly. You were always on my mind. I thought about coming back so many times, but I couldn't leave the others. But now they don't need me anymore, and I have you back. You're the only one left for me, please. Please help me. Help me, my mate."

His voice was sugary sweet as he pleaded with you, your heart skipping a beat when you watched this destructive, dangerous creature reduced to a begging mess. It wasn't what you wanted for him, and you didn't want the kind of control he was hovering over your head. But you felt the heat spreading throughout your whole body as he called you his.

"We're not mates," you tried to deny it, shaking your head, the implications too severe. "That's the drugs speaking."

"Gods," he groaned loudly, licking his lips as his eyes scanned over your body. "I wish they were."

His hips jerked again, impatient and in desperate need of release. If you were truly mates, that would be bad. It would be an instant invitation to be locked in this facility forever until you passed away. If anyone happened to check on you, seeing the state Krill was in, they'd assume the worst, delighted by these new possibilities. You had to find a solution before that. 

"Fuck," you muttered, and Krill groaned in agreement. "We're not mates!" you insisted, moving towards his side again. This was absolutely bonkers, but every touch seemed to send him further down the spiral—and so were you, even though you refused to admit it.

"This is strictly professional."

"It's whatever," he rejoiced when he felt your hands back on his chest, a little too happy about this smithereens of body contact for it to be just because of the drugs. "Help me, mate."

"Do me a favor," you asked, rolling your shoulders and readying yourself for what you had to do. You couldn't believe you were going to do it; jerking off a merman was definitely not in your job description. But if it would help with not being confined for all eternity as a pathetic mating buddy, then you had no choice. You just needed the push to actually do it.

"Say 'please' again."

Krill's lips parted in a disturbingly wide grin, red rubies sparkling as he looked at you, filled with a sickening hope and adoration that made you shudder.

"Please."

[girl-lostconnection]

about your hybrid! aus: i'm curious about your headcanons for the sizes and proportions of everyone. esp sweet fruitbat reader. love love love them 🫶🫶

Well, I do headcanon Simon as the biggest lad on the team across all my AUs which puts him somewhere at 6’5 — broad and big. Main inspiration for him here was @umikochannart (twt) and their Ghost.

Soap is somewhere around 6’2 in this au, a little chubbier than his MW2 canon self because well, he’s a seal here — i think this was to be expected. But again, @umikochannart (twt) was a huge inspiration for how I viewed Soap initially.

Price is the heaviest of them all as Komodo dragon hybrid, a little shorter than Simon but he is physically stronger and definitely bulkier than MW2 captain Price. You can take a look at Bluegiragi’s Price because that’s how I imagined his physique for this AU. So size wise their Price is the closest to what I imagined.

Kyle is second tallest after Simon, but he is also the lightest of them all — he’s avian hybrid and while his wings are huge as heck, his bones are hollow. Inspiration for his wing proportions was this art by REYKAT (on devianart.com)

As for Fruit bat!Reader I didn’t write any specific proportions so they can be any size and height you feel like imagining. The only thing I actually have references for are their hybrid characteristics.

That was the first inspo for how their wings could possibly look (uzlolzu on tumblr)

This one was a big inspiration for how bay reader could possibly look if they have the ability to really tap into their bat part because well, why not, seems cool as heck to me(art by senkkeidraws on tumblr)

And the last one (art by ReshiPKMN on furaffinity.net) was more for me to visualise how wings in action could possibly look. But overall these all are references and not the exact portrayal, so they were combined in a mixer and stirred violently until we got actual idea for fruit bat Reader’s hybrid parts.

This one is for Reader’s claws because I may be obsessed with their mechanics a little too much:

(pic by Trashy Muse on coval magazine) (art unfortunately was unidentified, but let me know if anyone saw the actual artist)

[ganondoodle]

okay, bc i have seen this argument alot now (and it also seems to be the view point of aonuma himself..) is that "zelda cant do everything link does bc whats the point then"

and i take personal offense on that bc its a stupid argument (in. my. very. personal. opinion.- not judging people for liking it. its a ME thing)

whats the point? its that its her. its still a different character, different in story, background, personality, but i WANT to play zelda and she can do everything link does, why does she have to be so restricted and be bend over backwards to find some new way to make her 'useful' when link gets to do basically everything no questions asked (the only thing thats hers is like .. sealing power and sacrificial maiden, which i find a little underwhelming to say the least), if theres no point to it why are there always modders that model swap link with someone else, and in that case it has even less impact bc its an artificial model swap with no changes to the story (which can and should still be different when its the vanilla game with a different protagonist... its still a different character), clearly theres joy in just the model being a different one- and that isnt even to mention the story possibilities, since, again, its stil a different character

if we ever (never ... i know who we are talking about here) get to play as ganondorf i want to him to be just as versatile and active as link is, if we got a point and click adventure game for him instead bc 'whats the point' id be disappointed too- you can find any sort of excuse/explanation for zelda to be singled out but the fact remains it tracks with how female characters are often treated, and that hits a very sore spot for me

i guess i am unfortunately one of those annoying people that want to see female characters be treated exactly the same as male characters, possibly bc i am myself afab but identify as agender and have a deeply personal dislike for anything 'traditional' feminine bc i cannot and never will be able to truly live as myself in real life, it influences all of my work, my work is as just as much as my opinion on this, very personal

and in line with my point about modding, i see theres joy in just beign able to play as her even if its like this, i get that, i also get it for the creative aspect (though that mechanic worries me even more for the future bc it really seems to be the path now that -freedom = good, linear anything = bad-) it is a different idea and its not like i cant see that value- im not trying be "right" either, just bc i have that opinion doesnt mean i need everyone to agree, its a very personal thing, if you like it good for you! not for me though, and i think both of that is equally valid

i just personally wish she was allowed to be just like link, fight just like him but be different bc its still her and not him in the end- to be physically/playstyle like jsut like him, but you know ... as her, i dont think shed stop being zelda if she could wield a sword just like him

i dont really know how to get my point/feelings across, i dont want to step too much into personal stuff nor spam people with something that ultimately doesnt interest me alot, im just saddened by it really

