#risk of rain rp

[rottendragon]

The Void beckons, calls, begs.

Will you answer?

Will you submit?

Or will you let Her in instead?

[consortofrot]

[clicks tongue]

It seems it's time to brush the dust off this old thing again.

[one-of-the-gardeners-of-all-time]

you have a garden? how big and whats in it? any creatures besides plant matter?

Yes and I am quite ‘proud’ of it.

It is rather small right now so as to avoid the attention the Lemurians and other such dangers though if they were less aggressive I would allow them and any creature that does not bring harm into my garden

[fioiswriting]

The sea and the fire

“Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.” - R.F Kuang

Rating : will be explicit 18+ later, MDNI Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader later TW : mention of blood, mention of murder. TW will be added as the story progresses. Words count : 4361 AN : Hello everyone! I'm back from the deads hehe. Sorry, I've been busy with a lot of things lately, I've had a couple of exams and I'm also in the process of writing my (second) master's thesis. Sooo anyway, I've written the first chapter of my new fanfic. Yes, it is YET ANOTHER story that involves niece!reader x Aemond and it is adapted from an RP with my girlfriend. If you're tired of this trope, if you're uncomfortable with this dynamic, I suggest you find another fanfic (there are plenty of masterpieces on tumblr anyway!! 💕). It's been on my mind for a long time, and I finally found the time to finish this first chapter. I don't know yet how many chapters there will be or how often I'll post, but I hope you like it! 💕 As always, be nice, I know there are probably some inconsistencies, but we're here to have fun, right? (BTW, I've been bingewatching Vikings and I know the fandom is kinda dead, but I want to write some x readers now)

Also, English is not my first (nor second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes!!

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 1 : Silk Street

War of heart - Ruelle 🎶

The streets of King's Landing had the peculiar quality of being both enticing and repelling; like a unique, curious spectacle that you discovered with every hesitant step you took. The smell of fresh fish mingled with that of fire and sewers, tickling your nose with unfamiliar smells. It was new to you, these smells, these sounds too; the hammering of the blacksmith's tools on the metal, the shouts of the merchants, the rolling of the cartwheels on the cobblestones of the winding streets. It was different from what you were used to; the steady rocking of the waves, the calm of the rain, the ups and downs of the tides. The only turbulence in your daily life were the storms you were so fond of, and the thunder, the lightning, the wind that shook the stones and lifted the waves had an untameable yet terribly soothing aspect. 

Unlike King's Landing. 

If it wasn't the natural elements that threatened to unleash their wrath here in King's Landing, it was the unpredictability of the people in the streets, the danger lurking around every corner, the risk of disappearing forever into the shadows of a forgotten alley.

Apart from the hustle and bustle of the forbidden streets you were discovering for the first time after so many years - and the adrenaline rush of breaking the restriction on venturing there - King's Landing was, objectively speaking, a deadly bore. 

But it was still less boring than going round in circles in the castle. 

You knew it was the dream of every lady in the Seven Kingdoms to live within the walls of the Red Keep, for it had been yours for a long time. Back when you lived in your childhood bedroom - the one on the second floor - you had no trouble imagining yourself spending your life in the gardens of the Red Keep, with your husband, enjoying the strawberry cakes and the books in the great library.

After all, you and Aemond were inseparable. 

But in the meantime, fate had decided otherwise, and the mild climate of King's Landing, where you were born, where you celebrated your first words and your first steps, had been replaced by the vagaries of Dragonstone's weather. It was the sea, the storm and the rain that raised you, and it was with your feet in the water, on the shingle, that you grew up. 

Living in King's Landing now was different from anything you'd ever imagined before. 

King's Landing tasted bland. Boring.  

Your mother had promised that the stay would be temporary, a few weeks at most, just to settle some business with Alicent and Viserys - your grandfather. The aim was to find a way to keep the peace between your families, but you weren't an idiot. You knew that the rift between your families was growing wider and wider.

And that one of the only ways to prevent a total, irreparable rupture was a promise of marriage. 

Then again, wasn't it your duty to be sold into marriage, to strengthen the bonds, to carry the family's shaky balance on your shoulders?

You already missed Dragonstone. You missed the sea. You missed walking on cold water.

King's Landing was like a golden prison you couldn't leave because everything around it was too dangerous.

And you were bored. You had been reading. You had been embroidering. You had wandered far and wide through the gardens. You'd listened kindly and attentively to Helaena talk about her insects, and you'd spent several afternoons sharing court gossip with Baela and Rhaena.

You spent much of your time avoiding your uncle. Or watching him from afar.

For he had changed terribly; for better or worse, you weren't sure. You only kept the memories of your shared childhood, somewhere in your heart, like a buried secret, like a triple-locked treasure you'd sworn never to open again. 

The memories were painful. They created a lump in your throat, they kept you awake at night, they made your tears flow.  

And that was why you locked them away and threw away the key that kept them locked. 

You decided you weren't that child anymore - you stopped being that child when you went your separate ways, when you went back to Dragonstone and he stayed here. Now he wasn't the little boy you left either: he had become this cold, tall, ruthless young man. He had that cunning little smile, that air of self-assurance he wore with his head held high and his chin up.

Boredom drove you to follow Aegon into the city. He suggested it and suddenly all sense of reason left your body. Weren't you the most reasonable of your siblings, the most prudent, the most intelligent? An inexplicable feeling had urged you to accept, like two hands behind your back pushing you towards him, like a voice in your head encouraging you to abandon your model daughter's appearance: the call of transgression. Curiosity. The desire to be bold. The danger. For once you were making a decision, your own decision, without your parents or brothers knowing. You were the master of your actions, and in a way, it was an act of rebellion that gave you a feeling of freedom, that awakened a sense of excitement in you.

Ser Erryk protested, of course, when he realised your little ploy, but you had already vanished before he could stop you. You laughed as you followed Aegon, his mischievous smile at the corner of his lips as he led you through the secret passage that allowed you to sneak out of the castle, your hand in the crook of his elbow so as not to lose you. 

And everything went well. You enjoyed your newfound freedom with a mixture of curiosity and fear, your body pressed against your uncle's, the hood pulled down over your forehead. You had the advantage of dark hair - the opposite of the Targaryens' emblematic features. It attracted less attention, you knew it. But your curious gaze, your round eyes that discovered the ordinary life of the lowborn must have intrigued the most observant ones, for Aegon nudged you in the ribs when he caught you looking a little too intently at the work of a craftsman. 

"You make a poor peasant," he whispered in your ear. "Well... You're obviously too pretty to be a peasant, that's for sure. But try to be more discreet." He paused. "Those men are looking at you like hungry dogs" he lowered his voice. You rolled your eyes and patted him on the shoulder. 

To tell the truth, you weren't comfortable with all those men giving you lecherous looks, but Aegon's presence was reassuring. 

He showed you the shortcuts he knew, the secrets, the curiosities of the city, and he talked to you. You wondered if he, too, had changed. You wondered if he'd gone from that stupid, mocking, annoying child to a secretly vulnerable, secretly lonely young adult. You knew about his bad habits; alcohol and sex, but this secret escapade showed you a side of him you didn't know. When had he become nice?

"Wait for me," he said as you looked around. The streets had changed, they had become busier, and suddenly you realised that you were frightened. "I'll be quick. Don't move and keep this on your head." 

You wanted to protest, to hold him back, but your uncle had already slipped away.

You were all alone in the Silk of Street.

Your heartbeat quickened. You weren't sure you'd find your way back, and Aegon had ordered you to stay there, not to move, not to talk to anyone. Fuck.

Fuck.

Had he done it on purpose? Was it a plan he'd been hatching all along, a bad joke he'd decided to play on his niece, on Rhaenyra's only daughter? Was he still the mean boy who bullied his little brother? Or did he actually have a real reason for leaving you there, all alone, in the street where brothels piled up and nobles went to satisfy their needs? 

You were angry at yourself for trusting him. You blamed yourself for being so naive. You couldn't believe he'd really set a trap for you, not after the complicity you'd shared just before. 

Or maybe he was just being Aegon; irresponsible and immature, oblivious to danger, and so stupid as to think that waiting for him here was a good idea.

You sighed. Tears tickled the corners of your eyes with fear, but you tried to chase them away, to swallow them down, to calm your racing heart. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself.

But there were these men all around you, looking at you as if they were ready to pounce. Was this how you would end up, abducted, and sold into a cheap brothel? Murdered after serving the needs of a few old men? You shuddered at the thought. 

The voices around you mingled with the tumult, blurred images drawing unidentified shapes before your eyes, and you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself, rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your cloak. 

"So? What do you say, girl?" 

A hand on your waist.

You weren't sure you understood what the man in front of you was saying. The words were bouncing around in your head without you being able to make them out, but his hungry smile was enough to reveal their nature. You froze. He was joined by another man, and you took a step back, then a second. It was as if your body refused to obey you, as if your brain stopped working, and you hated yourself for it. 

You hated yourself for being so weak. 

You had a dragon. You were a Targaryen. So why were you trembling? Why couldn't you gather your courage and run, gather your courage and plunge your dagger into someone's chest, fight and scream?

One of them, the older-looking one, closed his hand around your wrist. 

"Let me go!" You screamed, but the words caught in your throat, escaping your lips like a distorted cry. "Go away!" 

Simple commands that couldn't get through the space between your lips with the authority you wanted. 

You closed your eyes, trying to resist.

Fuck. You were going to die. You were going to be raped and then you were going to die, or be sold into sex work, or -

Something splashed in your face and suddenly you felt free. 

"Didn't you hear her? She said let me go," a hoarse voice growled. 

Your blood ran cold. 

You knew exactly who it was.

That calm but sharp tone belonged to only one person: Aemond Targaryen.

