#treasure dark bios

[nautiica]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤwhen it's 11:11 i need it

[operationlove]

Character bio: Rouge & Omega

Bio in text version below:

Rouge & Omega

She/Her - 23 years | He/Him - ?? years

Two out of the three members of Team Dark. An unconventional team consisting of a super spy treasure hunter and two of the most dangerous weapons on earth. Unlike Team Sonic, these guys will deny to have any familial bonds or attachments to each other. They've formed the team out of circumstance and necessity. Whatever mission they've taken on they'll do it well but not without putting their self-interest first. They respect each others need for privacy, individuality and secrecy. Their "It's just business" attitude is mutually agreed upon and honored. Paradoxically this has made their transactional relationship the most reliable and beneficial one they have.

[reality-detective]

EXPOSED: The Hidden Network of 10,000 Deep Underground Military Bases (D.U.M.B.s) – A Global Conspiracy Unveiled

Beneath our feet lies a world shrouded in darkness and secrecy—a network of over 10,000 Deep Underground Military Bases (D.U.M.B.s) that stretch across the globe. These aren’t just military bunkers; they’re part of a sinister plan by the global elite to maintain control over humanity, operating far beyond the reach of any government oversight.

The Dark Underworld: 10,000 D.U.M.B.s Across the Planet Imagine a vast labyrinth of underground bases, hidden from the public eye, where the most horrific activities take place. Over 10,000 of these bases exist worldwide, with 1,800 in the United States alone. These facilities aren’t just military outposts; they are massive underground cities connected by high-speed trains, built for purposes that defy the imagination.

Unthinkable Atrocities: Human Captivity and Bio-Experiments Within these bases, unspeakable horrors are said to occur. Reports of human experimentation, especially on children, are whispered among those who dare to investigate. These facilities allegedly host bio-research labs developing weapons designed to target specific DNA, viruses meant to decimate populations, and other forms of biological warfare. These aren’t just theories—they’re terrifying realities hidden from the world.

The Elite's Secret Army: Engineered Super Soldiers One of the most disturbing revelations is the existence of engineered super soldiers, bred and conditioned within these D.U.M.B.s. These soldiers, created through a twisted combination of genetic engineering and cybernetics, are designed to be the ultimate weapons—loyal, fearless, and nearly invincible. Their purpose? To protect the secrets of these underground bases and to enforce the will of the global elite.

The Vatican-Jerusalem Tunnel: A Sinister Connection Adding to this web of deceit is the recent discovery of a 1,500-mile tunnel connecting the Vatican to Jerusalem, reportedly filled with a staggering hoard of gold. This treasure trove, transported by an armada of 650 planes, is rumored to be part of the Vatican’s secret wealth, hidden away for centuries and now uncovered as part of this global conspiracy.

A Global Web of Control: The Super Elites At the heart of this conspiracy are the so-called "Super Elites"—a tiny fraction of the global population who pull the strings from the shadows. These are the same elites who control the military-industrial complex, the media, and even the highest levels of government. Their reach is so vast that over 800 million individuals within the global military and intelligence complex answer to them, ensuring that their grip on power remains unchallenged.

The Puppet Masters: Rothschilds, Rockefellers, and Khazarian Bloodlines Behind the scenes, powerful families like the Rothschilds and Rockefellers, along with ancient Khazarian bloodlines, have been orchestrating this control for centuries. Their influence spans continents, manipulating world events to maintain their dominance. Their goal is not just to amass wealth but to control humanity itself.

The White Hats: A Glimmer of Hope But not all hope is lost. A group of brave individuals within the military, known as the White Hats, are fighting back. These warriors operate in the shadows, working tirelessly to expose the truth and dismantle the structures of oppression. They are the last line of defense against this global conspiracy, dedicated to restoring justice and freedom to humanity.

The Final Hour: A Call to Action We stand on the brink of a new era, where the truth will finally be revealed. The age of ignorance is over. The forces of darkness will be exposed, and the world will see the light of truth. But we must be vigilant and ready to act. The future of humanity depends on our willingness to confront the darkness and reclaim our freedom. The time for revelation is now—will you be ready when the final battle begins? 🤔

- Julian Assange

[jayaury]

Trip to the Stars

Another older story now available for free! And plenty more on you know where: https://www.patreon.com/c/JayAury

#

“I don’t care how much those damn squids are offering! Their world is a fucking sewer, and I’ll be the one deciding where the cruise heads to. And if they don’t like it, then they can stick themselves in airlock and blow it out the void!”

Devon Logan touched his ear, killing the frequency and shifting to the next one as he swept through the dark steel admin hall of the Stellar Fete. He shrugged his shoulders, the microfibers of his suit shifting smoothly over his body like a second skin. He really disliked the thing, but the future hereditary manager of Logan Cruises had to look the part, and he did at that. Dozens of juvenative treatments, bio tinkering and nanomachines had perfected him to his role as heir to the pleasure barge’s long line of directors. He wasn’t just born for the role, but molded to it.

He swept a hand through his pale hair, blowing out a sigh as he stepped into the elevator, the door sliding shut and shooting him up into the guts of the ship, towards the sacred heart of the director’s offices. Stars but it was exhausting managing the business. Especially as they were getting closer to launch. A dozen generations had built the Stellar Fete into the sector’s premier vacation yacht. The future leaders of worlds, megacorps, and systems enjoyed its services when they needed a break from the turmoil of their work. But that meant he never got one. He groaned, cracking his neck.

He needed a drink or a stim. Maybe both.

The elevator beeped as it hit his office floor, the curving door sliding open with a hiss. “Julianne!” he said as he marched towards his office. “Hold all calls. I have some personal business to take care of.”

“Of course, sir.”

Devon was halfway into his office when that voice actually registered. Midstride he stopped, walked backwards, and stared at the woman in his secretary’s chair.

Last time he checked, it had been occupied by a slim young woman in a skin-tight bodysuit whose short hair failed to hide her large eyes and the access implants in her neck.

Now, however, it was occupied by a woman as curvy as one of the finest pleasure bimbos from the gene cutters. Her green breasts were huge, cradled in a tight band of red cloth. Another swept between her legs, hiding the treasure that lay between. A perfect hourglass of womanly curves, her hair was bright red and cascaded over her shoulders like the molten surface of a dwarf star. Her eyes were deep, dark, and her smile pretty and radiating a sweetness that made his cock tingle in the tight confines of his pants.

