#synthcalibur

[lucatiel]

i salute u for still rebloging doll stuff.. solidarity

doll solidarity.....

tbh i can never give up the doll, or bloodborne in general 

[readmetxt]

die

[daughterofthedream]

NO!!! CEYN WILL NOT LET CLAIRE SAY FUCK!!!!!!!!!!! THAT IS NOT A GOOD THING FOR A FATHER TO LET HIS DAUGHTER DO

LET

THE PLAIN DOLL

SAY

F̸̶̶͈̯͙͇̹̩̩̲̲͎̟̭̤̝͋̑̂̈̄ͬ̏̽̾̏ͯ̓ͧ͟ͅUͪͥ̌ͭ̍̏̐͊̉ͣ͏̲̯̰̻̖̹͖͇̹͚̯͈͠C̰̰̯̤͈͕ͫͣͥ̾̄̐ͬ̃͘̕͠ͅK̵̋ͤ͌͊̔̏̈́͗̆͌̇̓̊̏ͩ̍ͣ̐́͢͞��̰͈͙̳͇

[thewickedavatar]

synthcalibur replied to your post “fate grand order has, no hyperbole, some of the worst designs i have...”

Great. now die

cody you stupid slut i like fate but just fucking LOOK at this and tell me it isn’t absolute trash!!!!!!

like she’s supposed to be an interpretation of a japanese regent and her main characteristic is that she has huge fucking tits and her armor gets skimpier the higher rank she gets

[eva-420]

i also got np3 salter. just an fyi

i play fgo on my lunch break sometimes im just making jokes and looking at goth saber 

[mosspig432-blog]

synthcalibur replied to your post: Go fuck your mother o ass

im hajime (i think thats his name the main character )because even tohugh i lose i am the main character and will beat you up

Cody i'm seriously going to fucking beat the hell out of you because there wasn't a SINGLE thing right about this sentence jesus christ

[milkhoneyjoon]

synthcalibur replied to your photoset “gorlfriends phoebe and kvenja! ft. @jawbone-the-tenth ”

ceyn accepts them bcus though theyre both white theyre gay. true PoC solidarity

i understand what ur sayin but kvenja is not white shes east asian... check ur facts.... sweaty

[jawbone-the-tenth]

jen 15 or 16!

15 and 16 are Eating Food and Playing a Sport so here’s both

[devilsbedpost]

synthcalibur replied to your post: I want nice clothes so they make me look way more...

me except im a half demon unknowingly in human body

[kimwexlersbabygirl]

@synthcalibur replied to your post: I’m always baffled by how some people on this site...

Good Post OP.

thanks this is the second Good Post I've made in two days

[existence-overwhelming]

Fake Things

Characters - Marion Bronte Faus Deirdre, Ceyn Alden

Word Count - 1,634

Description - In an attempt to grasp the concept of sleep, a certain automaton finds them self in the company of one sleeping man and her own thoughts.

@synthcalibur

When the luminous light of day fades into a muddled red and orange and yellow display, night begins its reign. This menagerie of hues fought the encroaching darkness gallantly, but it was a losing battle. They waned and shades of purple, violet, and grey rolled across the boundless horizon. Cottony islands of milky-white darkened and twisted into inky black stains upon a seamless dark tapestry. Then the world’s night light crept up above the jagged city skyline, its pale light streaking down and guiding wayward nighttime denizens. And yet, not all diurnal entities took the advent of the moon as a cue to nod off.  With eyes wide open, Marion laid atop the sheets of Ceyn’s bed. Her legs, too long, hung over the foot of the bed like the lower section of bamboo stalks, knees bent over the rail and feet resting against the fuzzy bristles of the floor. One arm dangled off the side, the back of her hand pressed against the carpet with fingers partially curled around an empty thin black glove. The other arm was stretched out above her, bare hand splayed out. Each fingertip marked a point of interest on the ceiling, of which the automaton’s eyes examined all of them.  Her ocular optics flicked from one tip to another, the distinct pink glow of her pupils acts as the sole light source. She could make out shapes and faces out of the random patterns formed by the bumpy texture of the plastered ceiling. Of which the most intriguing being the one her palm covered.  The formation in question reminded Marion of a constellation--one Ceyn pointed out. It was something akin to an animal, a lion Ceyn called Leo, and yet looked too malformed to accurately depict the prideful feline. But that’s why she liked this pattern the most. Due to its lack of certainty and its uncanny semblance to big cat, the unusually large blotch was just like any other constellation to her.  According to Ceyn, a constellation was this group of things in the sky someone found one day and somehow saw something else from it. They used their imagination to see something out of nothing, to correlate random things into something else entirely--something with purpose. And people were expected to see what they saw, even treat this fake thing as real. More outlandish than that, people did! Because of one silly individual, people treated a series of unrelated things, made into a fake thing with fabricated definition, as something it wasn’t. Something it could not, should not, would not be--real. Thus because she was the only one to see this little odd Leo, in the sky of Ceyn’s room no less, she got the privilege of naming it. She would name it Asli, such an ironic joke.