(EDIT: bc i forgot to add this on here again; this isnt as much of a problem as it might sound like here, just the main topic i wanted to talk about; why im so uninterested in it is MAINLY bc i dont trust them to write anything interesting/care about lore anymore after totk, im always on the more pessimistic side that thinks its most likely worse than id hope and i know even the past games arent perfect or super interestingly written, but now its much more just a general distrust, together with everything like the price ... im just much less hopeful and cant get excited until i see more of it, like im waiting for the game to get out and reveal that its just as much of a mess and money i regret spending- kind of fear)

[thegnomelord]

speaking of a cod apocalypse (i think actually idk i just skimmed over my tl) thoughts on the boys becoming some sort of fucked up mutated creatures?

like they're soldiers, right? and assuming the government sends them out to deal with whatever apocalyptic shit there is, surely one of them makes a stupid mistake that'll cost them their lives. fast forward to them succumbing to whatever radioactive shit decided to live in their bodies, and they're dead but alive? and like... just grotesque things. they're still them, just more brutal and monstrous. maybe their skin is melting off, maybe they're growing another limb or two, maybe they have teeth growing on their head.

anyways, thoughts on this kind of genre???? :))))

(i think itd be cool if like.... some of them merged together, just a mass of limbs and skin :33)

Okay, consider: Horizon zero dawn world, full of killer machines and tribes n shit, combined with the virus from the Prototype (that and darksiders are my fav games of all time tbh) also body horror, specifically the blend of machine and flesh bh, is my favorite shit :Dd this is a rough idea

So like as killer machines were sweeping across the planet, devouring everything in sight and replicating, a disease was created that, it was hoped, would be able to infect and eat away at the metal. But it fails, the virus ends up infecting the soldiers that are fighting against the machines and just, combining the human and machine.

The world eventually goes so far to shit that everything on the planet dies. The war machines become deactivated and some of the machine/human mutants are sealed away in bunkers to be used as experiments.

And just like, the 141 becoming a blend of steel and flesh in the grotesque approximation of what they used to be, able to strip away parts of other machines and graft them to their own forms.

Gaz was the first, fighting on the front lines back when he had foolishly believed the killer robots could be defeated. He had gotten separated when he got infected, the fear secondary only to the pain as his flesh literally melted into the corruptors, bone and muscle becoming tangled in gears and wires until all he could feel were his numerous stilt like legs now scrambled to gain purchase on the blood soaked ground . Turned into some weird metal scorpion bellow the waist, weaponry weighing on his back and coolant full wires snaking across his body, Kyle had passed out from the pain, his body further changing in his slumber to grow skin and eyes over the raw metal.

He woke up deep underground in a bunker, turned into a science experiment.

Price was next. He was a soldier turned scientist, working on a subfunction of the teraforming AI that would work to clear the world of the virus that had unleashed. He was the soft voice of comfort Kyle would listen to when they pricked and prodded him, the person Kyle spilled his heart out time and time again.

It came as little surprise when Price became infected. He had started to feel lethargic and sick for the few days, all of it going unnoticed as no one knew how the virus affected humans. That was until he came in contact with a Plowhorn, that changed him into a bulwark of flesh and metal, a living tank with a heavy crest of horns sitting on his head and thick metal plates to protect him.

Price and Kyle kept each other from going insane, figuring out the worst part of the virus — they had become immortal like the machines, but still felt pain like people, pain muddling their brains when pistons and gears would grind against flesh again and again until it regrew in a different way.

They were finally freed when the people experimenting on them died and the AI released the locks of the doors. They emerged hell knows how many years later, taking the first steps into a reborn world that was still crying in it's cradle.

Soap was amongst the first humans to emerge from the mechanical cradle, thrust into a wild and untamed world full of strange machines, with no tools but his hands. While out trying to scavange some of the metal from downed glinthawks he was attacked by Scrappers, ending up infected with the virus that had been slumbering in the earth. Soap became like the sphinx, glinthawk wings attaching to his back with wires, talons merging with skin and pushing out bone, the body of the scraper combining with his own until he was unable to stand on two legs, forced to crawl on all fours and screech in pain through distorted vocal chords until Price and Gaz found him. They took care of him until he was used to his body enough to soar through the air about as well as he could run across the earth.

Simon was the last, born to a tribe that valued strength and worshipped the machines above all. And Simon is the only one who's convergence to steel has any semblence of thought or preparation. He had spent years hunting Fireclaws, tearing off the intact pieces and pistons after every hunt until the shamans of his tribe deemed him ready to become one of the metal gods. The change was slow and painful, bones melting and hardening around new metal, body getting bigger and flesh stretching to fit the new frame, heavy claws weighing on his muscular arms until Simon had become Ghost.

It wasn't what he expected. What he had done in an attempt to fit in amongst his kin served to further push him away as his tribe worshipped him as one of the machine gods, erasing his name as Simon. It was a relief when he met the others, finding comfort in their disfigured and grotesque bodies that looked so similar like his own.

And then you meet them.

Maybe you're a foolish mercenary that stumbled too far into the wild, maybe you're one of the subfunctions of the original teraforming AI that gained sentience. Either way, you didn't fear them, you tried to talk to them, to get to know them even when every societal law of your tribe deemed them as monsters and demons.

And on one random evening, when they had all settled into a rough cuddle pile, scarred flesh over sharp metal creating enough of a cushion for you to sleep in the middle of them all — safe and warm... It occured to them: you are nice, you are kind, and they want to to stay by their side.

[stalkedbytrains]

False Idols: Chapter One

“The light has burned them all away. Everyone you’ve ever known, ever loved, or ever lost. All dead,” said the smooth voice from the shadows. It was thick like tar, but insubstantial like a plea for mercy in the war against Ilanem.

“Shut up,” the only person in the room yelled toward the emptiness.