“Julianne?” he said skeptically. Had his secretary gone to the gene modders in the last few turns?

“Afraid not, sir,” the woman said, her voice carrying a thrumming purr that seemed to shoot straight into his animal brain and ache in his crotch. “My name is Amoora, your new secretary.”

“What happened to my old one?” he said.

“She had an unfortunate accident, sir.”

“Accident?”

“Owing the Drax such a large sum of money tends to invite them. The Stellar Fete’s system acted quickly to replace her, given how close you were coming to launch day.”

“... Uh huh. And it hired you?” Devon said.

“I was considered the best match for your current needs, director.”

Devon didn’t doubt that. How could he? The ship’s AI system had guided the last four generations of directors from cradle to the grave. If the system said that Amoora would make his best assistant, then he had to assume it knew what it was doing.

Still…

There was something about the whole situation that sat strangely with him. Some niggling suspicion. It certainly didn’t involve Amoora herself. She was exactly his type, which was possibly why the system had hired her on.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “Well, no calls.”

“Of course, sir.”

With a lingering look on her, he slipped into his office, the door sliding shut in his wake with a magnetic hum. He exhaled heavily and made his way across the large barren room, taking a seat behind the black plasteel desk that dominated the center. As soon as he sat down the system came alive, screens projecting above his desk in glowing blue blocks, the walls swirling in soft violets as it projected images of the Stellar Fete from every angle.

“System?” he said. “Did you hire Amoora?”

“Confirmed, sir,” the AI said, voice flat and even. “It was determined the most efficient course of action given current circumstances.”

Ah, of course. It would be thinking of that. Devon rubbed his chin with thought. “What sort of alien is she?”

“A mooma, sir.”

“Mooma?” He frowned. “Never heard of them.”

“They are an uncommon species, director.”

That he could believe. He’d seen hundreds of thousands of alien species over the cycles, but even those were a mere fraction of sentient aliens in the galaxy.

Yet there was something about her that made him uneasy. What that was eluded him, but he still felt it keenly. An almost animal instinct not of danger, but of something else.

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “System?”

“Director?”

“Send in… Amoora,” he said. He considered himself an appropriately wary person, and though he trusted the system to make certain decisions, he was still director, and deciding on who would be personally assisting him was certainly in his purview. And if he didn’t like what he heard, he’d just fire her. There were plenty of others who would be eager to take the job, that much he knew for sure.

“Of course, sir,” the system said.

He killed the program with a sigh and tapped one of the glowing keys in his desk, causing the screens to vanish with a blink. Within moments the door slid open once more and Amoora stepped inside.

He’d thought he’d gotten a good look at her before, but the one he was receiving now only further reinforced what a gorgeous specimen of alien beauty she was. Though her figure had a striking hourglass curve, there was a mature plumpness to her, especially in the chest and hips, further emphasising her almost primal femininity. She struck him with her loveliness, something the meager straps she wore as clothing did nothing to hide, and even seemed at pains to emphasize. Her red hair was long, framing her gorgeous face, soft and sweet with a smile that just seemed to say, ‘I’m going to make it all better.’

“Please,” he said, gesturing at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, sitting delicately across from him, smiling warmly. As she did, Devon caught a whiff of her perfume. Something sweet and floral. Tantalizing and yet, strangely familiar. He took another sniff, trying to figure out what it was.

“Is something the matter, sir?” Amoora said.

“Hm? Oh, no. Nothing. Nothing at all.” He cleared his throat. “You ah-”

“Because you seemed distracted, sir.”

“Hm?”

Amoora smiled again at him. “It must be very stressful, sir, managing this whole ship. A wonderful pleasure cruise, certainly. I’ve heard it highly recommended. It’s only a shame you can’t enjoy its services as well.”

“Well, you know,” he said, both flattered and oddly uncomfortable. “It takes a lot of work to keep this ship running.”

“But you surely consider some relief, don’t you?” she asked gently.

“I have a few ways to relax.”

“Would you like to be shown another?”

“Hm?”

Amoora rose back to her feet and Devon stiffened as she moved around the desk and behind him. He knew he didn’t need to worry. The system would respond instantly if it felt like he was in danger, and no weapons were allowed on board, under threat of jettisoning into space. But he still sucked in a breath as her hands came to rest on his shoulders.

“What are you… you… Ohhhh…”

Devon groaned as her fingers began to flex and knead his shoulders, digging into him in a way that seemed to loosen every tightened, aching muscle.

“Your system did mention you get so awfully stressed, sir,” Amoora said, her voice soft and soothing while her hands did their work. “It mentioned it had been looking to hire someone skilled in that. In helping eeeease all that stress. Help your relaaaax after all your work.”

“D-did it…” Devon managed to say as Amoora’s hands did their slow, methodical work.

“Oh yes. You have such a loyal system, Devon. It makes me so happy to know how much you need me. You work so very hard. You deserve to relax a bit. To feel good. To feel better. To feel eeeeasy.”

Devon was feeling relaxed. Easy. Like a great burden were evaporating from his shoulders. He sank slowly into the chair, groaning, his head coming to rest against something soft. Something that certainly wasn’t the back of his chair. He opened his eyes and found himself tilted back, Amoora’s face hovering over his, smiling. Which meant it was her soft breasts which were currently cushioning his head.

Devon felt a slow flush rise to his face. “I-”

“I do hope you’re enjoying my work, director,” Amoora said sweetly as her hands again resumed their work on his shoulders. “And I would just like you to know that if you need anything… anything at all, I’d be delighted to care for you. Provide you with what you need. Like a massage. Like a big… soft… needy body for you to fuck…”

“You…”

“Aren’t you horny, sir?” she cooed, her lidded eyes bright as she gazed down at him. Pretty as galaxies. Swirling softly. “Would you like me to… help you relax… further?”

Devon inhaled deeply, taking in a great lungful of the alien’s pleasant perfume, the warmth of her massage oozing through him wonderfully. He was so very relaxed. And he surely did feel uncomfortable in only one way, owing to how his pants constricted his cock. “Hmm… Well, if you’re offering…”

“Of course,” Amoora said, stepping around him, her breasts wobbling as she lowered herself to her knees before him, eyes twinkling teasingly up at him. “I must obey my employer. It is only natural to ensure he is satisfied with my… service…”

She gave a wink, and her fingers undid the front of his pants. Devon groaned as his cock sprang free, throbbing with desire for the shapely green woman. Amoora’s eyes brightened even further at the sight, her smile deepening adoringly. “Oh sir,” she breathed, wrapping her hand around his root. “Such an impressive specimen.”