How had he found you? Why had he found you? You opened your eyes instantly, your cheeks still red with shame. You knew you'd been irresponsible, and that wasn't in your nature at all, quite the opposite. But the fact that Aemond had caught you in such a weak position bothered and annoyed you. 

It was supposed to be your secret, your act of rebellious transgression, your forbidden escapade with Aegon. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be Aemond rescuing you.

You opened your eyes. Facing you, the older man was kneeling on the pavement. He was clutching at his right side, blood trickling through his fingers to the ground. He was suffocating, blood pouring from his lips, but Aemond wiped the blade of his sword with a satisfied smile. 

The crowd had gathered to watch what was happening, a mixture of fear and curiosity on their faces, but Aemond was already hastening to chase them away in a tone that left no room for discussion:

"There's nothing to see," he thundered. "Go away. All of you. Or I'll serve you as food for Vhagar."

The crowd dispersed, frightened; women grabbing their children by the shoulders to force them to move, barefoot beggars hurrying to gather their bowl and few coins to find another place, prostitutes closing the curtains with an irritated sigh, old men almost stumbling, and soon the street was deserted.

Despite the hood that covered his face, you could see the flat line of his grin and the cold, accusing look with which he stared at you. He was furious. 

Perhaps he expected you to thank him, for Aemond approached you without a word. You looked up at him, your cheeks still red with shame. You were too proud to thank him. 

And you were still too angry, too.

Angry at his silence all these years, angry that he'd let you down when you'd stood up for him, angry at the man he'd become. 

"Are you coming or not?" he asked in his icy voice, his hand already closing around your wrist to force you forward, but you didn't move.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, frowning. You'd suddenly regained your repartee. 

You knew you had to calm things down, thank him and follow him in silence. Accept the humiliation and beg for his silence. You knew you were making things more difficult than they already were, but that was Aemond. And once again, in front of Aemond, you had a pride to uphold.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated, his voice sharp. He froze, his dark eyes glaring at you as if you'd just insulted him. Suddenly you felt so small in front of him. "I should be asking you that question," he added dryly, obviously trying to keep the tone of his voice under control. "You're even more stupid than I thought."

The sentence had the effect of a slap in the face, and you felt your cheeks burning. Like a little girl caught red-handed, you lowered your head. What had been going through your mind? Why had you decided to follow Aegon in the first place?

Aemond lifted you with ease and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, as if he wanted to be sure you would follow him, as if he feared you would escape again, as if he didn't trust you. 

And in the end, perhaps he was right.

As he carried you to the Red Keep, your fists pounded on his back. Small blows that he ignored, painless on the width that was his back. 

He seemed to ignore you, perhaps more annoyed that you wouldn't stay still than anything else. But you didn't need him to play the perfect knight, not when he'd been ignoring you all this time. Not when he'd barely spoken to you on your return to King's Landing. Not when he drew a line under your childhood as if nothing had happened. 

Not when he kept harassing your brothers. 

It irritated you. He played the role of the ideal husband-to-be, impassive and calm; as if he'd always been the knight in shining armour he never was.

"You could at least let me go," you sighed, seeing that nothing seemed to disturb your uncle's icy calm. "I know how to walk. "

He had a moment's hesitation where he stopped, and then you felt him readjust your position with a flick of his shoulder. You had no trouble imagining the corners of his lips curling upwards, painting his face with his usual insolent grin, you had no trouble imagining him chuckling at your condition.

"Stop it, you are only making it harder for us," he growled in an authoritative voice. "And if you are not happy, I can always leave you here."  He paused. "I did not know you dreamed of working in a brothel."

The comment was enough to send another wave of heat up your cheeks, colouring them red, but you tried as best you could to keep your composure, as if not to betray your embarrassment in front of the prince. 

You refused to show him that his remark had affected you.

You just gritted your teeth and sighed. 

The position was becoming uncomfortable: Aemond's bony shoulder was digging into your stomach and your legs were going numb, as if thousands of little ants were crawling all over them. 

You hoped no one would see you when you got back to the castle. Your excursion into the city was supposed to be discreet; you weren't supposed to come back with a blood-stained tunic, nor hanging over your one-eyed uncle's shoulders. 

If Aemond knew anything about the impending official announcement of your betrothal, he said nothing, walking ahead of him as if you were as light as a sack of grain.

"Qybor." You whispered again, this time using High Valyrian. Uncle. You hoped the nickname would make him react. "Qybor," you repeated a little louder. "I can walk by myself now."

If the nickname had any effect on him, Aemond didn't show it. But you had no trouble imagining the stupefaction you would have read on his face had you been face to face with him. You were proud of your skills in High Valyrian: you learned faster than Jace, faster than Luke, but then again, you'd always loved books and history, languages and learning. Aemond would probably remember that, it was what brought you together as a child in the first place.

You could see the tall towers of the Red Keep in front of you, their red bricks standing out against the blue sky. From a distance, you could understand the fascination of the people. There was something great, something sumptuous about the sight of this building, and you understood why it had taken three reigns to build it. 

 But despite your pleas, Aemond had not moved an eye. You knew that if your uncle hadn't intervened, you would probably have ended up in a dark alley, or in a filthy brothel, used as a plaything by a bunch of drunken lords, or in the dirty hands of ill-intentioned men. The thought made a lump grow in your throat that you found hard to swallow. 

You were definitely naive and stupid for agreeing to follow Aegon like that. 

Still, you hadn't bothered to thank Aemond.

You had too much pride to thank him, a flaw you'd inherited from your family. 

You were stubborn, never satisfied, and always had something to say. 

But Aemond, it seemed, had as much - if not more - pride than you. 

Your engagement promised to be surprising.

"I am serious, Aemond," you added. It felt strange to call him by his first name when you hadn't addressed him that way for years. "I am a..." strong woman, you wanted to reply, but you chose another word instead, not wanting to give him the occasion to mock you: "independent woman".

As you approached the entrance - you prayed Aemond would choose one of the secret passages, you couldn't bear the humiliation of being carried off like a piece of merchandise by your presumed future husband - he stopped and set you down. His single eye searched your face, as if looking for the slightest trace of gratitude, but he knew he wouldn't find any; he knew it would have been too easy, and he knew it wouldn't have been you. 

You weren't easy. 

Pulling your arm to make you walk faster, Aemond forced you to follow him, around the ramparts, glancing around to make sure no one was following you. He pulled a little harder. "Mandianna," he began, his husky voice vibrating, the tone sending a wave of heat through your lower belly.

There was something incredibly pleasing about hearing the intonations of High Valyrian roll off your uncle's tongue. 

But that was Aemond. And it was out of the question for you to feel anything for Aemond.

Around the bend in the ramparts, out of sight, he slammed you against the wall, both hands pressed firmly against your shoulders to prevent you from fleeing. "What exactly did you think would happen when you went to Silk Street, tell me?"

You knew what he was thinking. That you were irresponsible. That your actions were unworthy of someone of your station, and even more so if you were to be his future betrothed. That he wondered if your time on Dragonstone had made you reckless and wild, that he wondered if he might need to teach you some manners before he could marry you.

His judging gaze swept you from head to toe. As if to say that though your father's legitimacy was often questioned, Aemond knew that you were indeed Rhaenyra's daughter. 

You avoided his gaze, your eyes fixed on a point beside his face. You wanted to say something witty, but the young prince had robbed you of any chance of intelligent thought, and you hated this feeling.

"I didn't think you'd come looking for me, Qybor," you replied with a grin as you looked up at him. "I thought you were a busy man."

You felt his fingers tighten on your shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of your cloak and tunic underneath. Your behaviour was childish, like a petulant brat, but secretly you enjoyed seeing Aemond lose his temper. You liked to push him to his limits. You liked to see the subtle signs of his irritation; the moment when he clenched his jaw, when he straightened his neck, when his breathing quickened.

If you were to marry him, then you would be poison, ready to corrupt his soul.

He grabbed the collar of your linen tunic and pushed you a little harder against the wall. "I thought you were smarter than to follow my brother into the city." His body rigid against yours kept you pinned to the wall.

The expression on his face betrayed his inner conflict: part of him thinking that he shouldn't care about his niece's actions, about you. Part of him reminding that you were soon to be betrothed. 

And you knew that the thought of other men putting their hands on you, on his bride's body was lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach. 

Jealousy. 

Possessiveness.

Aemond was a man driven by duty. On this level, you were the same; the model son and model daughter of your respective families, charged with performing your duties to prevent the gulf that separated your families from widening. 

Both the eternal seconds of your families. 

Both the pride of your mothers. 

Suddenly he released you. His hand found your wrist again and he pulled you through the corridors of the castle. Had anyone caught you now, your hood pulled down over your forehead, your clothes hiding your appearance, they would probably have frowned and wondered if Aemond had suddenly decided to follow in his brother's footsteps, his taste for debauchery, by bringing a common girl or a cheap prostitute into his chamber.

For at that moment, you did not look like the daughter of royal blood that you were, not with your simple linen clothes, not with the thick cloak that covered your body, not with your hair tied up carelessly. You looked like a servant girl, a smallfolk girl, not like the Pearl of Dragonstone that you truly were.

Aemond's fingers burned around your wrist. You wondered if he felt it, too. If you were causing the same effect in him.

But he was impassive, always so difficult to read. He hid his feelings, buried them under a cold, mysterious shell, as if to protect himself. 

He stopped in front of the door that led to your bedroom. Fortunately, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the courage to face your parents' disappointed looks, you didn't have the courage to realise that you had betrayed their trust, even if, for a moment, you had forgotten your duty, you had forgotten the responsibilities that weighed on your shoulders, you had tasted a feeling of freedom, so new, so delicious. A foolish act of transgression. 

But you were safe and sound, and that was the most important thing.

"You'd better get changed," Aemond suggested. "It would be better if my mother didn't see you like this."