For the thousandth time that day she pulled at the bars of the gate that sealed her in the prison. The iron didn’t move. The stone didn’t move. The shadows, however, moved like ink across a page.

Aracelis rested her head against the cold metal bars. Through them she smelled fire and burnt meat. She saw flashes of light, like solid pillars of lightning—scorching, blinding, destructive. The flashes were accompanied by the loud clap of something like thunder, that is, if thunder sounded like a god slamming its fist into the ground.

It had been five days since the light started to invade her island and a week since Aracelis had last seen a living person. Her people seemed content letting their prisoner starve to death.

Dread filled her stomach. No rescue was coming. She was on her own…unless she wasn’t imagining the voice in the darkness. 

Aracelis’ long fingers twitched, begging to move across her tanned skin and rip the ink off of it. Unfortunately, her tattoos which were numerous, red-black, and complex, were just tattoos. The counter-spells and bindings woven into the prison walls were too strong. She couldn’t simply pull one off her skin and cast a spell to escape. Nor could she spill blood and do the same thing. In here, she was powerless.

“I could let you out, you know. For a price,” dripped the voice. It came from the darkest part of the prison.

“I’m not making any deals with the voices in my head,” Aracelis said as she kicked at the brickwork around the iron bars.

She kicked and kicked and kicked. She pushed with her mountain of frustration, she kicked without magic.

Crack.

Aracelis hit the stone until her legs started to burn. The stone flaked away, causing large sheets of rock to collapse off the wall and turn into dust. It was only then that she noticed.

Her heart pounded. Freedom, it was so tantalizingly close. She ripped at the chunks of stone, pulling at it, tearing at it until her fingers bled. The wall was old, the prison older. Weathered by time and centuries of tropical rain and heat. So close was Aracelis’ freedom that she didn’t notice the black rot, the corruption in the stone like veins of precious metals weakening the stone from within.

Now that she had a place to start, she pulled out the rock around the locking mechanism. When her fingers reached metal, Aracelis pulled on it. The metal was sharp and resilient, but Aracelis more so. The stone around it was weak, and relinquished the lock wholesale after untold minutes trying to pry it out.

With the device that barred Aracelis from the outside world now removed, she pushed the iron door open and ran into the night, away from her prison, away from the shadows that pooled and waited like a deep-sea predator.

Aracelis ran. She ran through the night punctuated by lightning strikes and sounds of thunder even though there were no storm clouds.

She turned down once familiar streets, now empty and chaotic. There were no people and it looked as though a storm had ripped through the city. Houses lay open and empty like a carcass after vultures have had their fill. The streets were full of the entrails of people’s lives: discarded valuables and sentimental objects not important enough to recover in the mad dash of escape, but just important enough to grab in the scramble out of the house. She barely noticed.

With each step down the pathways she knew by heart, she grew closer to the descending pillars of light. Even though her sense of dread grew, she sprinted.

Then she saw it, her home. Her inherited shop: “Aracelis: Master Spellscribe and Original Blood-inker.” The shop was dark, the door’s window cracked. She swore she saw blood on the threshold.

She stopped. Her hands shook from the run, from the fear about what she would find inside. Her books burned and looted, her home desecrated and destroyed, Elias dead by some religious zealot’s hand.

The bell on the broken door kept ringing as the shaking from Araceli’s hands translated from wood to bell. It took all her courage to push across the threshold, into her dark shop. And it looked like the place had been tossed. Books and papers were missing from shelves. Vials of expensive inks carelessly tossed to the ground and broken, bleeding black across the wooden floors like so many victims.

“Elias?” she called. Even her voice shook.

She stepped over papers and hastily discarded books, remnants of the life she had before all of this. Fear started to creep up her spine.

As Aracelis crossed through the numerous empty bookshelves and approached the long, low counter where she did most of her paid spellwork she called out once more. “Elias? Are you here?”

The empty chasm of the shop answered with silence. The cold knowledge that she had lost everything settled in her stomach. The constant booms of light impacting the Orsan people echoed across distances like an approaching thunderstorm.

Her legs finally gave out as she collapsed to the floor.

Numbness started to spread, from her fingertips and toes to her limbs, eventually settling on her chest. What could she do now? There was nothing left. No one left. The Orso Nation was dead.

If she was the last one, then she’d make the Ilanem invaders pay for the blood they spilled. She would be repaid in kind. Blood for blood. Life for life. The Elder Masters wanted to judge her? To imprison her for “black” magic? She’d show them black magic. She’d finally be guilty of all the things they wanted her to be guilty of. She would summon something dark enough to cut the Light Believers off from their terrible god.

Resolve and vengeance gave Aracelis the strength to stand.

When she did, someone else burst into the room.

“Aracelis?” asked the newcomer. The disbelief in his voice pierced through Aracelis’ burning desire to kill any Ilanemite left on her islands.

She turned, and the bloody vengeance instantly disappeared from her mind. Instead, she rushed toward the disheveled, long haired man that was holding a large book in one hand. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. Aracelis kissed Elias like she had wanted to for the last several months she was in prison. Relief, happiness, and love poured out of her.

“Elias. You’re alive. I’m so glad you’re alive.” Her voice hadn’t stopped shaking, but now it wasn’t because of fear, but happiness bordering on crying.

He smiled up at her. “You’re out. I was going to come rescue you as soon as I rescued your books.”

“You’re so sweet.”

“I was trying to bury all your texts first. After I took the ones you couldn’t live without, of course. I wanted to lock the rest up in a vault and seal it before the Paladins got here, then break you out of jail,” he explained, gesturing at the empty shop with the book as she still held onto his other hand.

“You think of everything. But we need to go,” Aracelis said. “We need to leave, right now.”

“Do we need Lurman? I can’t decide.”

“No. He’s long winded and it’s too heavy for too little information.”

“You’re right. I just need to put this with the rest and then seal everything up,” Elias said as he turned and walked into the back of the shop.