Devon chuckled. “How could it not be?” he said. “I’ve been designed to be… mmm… peak of human physical prowess.”

“And it shows, sir,” Amoora said, moaning softly as her tongue ran up along his underside, making him gasp and groan. “Mmmm. Such a powerful man, sir. It truly is an honour to… serve you…”

Devon was rapidly coming to the same conclusion. It really was a wonderful thing to have such a skilled pair of hands helping him out. Not even the whores on the pleasure deck could match the touch of the goddess currently kneeling between his legs.

“May I take you in my mouth, sir?” Amoora said just before her tongue made another loving lap up his cock. “I would be… ever so grateful…”

“Yeah. Sure. That sounds… sounds good,” he gasped.

“My thanks, master,” Amoora said, tilted his shaft towards her open mouth, and took him deep.

“F-fuuuuucking staaaaaars!” Devon groaned as her lips sank down. Devon knew he had a big cock. He’d been designed with one. Yet Amoora took it with ease, swallowing him to the hilt and beginning to adoringly bob.

“Fuck!” Devon gasped, grasping her head, her red hair soft beneath his hand as he pushed her down on his cock, fucking her mouth with growing urgency. “Fuck! Yes. Just like that. Fucking take my cock. Oh stars. Oh staaaaars that’s gooood!”

“Mmmmm,” Amoora moaned, the sound vibrating through his manhood as she bobbed even faster. Even harder. His cock squeezed in the warm vice of her lips, mouth and throat. Devon had long prided himself on his iron self-control, but that couldn’t save him from the suction of the mooma’s mouth.

“Fuuuuuuck!” Devon groaned, shuddering as he came, balls tightening as he unloaded great bursts of his pearly seed into Amoora’s mouth.

The mooma hummed, her eyes lidded as she gently suckled on his cock, her throat working as she swallowed every drop of his load. As Devon sank into his chair, panting, Amoora’s lips dragged off his shaft, popping free only for her tongue to tease around her plump lips lovingly, her lashes fluttering as if she were on the brink of sharing in his orgasm.

“Mmm. Thank you, sir,” she said with a smile. “Are you satisfied with my… service?”

“Huh?” Devon said, stirring from his rapture. “Oh. Yeah. Yes. I… I am…”

“Excellent. Then, I will be outside sir,” she said, rising, her plump breasts wobbling in her impossibly tight top and stirring Devon’s cock once more. “Please, do call me if you need anything else.”

Devon watched her turn, hips swinging as she strode back out the door, which closed with a hydraulic hiss behind her. Devon sighed, sinking back into his chair, amazed not only at her, but himself. He could normally fuck almost a dozen women before feeling so sated, but he wasn’t even sure he could get up from his chair after that blowjob.

But he wasn’t worried.

Oh no.

His body was designed to adapt to any and all circumstances. Before a week was out, he knew, he would be able to fuck that beautiful mooma into a puddle of moaning lust.

Yeah.

But… later.

For now, he was feeling more relaxed than he had in years and years. With a sigh he eased back into his seat, breathing in the air thick with Amoora’s perfume.

Maybe this secretary business wouldn’t be so bad after all…

#

Devon made it a point to make his way through the ship when they were preparing to begin another cruise. It did well for the crew to see him taking a personal interest in preparations. It ensured they kept in mind that the ship didn’t merely run in the void, but that there was someone at the head commanding them.

That said, he still hadn’t decided on which planet to make the destination of the next cruise. It was a bit of a conundrum for sure, but he knew he’d come across one soon enough. He always did. And the aid of his new secretary was surely making it easier.

Speaking of…

“Do you have those world maps for me yet?” he asked as they strolled through the cavernous gallery overlooking a shipboard theatre. He glanced over the rail, watching a number of drones hum around the seats, cleaning them with mechanical precision.

“Of course, sir,” Amoora said, passing him a data slate as they stepped into the tight confines of a waiting elevator.

He took the slate, rolling his shoulders as he felt the sleeves of his suit slide down his arms. Odd. It wasn’t fitting him as tightly as it used to. He’d have to get maintenance to take a look at that.

He was still looking through the files when the elevator hissed, doors sliding open and revealing that they were on the recreation deck. Devon paid little attention as he moved onto the floor, followed closely by Amoora. He was vaguely aware of the great windows that looked out onto open space, the view magnificent, even if the refueling station currently took up a fair bit of it, along with the innumerable shuttles zipping between it and open space.

“Hmm…” Devon mused, a flick of the finger paging through the brochures of hundreds of resort worlds. “No. No. Not too good. I think that one had a civil war. Pirates in that sector… Wait,” he said, stopping in the middle of the pool room, whose walls shimmered with the glowlamps under the water, reflecting a purple and blue veined with the white of waves. Devon squinted at the tropical beaches on the screen of his slate. “What’s this one?”

Amoora leaned over his shoulder, which gave him another whiff of her sweet, floral perfume. “Oh, that’s Mandina, sir.”

“Mandina?” he said. “I’ve never heard of that one. It’s not on our usual list.”

“No, sir,” Amoora said, tapping the screen, which proved distracting as her impressive, soft breasts squished against his back. “It’s a relatively unknown resort world, but very popular among moomas.”

“It is?” Devon said.

“Yes, sir. Which is likely why you’ve never heard of it. Moomas are very… private about our recreation worlds. Many slavers would delight in paying us a visit.”

Devon glanced from a pic of egg-shaped habs scattered about blooming jungles, his eyes taking in Amoora’s figure once more. “I… imagine so,” he said, then shook his head, clearing his throat. “Well,” he said, returning his attention to the screen, walking on. “It’s unusual, and we only visit worlds I’ve personally vetted, so it’s unlikely we’ll choose it.”

“Considering it is already quite generous, sir,” Amoora said.

Devon felt his skin tingle with her praise. “Yes, well… it’s very unlikely still,” he said as they passed from the pool room and into the gymnasium where a number of the resident fitness trainers were in the midst of practice.

“Good cycle, sir,” one of the fitness instructors said.

“Hello,” he said, nodding absently, then stopped and looked in surprise. For a moment he thought that Amoora had wandered past him, but no. Looking closer, he quickly made out a number of differences in the stunning green woman standing not far. As gorgeously curvy as Amoora, this mooma however had a smaller nose and was slightly shorter than his secretary.