He clenched his jaw. He looked concentrated, as if he wanted to add something, as if he wanted to reprimand you but had to force himself to remain silent. An instant of silence hung between you. The urge to ask him if he was going to report your little escapade burned on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it. 

Aemond's single eye was riveted to you. Piercingly. Fierce. 

For a brief moment, a very brief moment, your uncle's ragged breathing caressed your face and your heart raced. 

He was so close.

"Why? Don't you like to see me dressed like a common girl, my prince?" you asked, teasingly. Like a common girl you could bend over in some dark and gloomy street, you thought. But Aemond was not Aegon, and you felt him hesitate, as if the words had taken him by surprise. His hand, about to find your jaw and make you swallow your insolence, had stopped halfway.

You smirk. Aemond had nothing to worry about. For the official announcement of your betrothal, you had planned to wear a dress that would honour your Velaryon origins.

"Rest assured, qybor," you continued, taking a step in his direction. 

Poison in his soul, you repeated in your head. That's what you'd be to your uncle. You took the time observe him, as if studying him, as if imagining the effect the words you were about to say would have on your uncle. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, and perhaps with something else. "Your betrothed is still intact for her wedding night," you finally whispered in his ear.

He held his breath. You knew that you would break down, brick by brick, the barriers he'd spent years building around his heart. 

You wanted him raw. 

But before you turned on your heel to enter your chamber, you summoned all the courage you had left in your body and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the prince's jaw. 

"Thank you for coming to my rescue, my prince."

And then, you were gone.

[shithowdy]

can we ask about those fallout ocs from the trailer?????? i wanna know about everybody 👀

Hello anon have a seat beside me

Thank you for asking about them!! 'Trailer' bears such heavy implications of a followup project and while I can dream... well, I can dream. 🥲

The characters are from an ongoing RP I am doing with @ninamodaffari and @sakom75 that takes place a few years before New Vegas. It surrounds the personal story of our main three guys unraveling their extremely fateful connections, while at the same time being the origin story of our setting's Courier Six as a recurring antagonist.

Some character blurbs! I tried to make these brief but I failed.

The cowboy ghoul is my boy Oliver, who began as a cowboy death knight in world of warcraft back in 2009 (who remains my avatar, my brannnnd). His past as a paladin now living a life as a near-immortal deformed ex-human at risk of losing his mind at any moment translated so well into the setting. After being forced into retirement from his 30-year army career due to a "medical discharge" (had a heart attack inside power armor after being given experimental stimulant drugs) he returned to his roots and bought a ranch, which is where he was when the bombs fell. After he and his employees failed to drive their herd toward a radio signal calling for mutual aid due to the radstorm that began his ghoulification, he instead rode west through the desert to begin his completely delusional quest to find the resting place of his son, who he only knew was in a non-vault-tec vault around Southern California. He was obviously stymied by the impossibility of it, and eventually became a nameless fixture of the wasteland along the I-10, with the recent nickname of 'Matador' by locals due to his skirmishing with the Legion operating out of the growing Fort Blythe.

Dallas (larger, in coat) and Emil (little guy) belong to Sako and Nina respectively. Dallas was born to a Legion officer in the faction's infancy and was raised to be a brutal killer at a young age, which made his eventual defection as a teenager very easy. He surrendered himself to a ranger named Sancho, who after it became clear he was a true defector ended up "adopting" him and helping him integrate and, eventually, become a ranger himself. While dodging bounties offered by his father, his goal is to find his mother and, after he was swept away in the Colorado a few years ago, Sancho-- he does not believe him to be dead. (He's correct)

Due to his search, he tries to take a lot of solo scouting missions to cover as much ground as he can, and it's on one of these missions he met Emil near the central coast while pursuing some fiends with a captive. Emil had recently emerged from an underground facility further north with only the name E412, a mutant resulting from very similar experiments to those from Vault 4 except with the purpose of manufacturing psykers in what was supposed to be some kind of new world governance scheme but flopped with the bombs. Except the robots overseeing it weren't programmed to consider the bombs, and kept the scientists that had previously been tricked into working there on orders even when there wasn't a world left. Also, the program was nonsense and relied on harvested DNA from a dwindling staff. Most of the staff died by their own hand, resulting in the on-and-off cryo cycling of those that remained, leaving them frostbitten husks with numerous replaced parts working for an impossible goal. They conspired secretly to end the facility, but it was difficult. One such place to drop notes was near the composting area, where one could even at times hear rain through the vents. A scientist one day found mushrooms growing here, and introduced them into his process just for something different.

He didn't expect it to work.

Oliver was wrong, his son Chadley was not in southern California. He had been tricked with hundreds of others into a new contract of secrecy, and before he could communicate his fear aboveground, the world ended. His death was not two hundred years ago but mere weeks, when he finally sent the facility into shutdown, leaving the creatures there to fend for themselves against the robot overseers. E412 escaped at last, only to find a bag on his head. After being rescued by Dallas, he was given a proper name and it was insisted he tag along.

Weeks later the pair found themselves sheltering from a hunting party after Dallas: mercenaries on Legion hire, accompanied by a Centurion and his own party. A convergence of fates had them shelter in the Matador's home of all places, and after reversing a staunch refusal to help them when he realized helping them = annoying the Legion, he agreed to guard and guide them so they could get to a Followers base in Arcadia so Dallas could get some shrapnel from a prior assassination attempt removed. In charge of this base is Dr. Wei Song, another of Oliver's young wasteland rescues from decades before and the only person he has a continued relationship with.

But rejecting extended companionship, Oliver left them at Arcadia after having barely learned about them and went home, where the same failed assassin that left shrapnel in Dallas waited for him in the rafters with a dartgun full of RadAway. This was Frumentarius Lupus Rex, who was supposed to be kind of a one-off dollar store Vulpes Inculta (which says a lot i know) for our own plot but got oops'd into being a real character when he showed a smidgen of honor and Oliver, his captive, asked him his "real name".

Thus began the conflict of Lupus Rex vs. Vasco Sawtooth, the tribal boy repressing years of trauma and hate for the sake of simply surviving. He realized, like Dallas, there are other options and resolved to undo what happened but was caught by his superior, Princeps Peregrinorum Scaevola, and lost his arm in the process.

A former Brotherhood paladin who valued power more than the Brotherhood's goals, Scaevola defected when he saw the Legion growing in power as a "tribe" and knew he could secure a position he could abuse there much more easily. Which he did, by throwing himself at Caesar's feet with a whole host of energy weapons/ammo/powerfists. While remaining loyal he did retain old connections (and made new ones, such as a close friendship with Dallas' father Viator) and with these connections he had his traitorous pet "remade", rank stripped, left nothing but a living weapon operating outside the bounds of typical Legion method.

Kind of the Shadow to Emil's sonic, he pursues without choice until the favor is finally able to be returned. We haven't gotten to this point in the RP yet, but eventually he will find his freedom and guidance under Francine, a [redacted] recently emerged from cryo and rather than following operations destroyed her facility and started a diner.

Through her he'll learn how to function like a normal person and, eventually, find a job of his own as a courier. A nice, normal, easy job.

If you read all that I'm kissing you with tongue.

[mysterymanjoseph]

Roadside Assistance: mysterymanjoseph and crimson-lips-rp

Joseph had hoped to avoid going this close to Boston on his return trip to his country estate in New York, but, according to a local radio station he tuned in, there had been a major accident on the interstate, and the detour forced him closer to the city. As he is filling up a new vehicle to his 'selection' from home, a highly upgraded and customized Jeep Wrangler, he glances at the sky, getting darker from the forecasted rain clouds, and approaching sunset. He thinks, "This detour certainly messes up my schedule, was hoping to be further North before this rain, and if they are right, it might turn into icy rain before morning." "Might have to find a place to spend the night, rather than risk driving at night through that messy stuff."

@crimson-lips-rp

[dragongirlintestines]

A Disappearance on the Entoran Trail

From an RP with @sunspot-stomachache

Content Warnings: Vore, Cruel Pred, Digestion, Bones.

4700 words.

Rain splashes heavily against the granite peaks of the Entoran Ridge. The rough, craggy stones funnel torrents of water down ancient ridges, forming rushing creeks perilous enough to make even a seasoned adventurer lose her step. The wind howls through the valleys, whipping up loose foliage and tossing debris all around.

Tieflings were not made for rain, as rarely do rains fall in their homeland. For one to be woefully caught unprepared in a storm, let alone amidst the Entoran Ridge, is what might be described as a nightmare. Every sharp droplet of rain which lands on one young tiefling’s green skin hisses with hate, met with such foreign heat. She is soon enveloped in steam, her own, and it’s unbearable. The cold and her own body heat wrestle within her. If she did not find shelter of some form soon, she’d surely end up blinded, by the storm or the steam.

Amidst the imposing range, a narrow hewn path carves its way along a cliff, and the lone traveler curses her luck. What light made it through the clouds was dimming, and the prospect of being caught out at night by some mountain beast further compounded her troubles. Up ahead, one shadowy overhang appeared to dig into the side of the mountain, offering a promise of some respite from the biting cold.

Stumbling across the cave is enough to almost make Sunspot thank the gods, though she bites back her forked tongue before she says such things. She shuffles inside, instantly finding solace from the whipping winds and arrow-like rain. Her tail flicks discontentedly, her clothes sopping wet, and her mood not much better. Luckily, what little firewood she did have was safely contained in her pack, and she sets about making a fire for herself to wait out the storm within the cavern.

Elsewhere, down a winding tunnel extending from the rear of the cavern, a perceptive adventurer might faintly make out the sounds of something snoring within. Atop a mound of coins and otherworldly artifacts, a beast breathes deep and slow, wrapped in slumber. The faint scent of fire winds its way down into one of her nostrils, and slowly, her electric blue eyes crack open. Sitting up, it stretches to its full 12' height, yawning wide. As it stands on its two powerful legs, a low rumble emanates from its guts, and it licks its lips, wondering about what snack could have disturbed its slumber.