The back room was where Aracelis had mixed inks and prepared blood for spellcasting. As well hosting a tiny, but well used kitchen. She’d spent lots of time back here over the years. Time spent as she developed new magic and tested new theories. Spent untold hours with Elias talking, working, eating, and sleeping together when the trip upstairs was too long.

Her nostalgia for a building was quickly overridden by her concern for the person before her. “You’re bleeding. What happened to you?”

Elias’ left arm was bloody and still dripping. He had numerous cuts all over his bare arms and a few on his face. “They called on me to help. The Elder Masters I mean. The invasion was coming and they finally realized that negotiations weren’t going to happen.”

Aracelis bristled. How could she not? They imprisoned her for designing new spells to help her people fight against the invasion everyone knew was coming. Yet, the same people who imprisoned her had called upon her lover to help. She loved Elias, but he was a scholar, a researcher. He loved books and study and theory, but he was never one for experimentation or practical tests or open combat. How dare they call upon her delicate boyfriend to fight on the frontlines.

“We tried to break their ships in the oceans, but even here their god is powerful. When they landed, the lines broke quickly. The Elders are all dead. It devolved into chaos almost instantly. I only just got back to this island six hours ago.”

Elias put the book inside a large square hole in the floor of the room that was once his bedroom, the guest bedroom. Before he moved to Aracelis’ bed upstairs. The tiny bunker was magically carved out of the stone ground, complete with a small ladder leading down. He made to cast the spell, but Aracelis put her hand out to stop him.

“Let me,” she said.

“I’m already bleeding. I might as well do it.”

She relented and let him draw a bloody symbol on the stone floor. The instant the magic was dawn the ground closed up, sealing the collected books and knowledge of the Orsan mages up in the ground, safe. For now.

“Time to go,” Aracelis said.

Elias motioned to two large backpacks stuffed with books. They each grabbed one and left the shop they both called home for the last time.

She couldn’t resist one last look back; she was walking the familiar paths through her shop. It held great significance for her. She never told Elias the whole story, because it was sad and what’s the point of a sad story that doesn’t end? Aracelis had moved into the shop when she was barely an adult, kicked out of her parent’s estate for daring to practice magic, and for getting caught sleeping with one of the serving girls. She never went back home, never talked to her family again; she even changed her name when she moved in with the proprietor of the shop, an elderly man named Kemen. He was the only person who seemed to believe in Aracelis and never judged her for her ruthless pursuit of knowledge or for any of the people she dated through the years. It was in this very shop that Aracelis figured out the secret of blending ink and blood to make writing spells easier and cleaner. It was a revolutionary idea. It was also here that she discovered the secret of writing spells in blood and ink and pushing it into the skin as a tattoo which could be infinitely reused as the body healed the spell like it would any other wound. Despite how hard her father tried to fight against it, that discovery granted her the title of Master. Unfortunately, Kemen died not too long after she was awarded her much sought after title, leaving the shop solely in her care. For almost a decade this was her shop, and it was one of the best in the city. Aracelis not only trained apprentices here, but she was free to live her life here. She had done great work here—great work that got her thrown in prison for daring to suggest that the Orso prepare themselves for an invasion by their occasional ally, the Ilanem Empire. Now she was back, but only so she could say goodbye to her home and refuge. She tried not to cry.

“We shouldn’t delay,” she muttered, wiping her eyes as she said her final goodbye to her home.

“I have a vague plan,” Elias said. “We need to get off the island. Then head north and east towards the Iron Mountains. We’re going to Gaelez.”

“You really have to appreciate the Ilanem naming conventions. Simple, no imagination. A series of large mountains that you found huge supplies of iron in? We’ll call it the Iron Mountains,” Aracelis grumbled.

“Yeah, but it has a pretty strong independent streak, if my research is to be believed. It might be part of the Empire, but they tend to not listen super closely to a lot of Decrees of the Light. Might make hiding easier.”

“You really do think of everything.”

Elias gave a short smile. But they were walking now through the empty streets. There was no room here for even forced happiness.

The crack of god, smites from the Ilanemite prayers, was slowing down. The loud, incessant booming became less frequent.

When the couple turned a corner, they headed right into a small squad of Paladins. Their white armor shone as much from the polish as from the lights woven into the steel.

“Look boys. The last of the rats trying to jump from the sinking ship,” said one of the Paladins.

The four holy knights advanced on the two mages.

But Aracelis wasn’t in prison anymore. Her tattoos itched, begged to be used. She peeled off a tattoo on her left shoulder and threw it at the one who was closest to Elias. Ice grew around him like a weed, heavy and cold, freezing him in place.

Next, she pulled off one just below her right ribs and held the little dark red spell in her hands for a moment before it faded into nothing. Just as it faded away, a noise like a thunderclap inside of an explosion erupted and threw the remaining three Paladins back like paper dolls in a storm.

All this happened before Elias could even move.

“What now?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Run!”

However, her action was interrupted by a large cracking sound.

“Iryvon is the Light of my life, through his Life we push back the Darkness with unrelenting Force,” was all Elias heard before he felt like a mountain crashed into him from above.

Light descended upon them from the heavens. It was brighter than lighting and as cold as a blizzard. Aracelis was launched backwards by the force of impact from the light on the ground. It was like a hurricane existed in a split moment, but only in that single segment of reality next to where she stood.

Aracelis managed to pick herself up. It felt like she was buried under a pile of rubble, but it was only a couple inches of hard dirt. She did so just in time to see the Paladin free himself from the ice she had encased him in.

With sword in hand, he advanced on the prone body of Elias. Aracelis moved slowly, her mind was buzzing from the impact. Her balance was gone and her ears were ringing.

Elias was struggling to stand, but he couldn’t. There was something wrong with his legs, he couldn’t feel them. His hands were numb.

Her voice sounded distant and weak amid the ringing, but she screamed anyway. The earth swayed beneath her as she tried to stand, as if it was actively resisting her efforts to save Elias.