“You are…” he began.

“A new hire, captain,” Amoora said, nodding at the other mooma. “This is Majaala.”

“New? But-”

“She comes highly recommended, sir, and will surely be a welcome addition to attend your guests.”

“I aim to please,” Majaala said, dipping in a bow, her breasts bouncing with the motion.

Devon stared at her, for a moment too shocked to formulate any words. He… he personally examined every new hire’s file before they were brought on. How had he missed that? Had he forgotten?

Who had hired her?

He suddenly looked sharply at Amoora, who smiled sweetly. A sudden suspicion rose in his mind, but he couldn’t make a scene here. It wouldn’t look good to make it seem like he wasn’t in control.

“I need to speak to you. Now,” he said.

“Of course, sir. There’s an empty room over this way.”

“Good. Great,” Devon said impatiently, following her.

She led him into an adjoining room, where massage tables sat in rows and tanning beds were propped up along the walls like missile pods waiting to fire. A soothing darkness radiated from a number of large dark lamps, in whose glow Amoora seemed almost radiant in her green skin and lush red hair.

Devon faced the mooma with a scowl as the doors sealed shut behind them “Now look-”

“Are you upset, sir?”

“Of course I’m upset! How was she hired? Who did it?”

“Why, I did, of course,” she said with a puzzled look. “Why are you mad, sir? Didn’t I do a good job?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Isn’t it?”

She suddenly took a step forward. Devon blinked, retreating in surprise, only for the back of his legs to hit a massage bench. He fell back to sit on the padded seat as Amoora moved in closer, her wobbling breasts eye level, her perfume hitting him in another waft of sweetness.

“I only wanted to serve you better, sir,” Amoora said, pouting, her soft red lips pushed out.

“You-”

“I know how very stressed you are, sir,” Amoora said, her hand coming up, brushing his cheek. Devon felt a shiver race through him, like a spark of electric delight. “I know how hard you work for this ship. How much you give to it. How much it weighs on you. I just wanted to take some of the pressure off. Was that wrong of me, sir?”

“I ah…”

“Is that not something a good assistant should do?” she asked.

Devon breathed in, gasping as her scent seemed to fill him. A floral and sweet medley that rushed into his limbs and head like a stimulant shot, making him float as if the gravity drive had broken. He tried to hold onto his anger, knowing if he let his authority slip it would be near impossible to get it back. But… well… it was hard to get mad at her. He could see how she might have thought she was helping him. And she was still so new to the job. Some errors were to be expected, he supposed.

“Well… I suppose you were trying to help,” he said slowly.

“Of course, sir,” Amoora said, her face smoothing into a happy smile. A look that made his heartbeat quicken and tension unknot in his stomach. “I’m only here to serve you. To serve such an impressive man. To help him any way I can.

“Such as finding the most capable girls to staff your ship,” she added, pushing in closer, her breasts practically in his face, her hands planting themselves on the bench beside him, trapping him with her body. “Because I know your time is far too valuable to waste vetting a bunch of silly bimbos coming to work on the Stellar Fete. Your mind is always occupied with much more… important things.”

“O-oh,” Devon breathed, eyes riveted to the perfect green orbs bound up in her top. “That ah… I mean, that’s true, of course.”

“Of course it is, sir. And you did hire me, sir. So why shouldn’t I know the specifics of what you’re looking for? It’s really a testament to your own brilliance, Devon, that I felt sure I could take that task on. All for you. My brilliant, handsome, strong director...”

She… she had a point, Devon had to admit. After all, if she felt confident assuming what his orders would be, wasn’t that just testament to how right he had been in hiring her? And the other mooma was clearly a good fit for the ship. If she was half as good at massage as Amoora, then there wasn’t any real reason to protest. Certainly, he doubted the guests would.

“Yeah,” Devon said, starting to smile as he watched Amoora’s immense breasts rise and fall. Rise and fall with her slow, heavy breathing... “Yeah. That… that’s true. Yeah,” he repeated, breathing deeply of her wonderful perfume. “Yeah…”

“You know, Devon,” Amoora said, leaning in closer, her breasts wobbling mere inches from his face, his breathing growing heavy. Shallow. “I find a man who takes charge so… deeply attractive. Moomas all do. A man who knows what he wants. Who’ll do what he needs to. Who’ll be such a… good boy…”

“Yeah…” Devon breathed. Then blinked. “W-wait. Did you say a-”

“A translation approximation, Devon,” Amoora said easily as she straddled his lap, her soft body pressing down on him, her breasts practically smothering him. “Not entirely accurate, but the mooma term is quite loaded. Much like you. Oh sir,” she groaned, her hips rocking, grinding herself on his bulge, making Devon groan. “I can feel how pent up you are. You mustn’t do that, sir. It might inhibit your decision making, being so horny. So backed up with your virile… hot… cum. We must take care of that, mustn’t we?”

Well, Devon had no objections to that! “Sure,” he said, grinning as he reached up, cupping the immense globes of her breasts, his fingers finding the catch of the strap. “Let’s… let’s do that…”

Amoora moaned as the strap clicked, fairly popping free, her immense breasts wobbling into the open, practically slapping his face with their glorious heft. He leaned in at once, lifting them up, smothering himself with her immense breasts contentedly.

“Mmmm,” Amoora moaned. “Oh sir, you do love a big pair of breasts, don’t you?”

Devon certainly wasn’t going to deny that. Especially a pair as gorgeously big and soft as Amoora’s. They fairly overflowed from his hands, soft as marshmallows. His cock throbbed in the prison of his pants, straining to be free and taste the gorgeous green alien astride him, still rubbing herself against his throbbing manhood.

“Oh Devon…” Amoora moaned as he fondled her tits. “Devon, I need you. I want you. Devon… Let me fuck you. I need you…”

“Y-yes,” Devon gasped, his head spinning and body throbbing with the surging desire racing through his veins. As he felt her hips cock, her hands slide the strap that served as her panties down. “Yes. F-fuck you. Gotta… ah…”

He felt her hands on his loose clothes, stroking him, stripping him. The fabric automatically separated around his chest, peeling off to reveal his toned abdominals. He groaned as the seam split around his pants, his cock fairly springing upwards, only to be ground under the groove of Amoora’s pussy as she rocked forward.