Sunspot watches the smoke flow deeper and deeper into the cavern, the wind howling outside pushing it away. Her bright yellow eyes follow the trail drawn by the billowing gray, landing on the darkness further within. Her ears…twitch, flopping slightly as they do so. Someone, or something is in this cave. Her tail flicks a bit more, back and forth, no longer in discomfort. There’s a unique fear that bristles down her spine. “There’s only so many things that live within caves…” She thinks to herself, realizing she is not as safe as she might have wished.

The tiefling scrambles to her feet, bracing her hands against the smooth rock beneath her as she stands. Her fire continues to crackle, casting her shadow down the length of the cave. Her tail flicks, back and forth, back and forth. Back into the rain? Stand her ground? She can’t seem to make a decision.

Some kind of noise squeaks out of her and dies on her tongue.

As the dragon rounds the corner, Thorne takes another whiff of the smoke. She can smell sweat, wet clothes, tiefling, and fear. She thinks a moment. Her prey is already timid and ready to run, but going out in the storm to hunt would be so annoying, and she wouldn't want to risk a lovely meal falling down a ravine and spoiling the fun. She settles herself into a more friendly posture, stands up straight, and masks her hunger with a smile.

"I don't often get visitors here," she speaks, emerging from the darkness. Her voice is low and gravelly, but with a measured, gentle tone, as if speaking to a timid animal. "It's much warmer inside, you're welcome to stay if you like," she gestures towards the tunnel she emerged from.

A dragon. Sunspot’s tail almost stiffens in shock as her eyes meet Thorne’s gaze. She should run. Leave. Escape. Right? Running in the rain was a recipe for death, considering walking nearly sent her tumbling down the side of the ridge. Her gaze flicks away from the dragon for a moment to stare down at her soaked outfit, cloth and cotton clinging to her skin and leather weighing her down. Maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be terrible.

“Kind of you,” She finally manages to eke out, her voice in an upper register with a bit of bubbliness beneath the fear, “I ah…didn’t expect the storm,” She admits, her tail beginning to soften.

Thorne suppresses a grin as she sees Sunspot freeze. The dragon takes one long step towards the campfire, then another, slowly crossing the cavern. I needs keep my demeanor measured and calm, she thinks to herself. Be a gracious host. Don't scare away such a tasty looking meal.

"The weather can be fickle, yes. But really, the pleasure is mine. I do so rarely get visitors," she replies, as she steps aside, no longer directly approaching the timid adventurer. "A warm place to rest is the least I could offer."

The dragon looks inquisitively at the tiefling, awaiting her response. A gnawing hunger urges her to pounce, but she fights it back. She's having fun leading this morsel on.

Sunspot’s nostrils flare slightly in surprise when Thorne begins closing the distance between the two of them, now realizing just how tall the dragon was compared to her. Her tail continues to flick back and forth, though not as stiff and violent as before. She takes a sparing step backward as Thorne nears her, surprised by just how much she loomed over her…dragons were large, she knew that, but seeing one in-person was quite a different experience than hearing of them, or seeing artworks.

“…my apologies,” She utters softly, straightening how she stood. Her eyes looked upward at Thorne, bright yellow irises swimming with a mixture of first impression fear and a lulled sense of security…

“If you’d lead the way? I believe you may know your home better than I, aheh.”

Thorne slowly turns on her heel, tail whipping around as if to accentuate the motion. A quick tug lifts the flailing limb to clear Sunspot's horns, almost an afterthought.

Sunspot warily dips her head down when the tail nearly whacks her horns, her breathing heightening for a moment in shock before she regains composure. Getting knocked out by a giant dragon tail was not how she’d like to spend her evening, that’s for certain. Though, she didn’t quite know what she was in for by any stretch of the imagination. Her campfire crackles behind her as she follows Thorne inside, not knowing that that’s likely the most that’ll be left of her.

The blue mass of the dragon's scales stride down the tunnel, every so often stopping her long strides to check that her "guest" is keeping up. A few hundred feet, and the tunnel opens into a more spacious cavern, evidently the conjunction of several ancient lava tubes, lit by faintly glowing crystal growths. Unlike the mouth of the cave, this conjunction is slightly more than pleasantly warm. In the center of it all, light twinkles and refracts from a pile of coins, gems, and exotic, almost alien, artifacts, the construction of which is evocative of the dragon's synthetic arm.

"Perhaps cliché, but I do hope it is to your liking," she chuckles, striding to the center of the room.

Sunspot marvels at the scenery of the cavern, her eyes sparkling a bit with the sight of the dragon’s hoard. She wouldn’t lie, it was quite tempting to grab something from the pile…though she knew what dragons would do to those who steal from their hoards.

“Very, ah…comfortable, Miss..?”

Thorne turns, fixing her gaze on Sunspot once again. She had the little morsel right where she wanted her.

"Thorne," She replies.

The dragon begins to pace around the tiefling, her tail trailing behind her like a serpent encircling its next meal. The facade would be up soon, and the gnawing hunger in her belly was growing impatient, but she wanted to see just how far she could lead this meal on.

"And how may I call you...?"

A growl from her belly threatens the charade.

Sunspot’s bright yellow eyes watch attentively as the dragon begins to encircle her, her tail once more beginning to flick back and forth in a reaction of danger. What was she to do? Turn tail and run? Perhaps if she stayed on the dragon’s good graces, she’d be able to make it out of whatever was to happen alive.

“Sunspot. You may call me S-” The growl from Thorne’s stomach cuts her off, “…Sunspot..”

Her eyes widen, and she looks upwards at Thorne with a shocked expression. The scent of fear once again fills Thorne's nostrils, and she sinks into a more predatory posture. The facade of hospitality gone, she stalks in a tightening circle, fully entrapping the gullible adventurer with her tail.

"Such a cute name, really," she growls, a low, predatory purr. It was time to break the terrible news.

Her tail tightens into a firm, but not yet crushing, grip. A single talon lifts Sunspot's chin, and a strand of saliva drips down onto the adventurous tiefling’s face.

"It's good to know the name of the meal that so kindly delivered herself to my lair."

Sunspot’s breathing hitches as she’s grabbed, the strength behind her tail proving that there was little to no chance of escape. Nevertheless, she still thrashes in Thorne’s grasp, coming to a tense stillness as her chin is tilted up.

Thorne leers down at her, tongue dancing along her lips. Her jaws crack open in a hint of a cruel grin as the breath catches in Sunspot's throat. The saliva makes her recoil, but there’s a strange mixture of admiration and absolute terror upon seeing the dragon’s face this close. Her eyes flick rapidly, and after a moment of staring in shocked silence and fear, she bites Thorne’s finger! Her teeth find purchase amidst the scales, but barely sink into the soft flesh, unable to pierce the dragon’s tough hide.

Surprised, Thorne feels a slight pressure in her finger, and realizes, with a slight chuckle, that her prey has bit her.

"Cute," she taunts. "But you'll need more than that to save you,"

The beast wrenches her finger out of Sunspot's mouth, eliciting a “GAH!” from the young woman, and grabs her by the horns. Instantly, Sunspot’s body tenses. Her horns are particularly sensitive to foreign touch, and her eyes roll back for a moment at the sudden pressure against her before she regains her composure. Well, perhaps ‘regains’ is not the right word.

Thorne forces her victim to watch as the dragon's jaws yawn open. The faint light of the cavern reflects off of glistening strands of drool. Sunspot’s eyes refocus as the maw before her opens, dripping with drool…and the dragon was drooling because of her.

Thorne leans in, dragging its tongue over the tiefling's neck and up the side of her face, tasting her. The tiefling fusses and kicks, trying to pull herself free from the grip Thorne has on her and recoiling away from the rough tongue as it drags across her neck and face, leaving a trail of drool alongside a patchwork of scratches…

"Mmmmm..." The dragon purrs, relishing the taste of her victim.

“…p-please, I- D-Dragon’s need familiar’s, right? I can- I can find other food, something or someone else! Just- Hhhnnn…” An adjustment of pressure from its grip shocks her horns’ nerves, “J-Just…put me down…don’t…e-eat me,” she pleads.

"let you bring me food..." Thorne pretends to consider for a moment, before her stomach interrupts her with another grrgggmmmbbbllll. "Or eat you now. My stomach is making a very convincing argument,"

Sunspot thinks for a moment, just a split second, that she did it. That for all the little mistakes she made stumbling in here, she managed to pull herself free from the fire she fell out of the frying pan into. And then there’s another stomach growl, and it might as well be a death knell.

Thorne tightens the grip of her tail, letting the tiefling's legs flail freely as she lifts the struggling morsel towards her jaws. Hot, humid air caresses Sunspot's head as her face is pressed fully into Thorne's mouth. The dragon's tongue squishes around her, slathering her in thick, slimy drool.

“NO-!”

Up goes the tiefling, thrashing and kicking her legs as hard as she can as her face is met with Thorne’s tongue once more, her head almost enveloped in nothing but the dragon’s maw…she tries to kick at Thorne’s tail, or dig her nails into her scales, or poke and prod with her own tail, just anything to wrench back control and escape!

The terrified exclamation of her prey echoes through Thorne's lair. Were Sunspot's face not threatened with imminent consumption, she might see the corners of the beast's jaws twitch into a cruel grin. As she squirms in the tail's grasp, a throaty chuckle rises up around her, and Thorne tightens her tail around the little appetizer's waist.

The claw forcing Sunspot's head down releases her horns, before the tiefling feels the threatening pressure of the dragon's teeth close around her collarbones. The dagger like fangs lightly pierce her skin, staining their tips in crimson ichor. The tip of Thorne's tongue probes these fresh wounds, drinking in the flavor.