People were always fabricating imitations of things.  Marion’s wonder-struck eyes trailed from Asli to the first knuckle of her ring finger. The elated, beaming countenance of her face faltered and turned somber. While more convincing than her counterparts--it was still fake. If you scrutinized the joint long enough, a nigh imperceptible seam between the tip and the rest of the finger evinced itself. Then the same discrepancy in her flawless skin became overt for the other two knuckles, as well as the rest of her hand’s joints. Below the alabaster skin: wires, resilient metallic bones, strips of bolted metal, nuts and bolts, servos, soldered joints and intersections, and all but organic things.  Nothing but random things.  She turned her hand palm down and clenched her digits. While nto stiff or mechanically awkward, a lack of profuse creases and wrinkles marred her pristine canvas skin like they did a human hand. Uncurling her fingers, she then flexed the five digits, extending and stretching them so the seams of each joint expanded in girth. Little black rings, thin bands, were exposed--each appended to their respective joint to provide additional protection. Then she let the mitt fall limp against her bosom, fingers lax, before breathing out a sigh. And for an ephemeral moment, she could not stand to look upon Asli any longer. It was too ugly of a mirror.  In this spontaneous lapse of repulsion, Marion turned on her side and faced Ceyn. The soft glow her eyes exuded chased away the darkness shrouding his peacefully slumbering visage. The brazen complexion she’d come to associate with happiness; the cuts and scrapes which faintly marred his features with their scar tissue; his dark strands of hair, cropped short of his neck; the unique way his nostrils flared in sync with the steady rise and fall of his chest; and the contours of his face that gave him an air of fierce cunning--everything developed over time. She smiled, memorizing every inch of his countenance for the umpteenth time. it all naturally defined his physicality, all stemming from either a choice of his own or of nature’s. When he acted or spoke, he did so with the character he himself defined all by his lonesome. Nothing told him who he should be or how he would look. It didn’t take the will of another to make him who was, nor did he look as he did because of another’s efforts.  Unlike Asli, no random things were needed to fabricate something real in Ceyn.

Marion scrutinized Ceyn’s sleeping mien a moment longer before letting her gaze descend and inch its way onto the man’s sole exposed hand. It seemed so petite, at least compared to her own. He had stout fingers and palms crisscrossed with scratches and faint, waning white streaks. Trace amounts of dirt and grime darkened the undersides of his stubby nails nigh imperceptibly. And patches of stubborn callouses, hardening the pads of his hands and fingers, lingered on his skin. His were the hands of a laborer.  For something so real, to rest his head so near, to something so fake--it seemed downright deplorable.  The automaton simply stared, nerve slipping away more and more with every second that passed as she worried at her lower lip. Bit by bit, she reached out towards the man’s hand. It was slow going and rife with hesitance, countless thoughts and emotions rising and falling out of her mind. A desire she could not put a name to drove her actions, one which stemmed from the subconscious yearnings few could ever acknowledge. But then, she stopped. Was it right to think these thoughts, to yearn for such things? Vincenza always chastised her whenever these things popped up. Words like “defective” and “retarded” often came up in her scoldings. And, more than usually, Marion would shove the whole thing far, far away so it withered away and retreated back into the confines of her subconsciousness--in no way did the automaton find the prospect of not being in Vincenza’s relatively good graces. But no one had reprimanded her this time, yet.  Would Ceyn rebuke her for wanting this?  Her eyes flicked from his hand to her own, then back again. When had she begun to tremble like a leaf? The woman curled her fingers, digits fidgeting and twitching, before promptly retracting her hand. She shook her head and beat the same mitt against her forehead in admonishment. It was stupid, utterly stupid of her to think--to try. A frown contorted her expression, lips quivering. Phlox droplets pricked the corners of her eyes, after a moment. But then, as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, something beyond her conscious apprehension begot a surge in conviction. The woman’s hand reluctantly crawled across the linen sheets, fingers working meticulously to inch forward like a spider’s legs when treading its own web, and reached out anew. A moment of intensified dubiety ground her progression to a nigh standstill for all but a moment before she forced herself to forge on. Eventually, Marion’s pinkie finger tapped against the tip of Ceyn’s own pinkie.  The difference in length was comically noticeable.  Blinking, she glanced up to the man’s lax face. It seemed her chilly touch, albeit faint, had gone unnoticed. Even when asleep--Ceyn seemed to stand upon some unreachable level, something she could only dream of achieving. She squeezed her eyes shut, then, and reached out to take his hand into her own, however, whatever confidence driving her actions fizzled out. Rather than pull back, though, Marion intertwined her pinkie with his.  Temperature did not register for her like it did for humans. She did not feel heat, not in the normal sense. When she, for example, places her bare hand under a running faucet of scalding water, she won’t immediately recoil in pain. Rather, the plethora of subdermal sensors of her body acknowledges the sudden spike in ambient temperature, measures it and relays this reading to the mind, and then begins to advises cautionary exposure based upon the measurement.  As such, holding his pinkie simply begot a measurement of his skin’s temperature and the acknowledgement that she was, in fact, touching something.  After a moment of bated worry, Marion cracked her eyes open by an inch to gauge Ceyn’s reaction. To her surprise--he had hardly stirred at all. But even more surprising was the fact that his digit had curled around her own in response. There was no rebuke or chastisement for her actions, yet, and it seemed as if she had done anything but disturb him. While she could not be certain as to how he might react once morning came, the present outcome left a small grin on her lips. The automaton then curled up, drawing her other arm and either leg up to her chest, and nestled into the sheets whilst she continued to hold his finger.  For now, as her eye lights began to dim and eye lids became lax, she was content with being a fake thing.

[lucatiel]

Ah I see. Thanks for letting me know!

Do you know of any sites or would it work to do a generic google search?

[readmetxt]

synthcalibur replied to your post “everyone following me if you dont wish a happy birthday to super...”

Facka you...basard

[daughterofthedream]

when you predict the BF’s fuckery

[thewickedavatar]

synthcalibur (me)

cody i clown on you at every possible opportunity but you’re good egg i love you. sincerely

[eva-420]

synthcalibur replied to your post: i also got np3 salter. just an fyi

oh? youre a fake fate fan? a fake fate fan gamergirl?

like literally everything else in my life, including not killing myself, im only here for cute goth girls