“Ohhhhhh!” Amoora moaned, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the hollow spaces of Devon’s body. “Oh Devon. I can feel it. Feel how horny you are. Oh sir, it must be so… so hard to think when you’re… ah… when you’re s-so haaaard. Please. Oh please, sir. Let me… let me relieve you. Let me free you… ha… of that b-burden…”

Devon had no doubt that she was referring to the burden of his arousal. What else could it be? And it was a burden. His balls ached with his need. His head throbbed and body burned with every rapid beat of his heart. He was so horny. So desperate to cum.

“A-Amoora,” he gasped from between her breasts. “I… I need…”

“I know, sweet thing,” Amoora said, arms moving around him, pulling his head deeper into the valley of her breasts. “I know. And I’m going to give you everything you need. Oh Devon… I’m ready. Ready for you. Ah,” she gasped, her body rising, lifting off his lap, allowing his cock to spring up to throbbing attention before her hips fell, sheathing him inside her pussy.

And into heaven.

“Oh f-fuuuuuuc!” Devon moaned as she planted herself atop his cock.

“Oh stars yessss!” Amoora moaned, her hips rising, falling, fucking herself greedily atop his cock, her breasts bouncing around his face, smothering him in her titflesh and the sweet, suffocating perfume she wore. “Yes. Yesss! Oh Devon. Yes! Give me your cock. Fuck me. Cum in me. Cum in Amoora! My good boy. My good… ha… horny booooy!”

She cried out, hilting atop him, quivering with moaning lust, and as she did, Devon felt the sudden tightness of orgasm within him. His cock plowing up into her hungry pussy, his hands squeezing her ample tits.

“Yes! Yes! Oh f-fucking stars yesssss!” Devon cried, the sudden euphoria of release rushing through him, his cock twitching as he unloaded into the mooma’s wonderful pussy. Bucks of his hips drained him into the gorgeous alien, riding high on his orgasm. At last, he groaned, falling back onto the bench, panting hard and fast, feeling drained, light, as if the oxygen being pumped into the room had been sharply reduced.

He stared up at Amoora as the mooma leaned over him, her lovely red lips smiling as her hand stroked his chin. “Did you enjoy that, director?” she asked sweetly.

“Y-yes,” he gasped, feeling drained, yet pleasantly so. “V-very.”

“I’m so glad, sir. I did so want to make sure you knew you could trust me with… anything. Do you, sir? Do you trust me like a good boy should?”

Those words again. He felt a shiver, but not of distaste. For some reason, being called a good boy by Amoora was oddly… good. It felt right. Well, maybe it was a touch degrading, but if it was a crude translation of a term of affection, he supposed he cold tolerate it. Especially if good boys got such affection from a mooma.

Oh yes. He shivered in delight, his cock stirring anew. Yes. He’d very much like to have more of that.

Amoora felt him stiffen and smiled. “Oh director,” she said, stretching atop him, pressing her heavy breasts into his chest, her face hovering over his. “Is my good boy still horny?”

“Maybe a… a little,” he admitted with what he hoped was a cocky grin.

Amoora giggled, her eyes warm and smile comforting as if she were wrapping him in wooly clouds. “Mmm. How wonderful. I do love a man who can keep going. But don’t worry, director,” she said, leaning in closer. “Amoora is going to make sure you’re nice… and satisfied…”

Her lips descended on his, and Devon groaned, feeling his cock thicken and harden once more, her hips beginning to rise and fall, fucking him beneath her anew.

It was starting to look like hiring Amoora might have been the smartest thing he’d ever done…

#

Preparation to travel proceeded swiftly once Amoora took a large hand in organizing the Stellar Fete. Devon still insisted on touring the ship, but he was less and less surprised by the number of moomas which were filling up the vessel. It seemed like they were in every department, even in the ones which didn’t require their personal touch. But the remaining human and alien crew didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, they seemed to delight in the presence of the busty green aliens. He’d walked in on more than one crewman in a dark corridor, wrapped in the arms of a gorgeous mooma, moaning as his mouth was plundered in a kiss, or his lips adored huge, bouncy green breasts.

But Devon didn’t have much time for wandering these days. It tired him, and he had a hard time finding clothes that fit him. For some reason his body seemed to have grown sleeker. Slenderer. He wondered what that meant? He’d certainly been getting plenty of exercise. Amoora seemed inexhaustible in her affections, always ready to fuck him, suck him off, or do anything he needed. Honestly, it seemed like he hadn’t managed to check the system in weeks. If he wasn’t being fucked by the gorgeous mooma, he was busy recovering from their almost constant liaisons.

“Director?”

Devon stirred from his musings, swiveling in his chair towards his desk. The neon glow of the holo screens hummed before him, the AI’s voice droning in the air.

“Yes?” he said.

“I require confirmation of our destination.”

“Our destination?” he said, then shook himself, a sudden shot of adrenaline panic racing through him. “Fuck! I… I completely forget. System? Bring up the potential locations. I need to-”

“I do not understand, director. The location has been determined. I merely require confirmation.”

Devon stared, uncomprehending, at the screen. “Wh… what? Show me.”

A screen expanded before him, revealing a familiar scene. Egg-shaped habs on a tropical landscape, the gorgeous sea and a sprawling alien jungle of greens, violets, and reds in a sweeping blur of hues.

“Mandina?” he said blankly.

“Yes, sir. Your office has selected it. I only require your final confirmation and we can begin preparing to take on passengers.”

“But… I never… I didn’t…”

Understanding hit him like the shock of decompression. His eyes snapped to the door of his office and he jabbed the intercom.

“Amoora!”

“Yes, director?”

“Get in here!”

The door slid open and Amoora stepped inside, a loving smile on her face. “Yes, sir?” she said softly.

Devon opened his mouth, but even as he did he found his eyes wandering over her figure. The rage that had flared within him faded as if smothered under a heavy blanket. In its place, a tingling ached through him, his cock instantly rock hard for the gorgeous mooma as she stood, smiling politely in the doorway, all curves and willing loveliness.

“You wanted to see me?” Amoora said.

Devon jolted back to the present. “Y-yes. Yes. I did,” he said more sternly. “I ah… Look, did you…”

He trailed off as Amoora moved into the room, her wide hips swaying like a pendulum with her steps, her breasts wobbling in her tight, tight top in such a way that arrested the eye. Her presence seemed to fill the room. Devour his view. “Yes, Devon?” she said, coming around the desk. He heard a click and suddenly, the strap of her bra was floating down, leaving free her immense breasts to wobble tantalizingly into view. “What did I do?”