"Mmmrrrrrrr..." Another satisfied growl rumbles up Thorne's gullet, shaking Sunspot's world around her.

The teeth pressing into her body, though the may not be gnashing, is further confirmation of what’s to come, alongside the fact that the efforts Sunspot had been making weren’t accomplishing much of anything. She winces as the dragon’s tongue presses against the marks her teeth have left. Not even her blood was safe from Thorne.

And moments later, neither was her body.

The familiar feeling of Thorne's meaty claws returns. Wicked talons grip the tiefling's torso, before wrenching away, tearing the upper half of her drenched outfit to shreds, and leaving shallow but bloody furrows in their wake.

Sunspot’s eyes widen within the dragon’s mouth when her outfit is ripped away, the rainwater almost making it easier. She feels the sting of Thorne’s talons, as well as the new temperature her body is met with. Damp with rainwater, her skin is glistening, though no doubt that would soon be replaced by drool.

*GLLK*

The dragon's maw shifts around Sunspot, forcing her head down into the beast's hungry throat, and her exposed chest follows into the dragon's jaws. A warm, wet caress plays along her chest as Thorne's tongue begins pulling her in. The flavor of blood and sweat soaks into her taste buds, eliciting a ravenous growl from within.

Again, talons grip into Sunspot's remaining clothes, groping her rear, before tearing the fabric from her meal. Soaked remnants of clothes fall to the ground, as Thorne's tail uncoils and she leans back, lifting her prey high into the air.

Aimlessly, Sunspot’s arms and hands try to grab onto something to find purchase and prevent herself from being swallowed, be it a molar or a uvula, hoping it may get Thorne to spit her back out, but the tiefling is far too panicky in her movements to actually make a good grip before she’s forced in deeper.

Her legs kick harder when Thorne’s tongue reaches her chest, and the sudden release of the massive tail around her lower half makes those kicks wild, not expecting a lack of force. It also, combined with the lift, pushes her in deeper.

Sunspot finds her head forced ever deeper down Thorne's gullet as she flails, but also soon finds herself on the receiving end of a vicious bite. The dragon did not expect quite such violent motion from her prey, and instinctively snapped her jaws closed, driving her fangs into the tiefling's meaty thighs.

“AH!”

Sunspot flinches and recoils in pain within Thorne’s throat as the fangs enter her thighs. She becomes tense and shaky, her body reacting to the pain by trying to keep the adrenaline pumping. Satisfied that her meal is well enough secured, the predator's tongue relaxes, and plays itself along the woman's chest, toying with the tasty treat. The tongue lapping at her breasts and nipples keeps the tiefling’s adrenaline pumping, but in a way Sunspot truly abhors.

*GLRRP*

Another swallow pulls Sunspot deeper, the pressure of Thorne's esophagus hungrily grabbing at her body. Sunspot’s arms are pinned to her side. Any attempt she had made to find purchase and slow her descent was useless, and now, she wouldn’t be able to make them anymore. She feels every part of Thorne’s throat squeezing and refusing to release, her squirms rendered little more than the occasional shift.

Meanwhile, Thorne's tongue continues its probing, teasing her victim's breasts one last time before slithering lower. Sunspot feels the muscle trace a slimy path down her torso, following rivulets of blood to lap at their source, before moving on to the next.

Eventually the tongue finds its way down to the tiefling's hips, sliding between the unfortunate woman's thighs. She tenses. This big, strong, drooly thing slides down her body with ease, and soon slips between her legs, eliciting an “EEP!” followed by more squirms. Thorne relaxes her jaws, and Sunspot feels the tongue press in, before...

*GLLLLPP*

Another throaty gulp pulls her hips fully to the back of the dragon's maw. The throat vibrates around her as Thorne moans in pleasure at her taste. Sunspot slides deeper once more. Her entire body rattles as the dragon moans, so much taste dancing on her tongue from just a small tiefling.

Thorne's throat bulges out as she takes one more big swallow, tossing the tiefling's hips into her gullet with one final, powerful thrust. Slowly, inexorably now, her prey's body glides downwards. Thorne dances her tongue one last time over the poor thing's ass, then thighs, then calves, and feet, rough taste buds scraping the last bits of flavor from them before they vanish forever into her guts.

Sunspot does her best to try and halt the process, to try and latch onto something before she slides down all the way to no avail. Her previous attempt coming up empty might’ve discouraged her from doing so, but nevertheless the fight to exist is still in her… despite the fact that she’s not even in the predator’s mouth anymore.

As the squirming morsel slides down Thorne's gullet, her best attempts to stop herself almost seem useless, until her descent briefly comes to a halt. Somehow, she realizes, she has managed to wedge herself somewhere. A muffled growl resonates from above, indicating just how deep she is.

Hah! Aha! Her horns, her tail, something had put a stop to this! Her bright eyes alight with darkvision as she realizes just how far down she is, but that doesn’t mean there’s no escape, right? She’s stopped! She kicks and squirms, hoping to activate a gag reflex or something. Maybe she could just climb back out of the dragon if she passes out or-

*GLLLLP*

“AGHH!!” Not a snowball’s chance in the Hells. What hope she might have had of choking the beast is quickly snuffed out, as another powerful swallow forces her back into a more manageable position.

Moments later, her journey pauses again, as her face is pressed against a ring of muscle. She cringes when her face presses against the muscle, filled with disgust even more than she was already. It slowly opens as the peristaltic motion of the esophagus eases the unfortunate tiefling through. Her nostrils are instantly assaulted by the sting of acids, while her body is slowly extruded into the stomach, falling with a faint splash into a pool of fluid. The cuts and wounds on Sunspot's body sting as they are submerged, the digestive enzymes eager to bite into the tender flesh.

She hisses in pain, pushing her head up above the pool and frantically looking around. There’s gotta be something she can do, right? Everything stings!

As her meal reaches her stomach, Thorne rubs her hand over the small bulge she makes. Live, struggling prey was always a pleasure to digest, and just in time, her latest victim was putting up a fight.

“RRRRGH!” The dragon’s meal puts all her strength behind a head butt against the stomach wall, hoping to dig her horns in! This does little outside of splash more acid.

Sunspot's horns slam into the wall of Thorne's stomach, and the dragon growls a soft "mmmmhhh" in response. Her stomach, however, is less pleased with the resistance, and the organ clenches against the struggling meal, forcing some air up Thorne's throat into a small “urp!” carrying with it the faint taste of tiefling. Thorne smiles at the taste, and, hungry for more, lets her tongue play along her lips and teeth to chase the last hints of Sunspot's flavor.

"Ahhhhh," she growls, "I really should thank you for delivering such a delicious meal."

Meanwhile, Sunspot tries to push against the sudden constriction, her hands shoving at the slick interior and trying to get more space within the claustrophobic confines of the dragon’s stomach. She grits her teeth and tries to head butt again, thumping her head and horns up against the wall once more!

The voice taunting her, echoing far above her, only serves to make her angrier in her thrashing escape attempt, despite the futility of it. At one point, she just punches the stomach lining, roaring out in a sobbing anger from within Thorne.

Belly laden with prey, Thorne lumbers lazily back towards her hoard, and settles her massive bulk amidst the coins and gems. As her prey writhes within her, each thrashing motion elicits a noise of sadistic pleasure, and the occasional churning response from her stomach.

"You're quite a lively one!" The dragon teases. "Got somewhere important to be?"

As Thorne mocks her meal, the acids in her stomach are heating up. What was a mild sting in an exposed wound has turned to full body irritation, scouring the outer skin of the struggling tiefling within.

Of course she had somewhere to be! She wasn’t just wandering around the ridge with no destination, and her final resting place was certainly not the one she had in mind! The unfortunate tiefling thinks to herself. She can’t quite respond to Thorne, though, as no doubt her growls of anger and sobs of panic were being drowned out by churning of the dragon’s stomach.

Speaking of being drowned out, the pain she was beginning to feel was drowning out a lot of her current feelings, and many sensations. There’s a sickly hissing, one that is followed by Sunspot’s own hiss of pain as her mind begins to get overwhelmed. It’s then that her thrashing becomes much more panicked and less calculated than before, not just trying to get out anymore, but also trying to escape the pain!

"I did say I had a nice warm place for you to stay, but if it's not to your liking, I won't come chasing if you can fight your way out," Thorne muses, reveling in the cruelty of her offer. "But I'm looking forward to feeling you soften down into a nice, filling meal."

With that taunt left to hang in the air, Thorne rolls onto her back, idly rubbing her boiling gut. Slowly, each contraction of her stomach softens the living meat within, and the dragon listened and felt with keen interest as thrashing struggles turned to despairing sobs.

“LIAR!!”

She mostly shouted it for herself, at this point. She feels her space once again shrink, the dragon’s stomach doing everything in its power to melt her down into nothing but sustenance…but she was so much more than that!

She was a person, not food!

Large hands press into her from outside, and she can do little but bat at their forms in an attempt to get the dragon to leave her alone, her breathing hitching as more and more of her body is enveloped in acid.

Thorne grins wickedly to herself as she listens to the little softening morsel's futile cries. The taste of denial and helplessness, when a little piece of meat like this soon to be former adventurer could not possibly accept their destiny as dinner, was more sublime than any blood or terror. Always mere moments before they finally gave in to her gut, she thinks to herself.

Thorne begins kneading her belly with both hands, with some intention helping it along, but mostly just feeling just how much her prey has softened.

"You're so close now, but I'll give you a choice," she offers, her voice honeyed with crooning mockery. "You can hang on a few more delicious minutes, and let my guts finish you, or," she pauses to let her claws find their target, "I can show you just how soft you are and finish you with one squeeze now."

Sunspot refused. She wouldn’t- She couldn’t end up like this! She was a proud tiefling, the mark of the continuation of bloodlines thought long since dead. She had to survive! She couldn’t just be dragon food!