“You command powers reserved only for God and His Faithful,” said the Paladin as he advanced on Elias. He raised his sword high above his head and brought it down. It cut right through Elias’ chest with no resistance, like bone and soul weren’t even there. All Aracelis could hear was her ears ringing. She didn’t hear the gurgles as Elias’ lungs filled with blood or the chuckle from the Paladin. She didn’t even hear her own screams.

She ripped a tattoo from her shin and threw it at the Paladin. The spell blazed brilliantly as it flew and hit the cold armor. It exploded. The spell was one Aracelis used in forging, designed to melt metal. But the armor was frozen a moment ago, so it split and cracked and exploded in parts, then melted.

The Paladin’s screams didn’t pierce the ringing.

The super-heated metal cared little for the flesh and faith the Paladin wore.

Aracelis stumbled to Elias. She knew she was crying, but she could barely feel it.

Through tear clouded eyes she saw him say “love you” before remaining still. His blood was still warm. His blood still had magic in it. Why was this going through her head? Elias was dying, dead, and all she could think of was the fact that his blood still had power in it.

Her grief was interrupted by the prayers of the three Paladins. She threw a single spell from the small of her back. It expanded and shattered. The sound of crystal exploding into a billion tiny pieces was the first thing to cut through the ringing.

The Paladins’ prayer finished, but nothing happened.

“Your god has abandoned you,” Aracelis said as she gently laid Elias down.

Her hands were covered in blood.

The Paladins stopped to look at each other, bewildered, lost. But they drew their weapons.

But Aracelis was ready. She drew a bloody symbol on the ground. They advanced and she retreated. Two steps forwards and the spell activated. The hard dirt suddenly turned to water and all three Paladins sunk in their heavy armor. Another quick application of blood in a very specific pattern turned the ground solid once more trapping them.

“They want to kill me for black magic, I’ll give them the blackest magic. I’ll snuff out their sun and kill their god,” Aracelis muttered to herself.

She grabbed the two backpacks and dumped their contents on the ground. It took a second to find the right book: a leather-bound notebook that was well worn and loved. In the dark it was hard to read, but the symbols burned in her mind already. She knew what she was summoning. The spilled blood would call it, the spell would simply bind it.

She would summon a predator. A judge to balance the scales of lives taken, of lives to be taken in payment.

A blood demon.

A voydir.

And she would bind it and make them pay.

She needed components: the blood of millions of dead Orso, and the unspent blood of thousands of glorious Ilanem invaders.

With a short silver dagger, Aracelis cut open her palm. It hurt and it was possibly the worst place to do this, but it made it easier to write with her finger. She let the blood pool on the tip of her finger for just a moment and then started writing in the dirt.

After the first thirteen symbols Aracelis saw it. A large red-black wolf, standing easily ten feet tall and thirty feet long. It was massive, but changing. It looked like it was made of spilled blood, a thick liquid that changed form. The wolf had many mouths that changed size and shape and number of teeth. Its skin looked like it was made of knives, but it too was constantly shifting.

Her voydir was here.

Now she just needed to bind it. Time was short and she wanted vengeance. The only thing she had to bind it to was herself.

Sort of poetic in a way. A blood demon who would kill one Ilanemite for every dead Orso, bound to the soul of the last Orso.

“Come on,” she said to the blood demon, “we’re going to burn Ilanem to the ground, and see if we can’t take their god with them.”

The dog chuckled.

[-]

Executor Paulus looked over his handiwork.

An entire nation of heretics crushed under his heel in a little over a week. He was handpicked by God to do this holy work, and he did it much faster than any Executor before him. Executor Mauter took sixteen years to conquer the Eregion people beyond the Iron Mountains.

His glory would be talked about for centuries.

He was quietly enjoying himself among the ruins and the bodies of a once great nation until a young recruit ran up to him, screaming.

The Paladin’s once white armor was covered in blood, possibly his own. The steel was split in several places, and the young man had neither sword nor shield.

“What happened?” the Executor of Iryvon’s Will demanded.

“Demon!” gasped the wounded soldier.

“You have something of mine, Executor,” came a voice from the darkness.

The Executor drew his weapon to face whoever it was coming out of the shadows.

It was an Orso woman. Tall and thin, almost unhealthily so. Shadows clung to her like shrouds and blood dripped from her hands and feet. She left behind bloody footprints as she advanced on the Ilanem soldiers. She was covered in bloody wounds, tattoos that still bled.

“Demon,” the Executor said, “stand before the Executor of the God of Light!”

“After I kill the boy at your feet, sure, we can spar. Your god against my rage. Light versus the spilled blood of six million innocent souls,” Aracelis said in voice deeper than her own, one that carried and vibrated in his bones.

“You say innocent like each and everyone one of your people wasn’t a blood mage heretic,” the Executor countered.

“My people never marched across the world burning down every culture and civilization that we didn’t like in the name of a god claiming to be benevolent but is stained with more blood than even I am.”

To this the Executor had no response, he just charged at Aracelis. His sword was held high and flashed bright. The sword burned as he swung it down, but she simply caught it in her hands. Hands covered in shadow. The light couldn’t pass through the darkness or spilled blood.

Unlike the other Paladins, the Executor didn’t need to go through lengthy prayers to summon the wrath of god. A pillar of light smashed into Aracelis from above. She countered it by covering herself in the blood had stained the ground.

The Chosen of God was a source of light unto himself. He fought with the light of the moon and glowed like a piece of heaven. Aracelis quickly drew a bloody spell on the air to block out the sky.

Suddenly, the lights in the sky were gone. The Executor’s sword was just a piece of steel.

He let a prayer escape his lips and the Executor’s armor glowed white hot once again, almost burning away the blood surrounding and protecting Aracelis.

“Enough, I grow bored of this,” she said through gritted teeth.

With one hand she ripped the still bloodied tattoo off of her back and slapped it on the Executor’s shield as he tried to block the spell. But it didn’t work.

It sounded like glass breaking and at once the Executor’s lights went out.

“No! What did you do!” he yelled, swinging his sword with reckless abandon. “Where is my god?”

“Gone. Left you. You are going to die alone here in the dark.”