“You… you… L-look,” he said, trying to sound forceful. “Did you register this… this place as our destination?”

Amoora lazily glanced over at the hovering screen. Her smile widened. “Oh yes, Devon. I did. I just know it’s going to be such a big hit.”

“Amoora, that wasn’t your decision! It’s mine to make. Where we go. Where the ship goes. That’s the job of the director! The job I was born to do! You can’t just… I mean...”

“Of course it is, Devon,” Amoora said, leaning in suddenly close. “I would never think of overruling you.”

Devon leaned back, pressed into his chair. Yet even as he did, an equally powerful yearning surged through him, begging him to move forward. To bury his face in the gorgeous orbs of her immense breasts. To nuzzle and kiss them like a good boy.

A good boy…

Devon grit his teeth, trying to resist the aching lethargy that nearly made him swoon as soon as he inhaled her perfume. Fuck, he was so hard. His cock was shamelessly bulging in his loose uniform. “Amoora, I-”

“And I think you’d love to go to Mandina, Devon,” she said smoothly, moving forward. “I’m sure you and all the sexy, rich, powerful young heirs looking for a nice relaxing vacation would just adore visiting a planet just… filled with lonely moomas, needing to spoil and fuck and adore cute, adorable, obedient humans.”

“I… I…”

“Just like you do,” Amoora said, planting her hands on the back of his chair, arching her body, pressing her bouncy breasts nearly into his face. “I bet you’d just… love to visit my world. Just adore to relax on the beach with your pretty assistant. Your gorgeous, caring mooma mistress. It would be so nice to relax, Devon. So nice to just… stop… thinking…”

“S-stop?” Devon said, his voice slurring a little, his body feeling light again, as if ready to float up into Amoora’s gorgeous body.

“Yes,” Amoora breathed, leaning in closer, and Devon groaned in despair and unspeakable pleasure as her breasts pressed against his face, nearly burying him between their pillowy valley, suffocating him in her wonderful perfume. “The director doesn’t need to think. That’s what he hires his secretary to do. That’s why she hired all those lovely mooma to run his ship for him. He doesn’t need to worry himself about all those stressful things when relaxing is so much easier. So much better. So much more… pleasurable…”

Devon moaned, the wonderful weakness spreading further through him. Consuming him in a wave of pink bliss as Amoora straddled him on his chair, rubbing her pussy against his bulge.

“Do you want that, Devon?” Amoora said, giving her chest a bounce, jiggling her tits around his face. “Do you want me to make you so very happy? So very easy? Just say yes, Devon. And I’ll take care of everything. You’ll never need to work again. Never need to worry. You’ll be such a good boy. A good stud. All you have to do is let me fuck you. Pleasure you. Adore you. All you have to do is give in, Devon. Just let mistress do all the thinking for you. You’ll still be director. You’ll still be the boss. You’ll just do everything I say. Won’t that be so much easier? So much better?

“Say yes, Devon,” Amoora moaned, her body pressing down on him, her curves so soft, so warm, so glorious. “Say that’s what you want.”

It was.

It was so clearly what he wanted.

Every fiber cried out to be hers. To agree. To do anything Amoora wanted and more. And would it really be so bad? Wouldn’t it be so good to give in? To submit? To know only pleasure?

Some part of Devon railed against the idea, but he could come up with no counter arguments to her. He did want all she suggested. He did yearn to be hers. Her obedient boy. Her horny stud. Why shouldn’t he say yes?

There was no reason to say no.

And so, Devon moaned, “Yessss!”

Amoora smiled, eased back, releasing his gasping face from the depths of her breasts. “Good boy,” she purred.

Devon sighed, sinking back into his seat, a smile hovering on his lips as if all the tension, all the doubts floated from him. Drained away with that desperate moan of admission. He felt her hand on his, pulling him to his feet. The door at the back of the room hissed open, admitting him to his state room, his private sanctuary.

A low glow permeated the interior, washing the walls in purples, oranges and reds like galaxies burning their way around them. Amoora eased him down onto the bedding, her fingers trailing down his suit, the loose fabric opening easily.

��Undress, Devon,” she breathed, barely visible in the dark lights.

Devon did so, shrugging out of his suit, letting her pull it off him, revealing his toned, slender physique. Amoora cooed, leaning over him, kissing her way down his chest, every press of her lips making his breath hitch.

“Devon. So handsome,” she breathed. “So sexy. So perfect for mistress. I knew you would be. I knew you wanted this.”

“Ah!” Devon gasped as her lips reached his cock. Amoora’s eyes glowed softly in the gloom, her red lips seeming to glisten and shine as she kissed her way up his shaft, her hands hefting her immense breasts and wrapping them around his cock. Devon was far from small, yet her breasts were so big his manhood was utterly swallowed in them.

“Oh fuuuuuuck!” Devon groaned as Amoora bounced her breasts around him, squeezing his cock in that sweet valley of pleasure.

“Is it good, Devon?” Amoora whispered, her voice seeming to echo in the air. “Are mistress’s big breasts so good and soft around your cock?”

“Yes. Oh s-stars yessss!” Devon cried.

“And isn’t it so worth it?” she cooed, leaning down, her lips kissing the head of his cock whenever it emerged, sending shocks of glorious pleasure surging through him. “Isn’t this so worth giving up all that silly thinking? All those useless decisions? Isn’t it so much easier to just be my good boy? My obedient bimbo? My handsome, wonderful, horny boy?”

“Yes!” Devon gasped. “Yes! S-so good! Mistress… Oh stars mistress!”

“There it is,” Amoora cooed. “You called me mistress. I knew you would, my sweet boy. Now, give mistress that wonderful cum.”

Her breasts squeezed his cock, and as the tip emerged her lips wrapped around it. The sudden sensation of warm tightness was too much for him to bear, and Devon let out a needy moan of pure pleasure, clutching the sheets as he thrust up into her mouth, moaning in ecstasy as he came, his cock throbbing, pulsing, unloading into Amoora’s hungry mouth. The lovely mooma moaned, her lashes fluttering as she drank the bursts of his seed with a gusto that only made Devon feel hotter than before.

Her lips slid off his cock along with her breasts, and Devon wasn’t surprised to see he was still hard. His nanobots had been quick to react to the frequency of his orgasms, and keeping erect was no problem for him now.