She weakly squirms as the hands knead against her, whimpering at the further taunting before the claws press into her…she grits her teeth and kicks, trying to fight with what little was left…

"Mmmmyeaahh," Thorne purrs, thoroughly enjoying Sunspot's desperate struggles.

The tiefling's pride may have given her a burst of strength to struggle against fate, but Thorne's stomach is relentless. Though the dragon deigns not to end the adventurer immediately, the incessant roiling of her guts, assisted by the massaging of her claws, have softened her meal to the point of inevitability. Deeper below, Sunspot can hear the hungry gurgling of Thorne's intestines, ready to absorb a meaty tiefling soup. If she gives up fighting, but for a moment, she feels she will melt into mushy red chyme, never to return.

Sunspot’s breathing has slowed to gasps between momentary thrashing, her body simply reacting to the fact that she’s staring down her final moments. She tries to gather her strength for one last head butt, tries to slam her horns against Thorne’s claws, but all the dragon is treated to is one last pitiful thump before…

*GLLLLLLRRRRRSSSSHHHH*

As the tiefling makes her final, pitiful effort, Thorne's gut clenches down, melting softened flesh into nutritious soup. The dragon feels her victim finally succumb, and in a moment of ecstatic victory, lets out a roar that shakes the cavern.

Over the next few minutes, her stomach begins a vicious, churning cycle, until the only solid forms Thorne can feel are the faint outline of her latest victim's bones, slowly draining with the rest of the meal down deeper into her guts. She leans back, flopping into a euphoric post meal bliss, losing track of time in her pleasured haze.

It is only once her stomach has nearly fully drained that she begins to recover, feeling a slight bump pushing back up her gullet. Something solid, a little larger than her guts must have wanted to take. It eases up her throat, carried on a cushion of Sunspot's last breath, exiting with a faint burp.

Thorne looks down at the mysterious gastrolith, before chuckling to herself. Empty eye sockets look up at her from a polished skull, scoured clean of any sign of life. All that remains to hint at the tiefling who met her unfortunate end in the dragon's guts are her lovely curled horns, protruding from the skull's ivory white brow. A beautiful addition to her hoard, she thinks to herself, before sinking back into blissful, satiated slumber.

[bestfurryhusband]

*results not binding

[v1ultrakill-bigpenis]

i keep forgetting to post mine fuckery. first and second are both related to an upcoming episode of prospects of precipitation (a risk of rain 2 machinima, go watch what exists of it so far)

in order: -paladin with a line pointed at him reading “he doesn’t know what pregnancy is” -simplified huntress with a frantic dialogue box reaading “huntress: placeholder text” -weakest monk rain world player -my balls itc—i mean irritable spherical objects. in ms paint -early design of splendor. before i decided he has necklaces and bracelets made from scavenger pearls -void profligate and follower (partner’s lemurian oc who was formerly part of a n’kuhana cult) -voidtouched Me (well, valor’s void providence AU) holding khyron (the paladin) after he attempted to eat a void infester (relevant: non-serious rp channel in a friends-only server)

i need to make refs for splendor, profligate, and ISO sometime

[angeliteonfridgeduty]

Ye local infodump pinned post. hi

so anyway

i am your local idiot that is hopelessly addicted to a chunk of select fandoms and constantly makes stupid amounts of AU's on them because, you see, i can

!!!! i try my best, but i forget shit a lot so this blog may contain reblogs with untagged blood/gore/body horror/etc typical to fandoms i'm in (ultrakill, murder drones, project moon for example). it's absolutely not in irl form, but. yknow. still.

they're not a daily occurrence kind of thing but they're there. delve at your own risk

(this hellhole is large and i don't think i can find every untagged post i have ever on my own so like. if you do stumble upon anything i forgotted to tag please let me know in dms or askbox or hell even in a reblog or something, i'll locate and tag it)

anyway yeah uhhhhhhhhhhhh basic human being (totally not an iterator or FallenAngel with internet access) that draws and has a tendency to randomly disappear for amounts of time approximately close to 6000 years.

generally i use she/her to refer to myself but i'm fine with anything

the art i do is mostly the physical kind (y'know, the average pen + paper combo), but i can and will do digital too occasionally

i will mostly post about my massive mass of au's and original worlds that also happen to be i guess interconnected if that's the correct term because i like it when more lore. the whole thing unified is just called Lesoverse for now because i have the naming skills of someone that lacks naming skills

here's a WIP googledoc that explains a bunch of Lesoverse terms, mechanics and stuff.

Also, i may occasionally roleplay as some of my OCs in broad daylight for no particular reason. When making posts or reblogging something as them, i'll use a tag for the respective OC i'm roleplaying as.

Current List:

1. No Particular Reason (Rain World) - Iterator sona. tag - #partiposting

2. The SOLUTION Collective (Sekaiju: a World of Creatures) - Lost Ocean collective OC. tag - #solutionposting on main (no posts as of yet)

3. unidentified FallenAngel with internet access (Sekaiju: a World of Creatures) - ..pretty self-explanatory i guess, FallenAngel OC. No tag as of yet. (no posts as of yet)

4. [ TRANSCENDENCE ]. funny people cluster entity. like 90% hivemind. tag - #transcendencing it up . though some posts with them probably won't have a tag it's funnier that way. but if i reply to something while Typing Like This The Entire Time and it sounds awfully like i'm doing roleplay i probably am

i mostly just send this one at askblogs

oh and general roleplay tag is #the rp sure is commencing

i probably will use it really scarcely but its a thing

Other Blogs:

-Reblog Sideblog (mostly dead)

-Ask The C262 Trio Anything

-Ask Tablet And Z Anything

current hyperfixations: sekaiju and limbus company

current other stuff i like just not focused on: Rain World, Phighting, Murder Drones, Steven Universe, fallen london/sunless sea/sunless skies, Cavern Crusher, my OUs

anyway here's a guide to my tags (this one will get updated on the rare occasions when i'm not deader than Pink Diamond)

______________________________________________________________

#soup jar. / #soup jar. that's it. that's all i'm willing to say = universal tag for my stuff in general i guess

#MD-Colony 262 = tag for stuff related to my silly current main murder drones AU.

#FR-Dawn Of Flight = tag for stuff related to my silly current main flight rising AU. no i don't know why i called it that either

#Sekaiju: Broken Veil = tag for my one and only silly sekaiju AU

#LV-The Antiverse = tag for things related to that specific multiverse some of my AU/OU's exist in.

#LV-The Beyond = tag for things related to that one code controller infested hellhole i made

#Fissured Together = tag for that one fandom-mash AU i own

#SU-Reality Fractures = tag for that specific anomalous hell of a Steven Universe AU i made once

#ask local soup idiot and local soup idiot shall answer = tag for my asks in general lol

#toaster drones content = ....self-explanatory. toaster drones.

#consumes your content = reblogs

#RW: Storm Fluctations AU - my abnormal as all hell rain world au

[rottendragon]

Do you hear Her song?

Do you see Her influence?

She listens.

You listen.

[wistfull-dreamer]

Alright can someone explain to me how tf the massive risk of rain rp escalated from "hehe look bandit gay and like so and so and Captain is tired" to "eveyone is getting corrupted by the void captain is abusing the crew and a few of the silly little guys are dieing" so fucking fast lightspeed seems slow in comparison

[misterspectacular]

GOOD OMENS 2 SPOILERS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, JUST STATING MY THOUGHTS BASICALLY

SO MY FRIEND AND I BINGED SEASON 2 OF GOOD OMENS THE SECOND IT WAS RELEASED! What an adrenaline rush pahahahaa to have waited that long, and finally get it, it was a lot, I think we almost died.

(I dunno how to do the "keep reading" thing so have some dots)

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I honestly would say that season 2 of Good Omens is better than season 1. Nearly the entire thing was Crowley and Aziraphale. YES. They're what I want.

Also, the way the flashbacks were arranged -- perfect! They were longer and more fleshed out and we got continuations of some of them! Huzzah!

Gabriel was hilarious, as usual. Jim was even funnier. Conflicting feelings about Gabriel for most of the season, I started forgiving him towards the end though. The thing with Beelzebub was pretty nice.

It starting off with angel Crowley, he was such a dork, finding out he KNEW AZIRAPHALE THEN, wow! Highlight!

The apology dance was a highlight,

Crowley drinking poison and shrinking/growing and sounding like a Leprechaun was a highlight,

All of Crowley's different accents -- all highlights.

THE FACT THAT CROWLEY IS THE ONE THAT GOT AZIRAPHALE EATING, THE WAY THAT WHOLE THING HAPPENED, THAT WAS CERTAINLY A HIGHLIGHT.

Crowley pretending to be EVIL!!! I didnt fall for it for a second, I was like, yeah okay so where did the goats actually go hahaa! Into the crows, amazing!

Aziraphale with his halo, that was freaking awesome -- he was pretty badass in this season, at some points.

THEM DANCING TOGETHER!!! Jfhsnsnehdiend

The magic act! And it working, even without using actual miracles!

Crowley making it rain, ha, I did that in a RP.

Aziraphale being... look, he's freakin adorable, the way he cradled the, well, the tumor -- I mean, it sounds weird, but it was actually incredibly endearing -- he was very endearing, as always.

THINKING HE WAS GOING TO FALL, and crying about it, and Crowley cheering him up!! YESSS

And... Crowley's realization... SAYING AZIRAPHALE COULD NEVER BE A SIDE PIECE jddjsbdje

Crowley FALLING APART as he OPENS UP TO AZIRAPHALE!!! OUCH! That was like being stabbed, but somehow in a good way, because YES HES SAYING IT, JESUS FUCK

And...