The sword hit Aracelis in the neck, but it barely even broke the skin. She paid it no mind. But when he tried to stab her again, she grabbed the blade and ripped it from his grasp.

With the Executor’s sword, Aracelis stabbed him in the foot, rooting him to the spot.

They were in total darkness as she looked down at him. No lights from the stars or the moon, no light from the Executor. Only her bright, red eyes seemingly giving off any light.

She pulled off his helmet and looked him in the eye.

Ignoring his pleas, not even saying a thing, she reached out with bloody hands and grasped the Executor’s neck. Her eyes locked on his, and she squeezed. It took less than a minute for her fingers to break the skin and feel the hot Ilanem blood flow across her hands. She watched the lights in his eyes die.

When the pale body fell from her grip, the spells around her failed. The blood was once again blood and the shadows stopped clinging to her almond skin. The lights in the sky returned.

She laughed once to herself, and then continued laughing until tears fell from her eyes. When Aracelis mastered herself again she looked around at the dead Orso island. She had a new plan, one that wouldn’t involve running and hiding. First, she had to kill every single Ilanemite that had stepped foot on her island.

Then she would destroy an empire by killing its god.

(The full book is available for purchase on my kofi, or a hard print copy is available on the horror that is Amazon.com)

[rimeiii]

I return to WHB Tumblr to see how the game us doing and I see the fandom in shambles, damn. And after scrolling through the tag for a bit, I have...questions.

Yo how big is WHB now even? I stopped playing shortly after they introduced the paywalled Gabriel and that's one of the things I've seen several people complain about...

Like I understand the rest of the complaints - it's mostly the same complaints I've been having about the game prior to me quitting. Multiple decisions that seem to reinforce the idea that this game is heading down the P2W path, very anti-F2P practices in general, outrageous prices for the paid Nightmare Pass, no pity system on launch, the disaster that was the implementation of the Solomon's Seals gacha, the many bugs on launch especially, the small amount of farmable premium currency, and the list goes on...the pancake shop rework not only seems to be in line with the trajectory PB seems to be taking in terms of game decisions, but is also the straw that broke the camel's back for a lot of players.

But, uh, storage? Wasn't it like 2 GB tops on launch? That was reasonable I think, because Arknights was around that size on launch and back then, there was so little additional content. Only JP dubbing, no L2D E2 art or skins (the only L2D we had back then was Closure, the SHOPKEEP), 5 story chapters (which translated to 92 stages, in which around half have a Challenge Mode variant and with a large majority being unique maps), and no additional game modes.

For additional context, currently Arknights is ~6-7 GB on a fresh account with all language dubbing, and it gets bloated if you don't delete unused event data (it's ~9.7 GB for me and I have Arknights on my current phone ever since Near Light first hit Global, so just over 2 years now). Keep in mind Arknights is close to 4.5 years old in Global, and CN just celebrated their 5th anniversary a few months back.

Talking about storage, I don't think comparing WHB to older games and non-tower defense is fair either, since:

Older games in general are much easier on your device in terms of storage to content ratio and performance, mostly due to device limitations of the past requiring less sophisticated game mechanics and the devs sticking to these simpler mechanics even as time passes and technology gets more advanced. Gentle reminder that FGO is ~7 years old in NA, ~9 years old in JP, and ALSO doesn't download everything initially - afaik there's an option for that in the settings menu which bumps the total size up significantly (the wiki lists it as around 9-10 GB total).

Different genres and graphics mean different storage requirements. Anything 3D or open world will almost always have higher storage requirements compared to anything else. Path to Nowhere is around the same size as Arknights despite being younger due to the former using 3D models for their battle sprites, compared to the 2D chibis Arknights uses. Love and Deepspace, a ~5 months game, is huge because of how they do the cutscenes AND the stage-based action gameplay, but Wuthering Waves is closing the gap on size quickly despite being only ~1.5 months because it's an open world action RPG.

What I will say, though, is that WHB is not optimized well. Now I may be very unfair by comparing WHB to Punishing: Gray Raven, a game by the optimization gods known as Kurogames (people ran the PC PGR client on 2GB RAM laptops and my 4GB RAM laptop can run WuWa despite it using UE4 - an engine notorious for chugging on low end devices - albeit with lag spikes in the open world map), but when a 2D tower defense game fails to run as smoothly as a 3D action game with stylish and fast-paced combat, then we have a problem. For context, my 4GB RAM phone only has minor lag when I use a skill that has a lot of visual effects like Lee Hyperreal's Hypermatrix, but back when I played WHB I still experienced lag spikes when deploying units.

Again this all boils down to PB just not being used to the game format. Which is all well and good, Arknights was a huge departure from Girls Frontline too - a good portion of Arknights' devs worked on Girls Frontline before splitting off to work on Arknights. But what made Arknights succeed is how accessible and F2P friendly the game was, with smooth and solid gameplay as well as an engaging plot that discusses themes such as racism, discrimination, and the fragility of hope.

Of course you can argue that Arknights is a tower defense first, visual novel second. Unlike WHB, which is an otome game first, tower defense second. And I would agree, but only to a certain extent. Once you step into the realm of having Actual Combat Gameplay Elements then I believe it's your duty to make progression as reasonable as possible. Including a power gate is fine, but nothing too excessive - and certainly do not hold any significantly strong unit behind a paywall.

Because fun fact - in Arknights' entire runtime, there were only a handful of completely paywalled content:

Player icons from promotional packs for large events, particularly the Ambience Synesthesia concerts

Character skins from promotional packs, like the Exusiai and Guard Ch'en skins during the anime release

Purestream, a B4 Therapist Medic who was released as a WWF collab, where all sales from her $1 pack were donated to the WWF. Even then, she eventually became available for everyone, as she was later added to the Recruitment pool (use a resource obtained from Dailies for a chance to get units, some unique to the pool like Purestream). She was a decent healer, and her Module made her a good budget medic. Even then you're more likely using the Medics you've already built by then - for B4 budget options, Perfumer is usually better for multi-target healing and a party HP regen passive, while Sussurro is your go-to for strong single-target healing.