“Mmm,” Amooa purred. “That was wonderful, Devon. But a good boy deserves far more reward for what you’ve done,” she said, climbing onto the bed, straddling him, looming above him like some fertility goddess of a savage world. Divine. Beautiful. Worthy of his obedient worship. “Do you want it, Devon?”

“More than… than anything,” he gasped, and the truth in those words put a smile on his face.

“Then confirm our destination,” Amoora breathed. “Agree to go to Mandina. Agree, and let’s bring all your friends with us. Let us show them how much they’ll love a mooma world.”

Devon shivered in understanding. Many of the highest corporate families used his pleasure line for vacation. The sons and daughters of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the sector. All of them offered up to a ship staffed with moomas. A world filled with the seductive aliens.

With barely a thought a screen blinked into being beside him, hovering above the rumpled sheets. The DNA reader glowed like a red disc in the air as he lifted a shaking hand and pressed a thumb to it.

There was a beep, a flash of green, and the screen faded away.

“Confirmed destination,” the system’s voice chimed around them. “Thank you, director.”

“There we are. What a good boy I have,” Amoora cooed as she lazily sheathed him within her. “What a… mmmm… a gooooood boy.”

Devon groaned as her pussy swallowed his cock. He grabbed her hips as if to anchor himself to reality as waves of otherworldly pleasure washed over him. As Amoora rode him, her breasts bouncing on her chest, almost hypnotic in their sway.

“Yessss!” Devon moaned, sinking into the pleasure of the moment. Of her body. Relishing every stroke of her glorious pussy on his cock. “Yesss! Mistress! Love… love mistress! Want you! Want you! Please… ah. Mistress. Oh fuck. Fuck! Mistresssss!”

His body was perfectly attuned to hers. To her pussy. It took no time at all for him to cum again. Again. Again. A seemingly endless parade of pleasured peaks as colours swirled about the room in hypnotic tailings of lights. He felt as if he were floating. Floating on a sea of unconscious pleasure. Above depths of pleasure. And now he was sinking.

Sinking.

Deep into wonderful, heady submission.

At last he sagged beneath her, breathing hard, head as empty as his balls, finally spent. Finally done.

Amoora hummed sweetly, rising, unsheathing him from her pussy. She stepped off the bed, and at once Devon found himself staring at her gorgeous rump. Amoora spared a look over her shoulder, gave him a teasing smile.

“Be back soon, Devon,” she said. “I need to make some final preparations for our departure. You just relax. Get some strength back. I have a lot in mind for rewarding my good boy.”

Devon’s body tingled. “Yes… yes, mistress,” he breathed.

Amoora laughed softly, blew him a kiss and turned, departing the bedroom. Devon sighed, sagging limply on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the colours swirled and danced.

The future looked very bright for him indeed.

[thehollowwriter]

The Official Bio of Gale Angeles

Basic Info:

Name: Gale Angeles

Homeland: The Coral Sea

Species: Angelfish mer (Half emperor angelfish, half moorish idol)

Birthday: 8th September

Age: 36

Height/length: 163cm

Dominant hand: Right

Occupation: Hunter working for Silas

Family:

•Parents (unknown)

•Siblings (unknown)

Preferences:

Hobbies: Collecting skulls, fishing, treasure hunting

Likes: Dancing, racing, open spaces, food, strategy

Dislikes: Tight spaces, feeling trapped, being talked over, people acting like he's helpless

Favourite food: He doesn't have one. He eats basically everything

Least favourite food: None so far

Appearance:

Gale is notably more human appearing than his boss and co-workers, which is a bit of an oddity, considering the crowd generally drawn to Silas. He has darkly tanned skin that has several scars and is covered with dark blue and purple freckles, and his eyes are light orange. His hands are webbed, and he does have small claws as well.

His left arm is amputated, and the stub is quite scarred over.

His tail is large and wide with a somewhat small tailfin, which does make him a bit slower than some others. His scales are dark blue, pink, and orange, and his fins are orange in colour. His tail has many stripes and spots that match that of an emperor angelfish, like this:

His hair is long, going past his shoulders, and mostly dark blue with pink, orange, purple, and red streaking through it. It looks exactly like this:

Personality:

Gale can be serious, but not like Silas is. He's a much more humorous fella often in the form of sadcasm and is quite smug and flirty too. He's got the chilled but still serious uncle vibe to him at times. He's easily excitable and tells stories about his treasure hunts often but is also extremely stubborn. He's kind in his own odd way and fiercely loyal to those he's close to and especially Silas, who he respects greatly.

Some Fun Facts/Extra Info:

•Gale is twisted from Gill from Finding Nemo

•He was separated from his parents when he was younger and ended up trapped on land and sold at an auction. He eventually escaped but never saw his parents or the rest of his family again

•When he was first captured, his left arm was horribly mangled in the process and had to be amputated

•He's claustrophobic

•Gale has a little club for other merfolk that experienced being captured by humans (He may have called it the "Tank Gang"...)

•While Gale is much more humanlike than the others, he was met with a lot of ableism and mistreatment when trying to find other jobs before he met Silas

•He can wield a spear incredibly well

•He wishes he had magic cause it seems badass (and could have saved him as a kid huh who said that)

•Gale likes Finn a lot and even helped Silas with teaching him to hunt

•He's friends with Timo (and uh thinks he's pretty cute but let's ignore that for now haha)

...........................................

A/N: I hope you guys like the new skrunkly! I've been planning on expanding Silas and Finn's odd little found family for a while now! Starting with this fella right here

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

@the-trinket-witch @cyanide-latte

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

☈ your bones singing into mine ii

one - two

nikto x gen!bio-weapons engineer reader (no use of y/n) 3.4k words cw: honestly just the relationship being dysfunctional, also like warlord sugar daddy overtones, but that's just how this cookie is gonna crumble Nikto has swept you out of the darkness, and into an intact world burning full of ugly lights. He meets your every need as you work to create weapons to supply him an armory of shock and awe. He buys for you a place in Bruges, a rowhouse right on the water, and your only desire is a romantic dinner with him. He does not have it within himself to deny you.

Nikto brings you out into a world that is bright and burning, but mostly whole. He tells you that things are tied on a shoestring of balance, that any strong enough blow of breeze could tip the whole house of cards, and he has a look in his eyes that names himself typhoon. 

He is one of the most complex and deeply locked men you have ever met in your life, and you have met a great many men with secrets that could turn cities into subatomic particles in a blinding flash of a second. He wants to father a new world, a savage paradise, and, yet, he holds you in the palm of his velvet-covered iron fist as his finest treasure.