THE

KISS

Like holy-fucking-moly! Dream come true, right there!! I did NOT expect things to go in that direction, I thought we were going to play it safe, and I am so glad that I was wrong. I've wanted these two to kiss for A LONG TIME, I've role played kissing AZIRAPHALE SO MANY TIMES, I've written stories, that was -- well, this was my response at the time: hfjdnelsneksndkwndjskwjznwjs jdneksneksjs disndjsnskw djjwdne idens! LITERALLY A DREAM COME TRUE, NEARLY EXPLODED!!! Like Crowley and Aziraphale literally kissed, mouth to mouth, its canon, it happened, the music swelled, they did it, it's real. Never thought I'd have pictures of men kissing up on my wall but I think I might need to print that out and hang it up, this was not just a highlight of season 2, this was A HIGHLIGHT OF MY LIFE! THANKS FOR THE NOURISHMENT, GAIMAN

and the nightingale thing -- "I don't hear anything" "that's the point, no nightingales", killed me man. THE NIGHTINGGALE, WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE NIGHTINGALE! OW! I DID NOT CRY ABOUT IT, I SWEAR ! ! !

Aziraphale saying I FORGIVE YOU ksndjwnsje I dont understand why he said that when just seconds ago he was saying LET US BE TOGETHER HOORAY, my friend and I were talking and I said, well last time he said I FORGIVE YOU it was after Crowley called him stupid, and my friend was like, well didnt Crowley call him an idiot this time, call back, so maybe that was it,

Aziraphale touching his lips like that after the kiss, holy fuck, A++++, but a painful A++++

and then CHOOSING METATRON!?!? WHAAAAAT?!?!?! I was reeeaaallly hoping he'd run to Crowley and KISS HIM or SOMETHING, but he -- METATRON, NOOoooOooOooo!!! So that was an extremely painful ending. and I realize that for Season 3 to happen, something would HAVE to push fans into creating that build-up and that NEED for another season, but.... OW! how long do I have to live with this pain??? If season 3 is NEVER MADE, it's going to end on this note??? it'd better get made jdbekdnwksn HOLY FUCK, I also better not DIE BEFORE IT'S MADE. I'll be over here, guts out, "cant die... yet... need... to see... Aziraphale and Crowley... make up...! Need... season... 3...!"

So yeah I'll be watching that over and over and over and over and over and over and ov

[findyourrp]

🌌 Howdy! I'm Rara, nice to meet ya! I'm a 21yr old in the PDT time zone (CA, USA) looking to RP my OC x CC in multiple fandoms. I'm just going to put my general RP prefs here.

↓ ↓ ↓ ↓

I'm a semi to adv lit writer and will respond multiple times a week depending on my free time and overall interest. I'm mainly looking for someone to do MxF (and a few selective FxF) ships of my OCs x CCs in a few fandoms. I am fully capable and happy to play a cast of canons alongside my OC for most RPs! So please don't hesitate to message me and discuss who will be who. For now, I'm only looking for the characters I have listed.

I'm NOT open for any doubles or OC x OC pairings at the moment. Apologies to anyone who is looking for that but I'm just a little burnt out. I'm open to other canons outside of my listed ones but I'm a little particular right now. Please have an idea of your plot prefs and headcanons in mind when DMing. This is for any character - listed or otherwise.

* * * * *

Fandoms :

{ NOTE: Characters with a dot are who I'm looking for the most! Some characters are for various platonic scenarios! Know that all characters will be portrayed as 18+ regardless of platonic or romantic pairing! }

- Pokemon

•Gordie•, •Drayton•, •Kieran•, •Piers•, •Ingo•, •Emmet•, •Volo•, •Adaman•, Kiawe, Guzma, Leon

- The Owl House

•Hunter•, •Eda•, •Raine•, Luz, Gus, Willow, King

- SpiderVerse

•Hobie Brown•, Miles Morales

- Kekkai Sensen/Blood Blockade Battlefront

•Zed O'Brien•, Klaus van Reinhertz, Steven Starphase, Leonardo Watch

- LoZ (BotW/TotK)

•Urbosa•, •Kohga•, Kass

× × × × ×

If you're interested in being any of these characters, please DM me the phrase “Nice Rice! ” on Discord (@rararave) or Tumblr so I know you're from here! I have dealt with spammers and randos before, which is why I have the “say this first” rule. If you don't follow the rule and/or answer incorrectly, you are at risk of getting blocked!

Thanks for reading! 💜

.

[brdpch]

{5} a game of cats, mice and hearts like ice

desktop: previous ✧ next mobile: previous ✧ next

synopsis: in the world of deadly games and their lives at risk, a very smart sociopath meets a very cunning stripper who claims his life as hers.

warnings: canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of violence, sexual abuse, substance abuse, niragi, literally everything, you name it.

formatting: it's a glued-together dynamic roleplay between me and @bvrdel-mama, so the replies are separated by ♠♥♦♣, and the dialogues are written like — This. — yes, the symbols look horrible on mobile, we know.

statistics: 1,795 words 9,888 characters.

author's note: it's a mix of manga!chishiya with show!chishiya. also! what's worth noticing - in this rp there are dice involved. the mechanic is called a d20 mechanic, and it's based on dungeons and dragons 5th edition. we also use other dice rolls for other outcomes, so future events might surprise both me and my roleplaying partner. enjoy!

Shuntarō nodded at everything she said, ignoring the gunshots, unfazed. He didn't know if it showed but he was very impressed by her quick thinking and ability to work under the pressure of time and looming death. He was right - the sweet, stupidish performance she put on hid a wolf underneath, just really similar to his blank emotionless one which hid a cold, calculating predator. He thought really hard about the flaws in her analysis of their situation but much to his disappointment he couldn't find any. The know-it-all tone wasn't lost on him as well, although he chose to ignore it just like the gunshots and screams of the panicked people below. She was dangerously intelligent, that could be a problem later on, one that didn't simply involve her questioning his intelligence in an elaborate way.

Shuntarō met her gaze now, still leaning over the balcony, putting his chin upwards.

— I have no idea, but I'm positive you will now enlighten me.  — he lowered his voice and uttered dryly.

He was following the horse-head on the opposite side from him, watching his movement and noting the floors which were targeted by his bullets. They must know where the room they're looking for is - it's a matter of noting down where their feet took them and where their sight and bullets go. She thought of the playing field well, let's see if she can come up with a solution to this game as fast as he can.

♠♥♦♣

She had to be used to the gunshots, but not because of visiting the shooting range or playing paintball; she was used to the real thing used in actual gunfights. She also had to witness death at some point, because she seemed unfazed by the dead bodies, screams and blood.

Another scream interrupted their conversation, followed by a rain of bullets, and then a pause. Something was dropped, Unmei was sure it was an empty magazine - she saw it from across the balcony. The tagger was reloading.

— Rupert Sheldrake, scientist, actually - currently biologist, — she spoke quietly, turning off the recording. — Theorized about atoms, which was actually proven a few years ago, have weight, but in this weight they carry widely understood knowledge. The atoms „communicate” with each other by the use of a morphogenetic field - which is, for us, the apartment complex. One thousand people were experimented on in the United Kingdom, answering a question about what's on two paintings. On one of them, there was a dog; on the other one - a woman in a hat, but here's the catch - these pictures looked similar to Rorschach test ones. — Unmei paused for a moment. — You know, those dark splotches on light background which are used in the psychiatric field. Anyway, back to the point - 3.9% of surveyed could recognize a dog, and 9.2% surveyed could recognize the lady. Next time they conducted the experiment they got much better results - about 10% rate with the dog, and 20% rate with the lady. It could possibly mean that this knowledge was already „discovered” and then „stored”, or rather „kept” in the morphogenetic field, transferred later on by more surveyed subjects. If there is someone who knows where the safe zone is, it's the tagger, and their knowledge - in theory - is stored in the atoms around us

Unmei waited a little bit for Chishiya to catch up to her with his thinking.

— Nonetheless, I don't really believe in this version of the theory. But if the tagger knows where the safe zone is, he'll reveal it to us sooner or later by protecting the right door. When the players are in enough distance, then he'll start actually chasing them. — she paused again. — There was no player limit, so they have to carry enough ammo and weapons for not only a few, but maybe even tens of people, meaning we cannot take them one-by-one. Have you already counted their magazine capacity? Tagger keeps going around the middle floors, so one of these doors could be the solution. Let's say that this apartment complex has one hundred flats, and there are fourteen of players - seven doors for each player to check, if we assume all of us are alive and we'll keep checking them efficiently, one by one. it's impossible to do in twenty, — she checked her phone. — Ten minutes.

♠♥♦♣

Unmei could deduce earlier that Shuntarō was a man of few words, who preferred acting from speaking. It was the case even now. Chishiya partly observed the tagger wandering around the lower levels, but partly listened to Unmei's words. It didn't seem like the massacre surrounding them was a problem to Shuntarō, quite the opposite - at times a dark smile would appear on his face when the echoes of players choking on their own blood reached their ears.

— It's good that you added that you don't believe in that theory. It sounds as probable as building your life on horoscopes. — he answered dryly, scanning Unmei from head to toe.

Shuntarō shook his head and then a focused look appeared on his face. He agreed with the part where Unmei mentioned that the tagger will lead them to the goal of the game.

— A standard machine pistol has either twenty-five or thirty-two bullets in its magazine. I assume the second option is more proba- — Shuntarō was cut off by a rain of bullets directed at someone on the other side of the complex. The tagger emptied out the whole magazine.

— Thirty two. — he said quickly, leaning over the balcony to check where the bullets go. Why would someone shoot from such a distance? From a weapon which loses its effectiveness the further it is from the target? They would shoot if someone is close to the right room - Chishiya answered his own question. 

After a second he pulled out the phone and opened the camera app, zooming on the walls of the opposite floors. Analyzing the angle in which the bullets entered the room is on the...