And guess what? None of these had any direct impact on gameplay during their paywalled period. Purestream wasn't even a B5 or B6 unit, yo. There are many better options for healers. I STILL USE THE B3 ANSEL AND HIBISCUS IN INTEGRATED STRATEGIES.

I'm just...PB's choices baffle me, and I do wish they can improve not just on the game performance standpoint, but in how they treat their playerbase in terms of in-game purchases. I hope I made that abundantly clear...

[alnilaem]

If Simon is a butcher, Johnny is a firefighter, and Kyle is a chef, can Price be a mechanic? I can so see him working on old cars, covered in grease and sweat after fixing cars all day.

im not too sure if i see Kyle as a chef yet tbh! at least not in this au. he needs a more manwhore job…….. like a personal trainer. Price, on the other hand, would make a great mechanic. he’d have a special dexterity for working on vintage cars, which brings in a more refined set of people, and that’s good for business. he always looks at them with a witless smile and astute eyes as he extends his grease-sheened, sticky hands, waiting for a handshake to “seal the deal” bc he’s a backwoodsman and written contracts are too much paperwork for him

[amnesia-wukong-au]

After the Sealing of the Demon Bull King, Sun Wukong disappeared from the face of the Mortal Realm never to be seen again…at least according to Celestials…

The strangest part is…in the reincarnated Pilgrims group…why is there a mechanic monkey demon in their midst?

————————————

Rules

-No Homophobia

-No Toxicity

-No Anti LGBTQ

-No bullying Zammy or else I’ll disappear for a Month.

-Have fun!

————————————-

Arc 1: The pilots start off and we’re off to a rough and surprising start. A girl with the Six-Eared Macaque’s powers, a boy with Sun Wukong’s powers and a Monkey.

Arc 2: Duplicatnation! Oh my, it seems we have bit of a hassle with MK’s clones…and ooh what’s this?

Arc 3: So we got two episodes, The Great Wall Race and the start of the Macaque episode. Looks like things are getting a bit more intense.

Arc 4: The final episode of season 1 is here…and looks like we have a bit of a fusion of Season 2 3 and 4 upcoming

Arc 5: The Gang end up fleeing causing them to have a new mission until they’re chased into the Dragon of the East’s Sea’s Palace.

Arc 6: Quite a long arc, we got the whole rest of Season 3 but with a twist! Also Red Son gets the Samadhi Fire now.

Arc 7: The Lady Bone Demon is defeated, by the fighting is not over yet.

Arc 8: So…yeah Season 4 speedrun huh? Rin gets restored and we get a MOW rerun so have fun.

Arc 9: Bo is released but uhh…now we have a new problem

Arc 10: Yeah! The problem is defeated…now we got another one.

Arc 11: Shi Ku is here! And he’s here the cause mischief. Wukong is back!…kinda… Arc 12: Oh...wow, looks like a perfect world does have a price...

Arc 13: Calm before the storm…I suppose

Arc 14: Restoration

[mechanical-seals]

Mechanical Seals Manufacturer in India

Quantech Sealing Systems Pvt Ltd is a leading and top Mechanical Seal Manufacturer in India. We deals with all types of mechanical seals at best price.

[useless-prophet]

GUESS WHO GOT THEIR STORMLIGHT BOX TODAY?

Beware Canadians between the conversion to CAD and duties it totals to around $150! But I expected the high price and shipping was very fast, around 3 days. Review of stuff inside:

The Syl pin is adorable, and the colors turned out really well! It is a rubber backing though so it might not be as secure since there is no screw or latch mechanism.

The Oathbringer sword is larger than I expected - around the size of my palm and with a decent bit of weight to it. It is not that sharp for safety reasons, I assume, but a cool sword if not a bit big for a keychain.

Haven’t opened the air fresheners yet so I don’t actually know if they smell good, but the art is gorgeous and each one is individually sealed with a little loop to hang it by!

The bag is so. Soft. I know it’s synthetic leather but the texture is so soft and nice to feel! The tan color is a little drab but it looks pretty cute overall. On the smaller side and looks like it’s meant to be a shoulder bag (though I think there are straps on the back to turn it into a tiny backpack) and a lot of pockets (6+?) of various sizes.

Pretty satisfied so far and excited to get to use it!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Something with low-mid level players (level 7-10) in which they prevent a group of malfunctioning warforged from escaping the factory they were built in and slaughtering the people in the surrounding city?

Adventure: The Ironmongers

Fed up with mercenary captains who'd negotiate exorbitant prices and then refuse to die fighting to protect her holdings, the Archon of Tolraba has commissioned a trio of dwarven artificers to construct for her a legion of combat constructs. Five years after the foundries started up the gamble has paid off and the streets, walls, and outlaying settlements of Tolraba are defended by battalions of automata plated in the Archon’s crimson and gold.

Not everything is running like clockwork however, the artificers are late on delivering the archon’s latest batch of solders and while they claim it’s because they’re testing out even more fearsome combat modifications they've sealed off part of their factory and sent many of the workers home for the time being.

Hooks:

The Kuparipata brothers always had a talent for two things: destroying buildings and building things that destroyed. Beginning their carriers as war engineers serving in many conflicts across the continent, they caught the eye of the Archon when their mobile artillery platform shelled a meeting between an invading mercenary commander and that of her own hired soldiers, who was evidently looking to negotiate a preemptive surrender which would leave the brothers unpaid. Working for the Archon is the cushiest gig they've had, and they desperately don't want to disappoint her so they're more than happy to use their intermediaries to hire the party and set them to cutting down a batch of mindless constructs who've gone rogue in their factory.

There’s more going on  in the foundry than meets the eye. The constructs the party are hired to put down seem shoddily made, rush jobs,  plating and blades grafted onto metal skeletons and given just enough of a mind to kill. It won’t take a genius for the party to realize these are rush jobs, made by the. To cover for over two dozen disapeared warforged who deserted one night escaping to who knows where. The Artificer Brothers will pay well to keep this hush hush, but the Archon will likely pay better. Perhaps the party will want to conduct their own investigation.