♠♥♦♣

— Do I believe in the experiment? Not necessarily. But I do believe in the theory itself. — said Unmei, leaning over the balcony. The girl with the short dark brown hair has just climbed over the railing to the upper floor, a salvo of bullets behind her, moments before she begged an older lady to change the floors with her.

— Morphogenetic fields are confirmed to exist by science. Besides, you're a Scorpio.

Blue ducked behind the half-wall, covering his ears in panic. Shaggy, despite the stern 'no' he heard from Hawaii, rushed to help Blue. Unmei tilted her head, paying close attention to them. Chishiya and her both answered the question about the safe room at the same time. Getting there was the problem.

— Hey everyone! — shouted Shaggy, revealing himself for a second. — Let's tell each other where the tagger is! We will find the safe room together!

♠♥♦♣

Shuntarō furrowed his brows and shot an irritated glance towards Unmei - then his gaze snapped to the girl that was prepping for a run in the lobby. Looks like it wasn't a run, but rather a quick climb around the complex. She was hanging from one of the balconies now.

— Ideal moment for discussing scientific theories. — he said ducking back behind the balcony, when a salvo of bullets flew their way.

Chishiya's eyes wandered towards the lower levels where the two young men were running about, and soon one of them spoke inviting all of the participants to work together. And he was right, there was no way Chishiya and Unemi could clear the game by themselves in the time which was left.

— Second floor, northern corner! — Chishiya shouted leaning over the balcony just to be greeted by 9mm bullets again.

♠♥♦♣

Unmei hid behind the wall, her head low, almost between her knees, as she squatted. She didn't come out when Shuntarō decided to get a look at the tagger yet again, only to hear him shout. She quickly put her hands on his head, pushing it down, pulling on his hair. It worked best, she knew it really well from her own experience.

Unmei held him like this for a second, their foreheads touching - she had to use her body weight to make sure he ducks on time, before a bullet makes its way into his skull. She held him in place for a few more seconds, not letting go, as to make sure he's not gonna get up.

— As I said, — she hissed, her voice barely audible from gunshots. — Don't get in my way. What do you think you're doing?

Her once ice-cold eyes were now ablaze, burning their way through Chishiya right into his non-existent soul. It was a scream-whisper, and as she let go, she started moving, her body as low as possible, knees on the rugged concrete. That'll leave bruises, for sure.

five minutes remaining.

— We'll take care of the tagger! — shouted Beach member number one, and as Unmei took a quick look around her surroundings, Hawaii responded. — You guys find the safe zone!

♠♥♦♣

Shuntarō laughed maybe a bit too loudly when his hair got snatched and pulled down by Unmei, then for their foreheads to touch - the woman not letting go of the clump of strands she clinged to, hissed at him through clenched teeth while Chishiya was still laughing in her face - literally.

— Mind the hair. — Shuntarō said through his giggling, then his demeanor changed drastically, his eyes became emotionless and a twisted grin appeared on his face.

— You are very annoying, you know? If you want me out of your way, sure. How about we bump up the difficulty level then?

He leaned over the balcony again and shouted to get the horse-head's attention, then got up and sprinted to the elevator, barely ducking through a barrage of 9mm bullets leaving marks in the wall behind him. His pulse was up, he was ecstatic, he finally felt something - anger, passion, the thrill of life. He had five minutes, the shout should give him at least a few seconds before the horse-head appears on the highest floor. He took Unmei's shoe that was stuck in the door - clicked the floor he last saw the horseman on and exited the elevator.

He then turned to Unmei and waved at her.

— Have fun! — he shout-whispered to the girl before turning around and sprinting down the staircase to the 4th floor.

[skips-is-asleep]

Psionic Headcanons And Rules

Can't get this out of my head, here's the rules I semi-strictly follow when writing Sollux for RP or writing fanfics. I hate when people write Sollux's powers are being able to do anything at any point in time with no restrictions, so these are the restrictions I place upon him to make everything more interesting. Some of these are popular/universally accepted, some are perhaps a bit controversial ;)

Once again, Pink text is for tangents but more often than not, Sollux specific headcanons

Psionics have to look at whatever they're using their powers on. The only exception is that they can use it on themselves at any time, but this is my explanation for why voidrot (what happens to Sollux after his big fight with Eridan if u didn't know) blinds them. Sometimes I break this rule but I try hard lol, it depends on what I'm writing

Psionics + Water generally do not mix. The rule of thumb is that psi doesn't work when is under water, so under active water flow/rain/shower or submerged in water. They can still grab wet things, but if the thing is underwater, they can't grab it. Also things being underwater impacts how they see the thing, see rule 1. This is ultimately why I think Solllux has a fear of the ocean/drowning because it's the one place his powers will fail him and he has zero control of what's happening. He's not usually a control freak, but when you can't even control your own breath supply???

Speaking of water and rain, psionics can't use their powers in lightning storms and also can sense where lightning will strike. 8/10, it's on them. They are person shaped lightning rods and can be struck multiple times if not under cover. It doesn't kill them, but it does hurt and they will get sick and not have access to their powers for a few days after. Due to high EM in the air anyways, psionic's powers are highly unpredictable in this setting. They often flail and whip and become their own little bolts of lightning with little control over it.

Psionics have power caps and need recharging, so to speak. They use sleep and food to replenish their energy just like non-psionics do and having low power impacts their overall mood and physical as well as psychic abilities. They also have a cap of energy they can use at any given point in time before they'll be done and need to rest/eat. If they go past this threshold, the risk for voidrot is increased significantly.

Voidrot is essentially like your laptop being at 1% and not being able to charge past it. Yeah you could keep it plugged in, but it's never going to go to full power and you shouldn't unplug it for long periods of time or use it for pretty much anything. A voidrotten psionic uses their powers, and they'll die.

There is a particular spot on psionics that if pinched, will temporarily subdue their powers. Think of it like putting a kink in a hose, it stops the water from flowing, but as soon as you let go, it'll start flowing again. Depending on the psionic, they might have a temporary lack of control of power.

This is the spot, I don't know much about biology but my logic is that the neck is like the main "wire" feeding the energy down from their brain to the rest of their body.

This weak spot is a HEAVILY guarded secret among psionics. They all have an unspoken agreement that they don't tell anyone about it, even other lowbloods, because should anyone else overhear it or the information spread around, it could be extremely dangerous for them as a population. The only other people that know this are ascended highblood adults, trolls that hunt psionics to bring them to their ascension.

Because this is so heavily guarded, lots of psionics don't even tell each other. They often find out about it themselves in private and either dont mention it to anyone else or seek out other psionics to discuss it.

When psionics get captured, a special device will be placed here to constantly squeeze this area for easy transport. This is also where injections for psionics happen to measure their "voltage" for lack of better term and also where permanent wiring will go when they are helmed as well as other areas.

This is so important, I know everyone thinks it's so so hot, but psionics would not feel good in the bedroom. They're not like hands, they can't stroke or insert or whatever else people make them do. I see it more as a cloud of energy that can pick things up or tools that can disappear. They can hold things, like people (up or down) or items but I think that's about it in terms of adult fun to be had with them.

Psionic energy isn't literally electric energy, but it is very similar and can be very easily converted into literal electricity. Psionics can hold open sockets or plugs and charge various items, or they can hold batteries and feel if they have a charge left on them. Stronger psionics can charge items to full power and precisely tell how much charge is left, but this takes more effort or is impossible for weaker psionics

Psionics can sense each other, but only in relatively close proximity. Think of indoor grocery stores as the general radius we're dealing with. Outside is very hit or miss, but small indoor spaces are a yes.

Psionic Involuntarily Sparking (PIS) is kind of like dogs tail wagging. It's a sign of high energy, and the type of energy that's being displayed is dependant on context. Dogs tails can wag when they're happy, highly stressed or angry, PIS can happen the same way. Some psionics drop the P and call it IS-ing, some embrace the unintentionally humor and call it pissing. #onlypsionicswillunderstand

Psionics can concentrate a stream of power to zap things with about the same power as exposed wiring or open circuits if that makes sense. Depending on intent and the power of the user, this could be a light shock or it could leave a mark. In a fic, I utilized this in a way so Sollux could concentrate his psionics into a powerful laser, like you'd see in a gun in Fallout/sci Fi movies.

Psionics have a glow to their eyes that, when "fully charged" it's about as bright as a phone on full brightness. As they get tired or malnourished, this glow will diminish and can go completely dark (voidrot.)

Wearing eyewear that matches your eyes is semi-common fashion trend among psionics, but Sollux's serve a dual purpose in that he often gets photosensitive when he uses his powers too much in a given session.

Psionics horns are very sensitive, but in a bad way. Their powers go out of their brain out through their horns and are, as a result, painful to the touch most of the time. Depending on how much they've used them in a given evening, it can range from a slight soreness to excruciating when touched. The only time their horns wouldn't hurt is if the user abstained from using their powers for at least a full day.

Psionics don't HAVE to use their powers every day.......but it's difficult not to and there are consequences to not using your powers for long periods of time. Psionics commonly experience Build Up, where their tank is too full. This manifests differently depending on the user, often hyperactivity, but it's completely normal to be irritable or overemotional when experiencing build up. In Sollux, this almost always is the cause for coding binges, or other projects that he'll sink tens of hours into in one given session. It's sort of like forgetting to take your ADHD meds and then creating your own choose your own adventure game instead of sleeping for three straight nights.

Most psionics are not psychic in other ways. For them, that's their draw, but Solllux, like always, is just a special case.

Psionics are measured from a very standard tier, I'm sure I don't have to explain what it looks like. What goes into deciding which tier a user goes into is based on a couple things. Raw power, control, endurance, longevity, and consistency. Sollux is S tier bc I think its funny. Psionics are given a tier at first pupation and have to check in every so often to complete tests and receive an updated score.