Despite the Kuparipatas' unique "genius" it takes a lot of hands to keep a construct factory running, including warforged tasked with helping to construct their fellows and a gaggle of Tolraba foundry workers who've become stranded in more fortifiable corners once the rogue skab-bots went berserk. A couple of those workers happened to be of the radical type, and got to talking about the warforged they were helping to outfit about how labour is entitled to all it creates, and since the warforged were technically doing the hard work of guarding and fighting the Archons wars, they should be entitled to the same rights as any other member of the Tolraba citizens militia. With heads full of exciting new thoughts and hands full of pamphlets and foundry layouts, these warforged have struck off into the city's underbelly to spend some time talking about what the future holds for them. They're arguing a lot, which might be progress.

While talented in their own right, the only way the Kaparipata brothers were able to create life was thanks to a backwards engineering a strange mechanism of celestial clockwork they found rusting in an old junkyard decades ago that has inspired many of their previous creations. The device has since allowed them to program the warforged into being obedient and competent soldiers, and so they keep it under lock and key. Disaster might strike should any of the warforged be allowed to interface with the device, which will begin domineering their cogwork mind and transmitting visions of how to use the foundry and Tolraba's resources to rebuild itself.

[flyfish1999]

UK Edge Magazine Issue 181 - November 2007 Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3 (vanilla) in Reviews

this article is actually reviewing the american version rather than the european one - only because persona 3 vanilla hadn't yet come out in europe ! the eu recieved vanilla on february 29th, 2008, half a year after america. often forgotten is that persona 3 was europe's first persona game (but not first SMT, beaten by nocturne in 2005), having missed revelations and eternal punishment entirely. the review compares the gameplay of p3 to canis canem edit (bully, for all you ntscheads), and implies the reviewer opted for the kendo team in their playthrough ^_^

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Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3 Format: PS2 Price: $50 (US), £30 (UK) Release: Out Now (US), TBC (UK) Publisher: ATLUS Developer: In-House

Suicide is painless?

Anyone who's ever complained that there aren't enough hours in the day will be pleased with Persona 3's premise. Soon after enrolling your character at the local Japanese high school you're accepted into a covert society and let in on an enormous secret: there are, in fact, 25 hours to a day. The extra 'dark hour', as it's known, occurs every night at midnight. The vast majority of the populace is unaware of its existence as, for its duration, they are rendered unconscious and sealed in coffins, oblivious to the shadow creatures that emerge outside and roam the world looking for prey. A few humans remain unaffected by the phenomenon and, as one of them, it's in the sparse company of these cognoscenti that your character finds himself after dark.

The group, called the Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad, is responsible for holding back the shadow creatures' advance while trying to uncover the secrets of their origin, a huge multi-storey ephemeral tower named Tartarus, which emerges each night in the school grounds. Tartarus takes the form of an upwardly built dungeon whose Rogue-like floorplans change every visit. Your overarching mission is to scale the tower bit by bit (don't panic: a warp opens up every five floors) while leveling up and discovering new Personas: creatures that can be summoned to aid you in battle.

While this is a little traditional, the dark hour is just one element to an unorthodox game whose scenario manages to twist it out of the firm grasp of its JRPG roots. In the main this is achieved by the dark hour's counterpoint: daytime, during which you participate in the lessons, clubs and societies of a Japanese school. Here, in a similar way to Canis Canem Edit, you're tasked with daily studying, exam taking and after-school clubs and sports, all minigame-style pursuits that are used as a means to build and enhance your character's abilities. Three core stats (academics, charm and courage) must be raised by taking part in a wide range of different activities from enrolling in the school's kendo team to visiting the karaoke bar in the local mall of an evening. Raising these statistics while building and fostering relationships in school is crucial to creating stronger Personas to make your character more powerful on the nightly battlefield. By linking the game directly to 2009's school term calendar and breaking every day into seven distinct stages (from early morning through lunchtime to late at night), you quickly settle into the comfortable rhythm of a education system, which provides an excellent framework for the disparate mechanics to slot into.

The game's aesthetics are unusual for the genre. Low-poly environments, simple character models and drab lighting are the uninspiring visual building blocks. However, thanks to some ingenious use of beautiful anime artwork the game fizzes with life as character portraits zoom into shot to personify the dialogue while slick and design-conscious menus add some contemporary style.

As with any game that's based on repetitive tasks set in unchanging environments, its rhythm in time becomes a little monotonous. However, the frequent boss battles (introduced every few levels of Tartarus) and surprisingly compelling relationships you foster daily inspire perseverance. Games with distinctive souls are rare things but Persona 3 succeeds in displaying a mesmerising personality that touches the many well-crafted aspects of its curious and singular approach.

Captions, left to right:

Personas are ethereal creatures that are summoned from your unconscious mind to lend their abilities in battle. For this reason, the stronger your relationships with other students or groups the stronger your 'inner self' is and the more powerful your Personas will become. One of the most enduring images from the game comes from the way in which characters summon a Persona: by putting a gun (known in the game as an 'evoker') to their temple before pulling the trigger. To players not closely familiar with anime culture it's a shocking image that's used repeatedly, and since the game's release has attracted keen debate in the US as to its suitability.

Fans furious at the lack of a Japanese audio option have already released on the internet a patched version known as an 'undub', with English subtitles but original voices.

In battles, you only gain direct control over your own character. Your teammates can be given general directions (such as to major on offensive moves or healing) but their specific actions are handled by the competent AI.

You aren't forced to visit Tartarus every night. If you'd rather you can meet up with a friend at the local mall, visit a club in town or spend the evening at your desk studying, all of which level up aspects of your personality.

Persona cards can be fused together with one another to create entirely new monsters, and much of the deeper level of play is concerned with maximising resources to uncover the most powerful Personas in the game.

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