Penthouses are cleared out for you–places high in the sky, in any number of cities, so far away from the ground and the dark. He pours money into your comfort like hemorrhaging, and he cares not that his funds bleed, because he can always dump more into the wound. 

It’s a wound he wants to sustain, because he likes to see you clean, and comfortable, and sparking electricity as you work. He provides makeshift, mobile labs for you. Thousands upon thousands of dollars for computers, and programs, and security. Though he lifts you into the light, he makes you a small space of darkness, allowing you to run and return to your work.

He begins to call you Spider, or Pauk, depending on whether his English is dropping your name like a threat, or if his Russian is soft and trying to entreat you.

There is a place in Bruges, right on the water, that he pulls together for you. It is smaller than your other hideaways, cozier. Bulb-lit with warm wooden flooring and tall walls. He walks stiffly through the halls, watching for your reaction, and his shoulders relax when you turn from the window watching boats on the water to give him your cracked grin. 

“It’s out of a book,” you say, “the buildings are such bright colors. How is this real?”

“It’s always been this way here,” he tells you. He shuffles a moment, bringing his clasped hands from his back to his front, before he adds quietly, “We’re glad that you…find it acceptable here.”

Surely he is remembering the blocs he grew up on, all the colorless brutalist construction from the Soviet era. Houses for workers, starvation in the streets. You wonder if his place had heriz rugs all over the floors, to insulate sound and cushion steps and provide color. 

You press your fingertips into the cool glass, looking at him, wondering about him. You’d like to see his face, though he’s told you that it is a nightmare. You’d like to kiss him. You know he loves you, just as you love him.

“It’s perfect. I’m going to like it here,” you tell him, and your heart swells and patters when his shoulders raise a little bit, proud of himself for his pick. With his hidden face, you’ve become an expert in his body language. All his little tells become clear to you, the more time you spend with him.

He is slow with you, cautious. Not as if approaching a wild animal, he would never treat you with such base suspicion and wariness, but as if he is the animal, well-aware of exactly how powerful his bite is. He treasures you too much to damage you. 

Such brutality is held within this many-faceted man, vast and damning. He is a gentleman though, through accident or practice, and he puts that hardwork into effect with you.

It causes you to make the first move most of the time. 

“I want you to have dinner with me tonight,” you say, tapping your fingers against the glass, feeling the condensation cling to your fingerprints. 

He shakes his head. “Your value is too high for us to allow you out of the flat, Pauk,” he says gently, misunderstanding, as if reminding you. There are so many beautiful homes he has carved out for you, but you’ve never stepped foot outside of them. 

He thinks you want to, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. The reality is that you are brimming with hatred at the fact it still stands. That your suffering was for nothing, and the apocalypse still lies dormant but rumbling, a stalled birth. You love your closed spaces and your blackout curtains that hide the world and your tall walls and bright lights.

“We can have something ordered and brought to you,” he continues, trying to soothe the blow that never landed.

A grunt of annoyance snaps out of your throat, hand pressing flat to the glass. “Nooo,” you draw out, turning to face him in full. “I want you all to eat here, with me. Only us, none of the guards making all that fucking noise with their heavy boots. And I want to pretend that we’re all just having a nice night. And there are no contagions or stadiums or belt-fed guns.”

In shame, his head drops a degree, arms tightening in front of him. The supple leather of his gloves creak. “Apologies, Pauk.” His head remains that one slice lower, but his eyes flicker up like a bird’s from beneath his rippy lashes. “We…” he pauses, trying to formulate the words, “we will put that together. For you. What do you want to eat?”

Your hand comes away from the glass, and you press your palms together like a prayer, holding the sides of your hands to your lips. “I want something bloody and buttery. Something good made by someone that doesn’t love me.”

A small noise like a laugh sounds behind his heavy mask, and his neck relaxes. It puts together a picture of thought: it’s a good thing we do not cook for you, then. “We will find something.”

+

Neither of you cook. It’s a sad reality. You were too built up for epidemiology and plague-practitioning to have the room or time to learn the skill, and Nikto readily admits that he’d long ago lost his sense of smell. “Nova gas,” he explained, funnily enough. “That was your grandfather’s work, yes?” It was. He and his team. You are a legacy leper-making, just like God and all of his followers.

The sun has settled fully in the city of Bruges, and the light of street lamps, the running lights of boats on the water, and fairy lights around shopfronts make the water glitter. It is warm here, with all the brick and cobblestone soaking up the yellow light, and for once you are fine with the curtains open.

Nikto has spoiled you rotten with clothing, all of it fine and soft and rich. You dress comfortably, beautifully, and wander the flat, looking over things leftover from past tenants, waiting on his return. He always leaves you with a guard when he is gone, and tonight it is a short but sturdy woman from Montenegro who does not speak. She sits on the small leather couch in the living room, reading a book with horses on the cover, rifle across her lap. You do not bother her, but you cannot wait for her to leave.

When Nikto arrives, it’s with yet another guard, this one in plainclothes, carrying two large paper bags in their arms. It’s always seemed funny to you that he just goes out in the mask, nightmare beneath it or not, and that people must have reactions in public. But, you don’t think Nikto travels anywhere that people would dare comment on it. He has lackeys for embarrassing, mundane duties. 

He takes the bags from the second guard, and dismisses the woman on the couch, letting you approach to lock the deadbolts on the back of the door when they’re out. It is your comfort and your right, he will not interfere with it.

Meeting his eyes, you grin a cracked grin at him. “Smells good. What is it? What was the restaurant called?”

He makes another laugh-noise, looking skin-close to bashful. “We do not know. We sent Dejanović to get it, he knows the city.” He peers into the bag. “He said foreign dignitaries enjoyed the place. We don’t feel like that always speaks well to quality.”

You try to take the bag into your hands, but his arm tightens. He does not like you doing menial tasks. He likes it only when you are free to tend to your work and whims. It is much preferable to him that your needs are met, and he is glad to tend to those tasks when he is with you.

“If it’s all rot and garbage, we can make zakuski instead, and wash it down with vodka,” you tell him, swaying a little, hoping the promise pleases him. “Tahumi brought me a can of caviar, and even found a mother-of-pearl spoon for it.”

His eyes grow hard at the mention of Tahumi giving you a gift. That is another thing that heckles him. He does not like others knowing about you, much less providing for you. That is his honor, and an honor he thinks it is.

Your mouth starts to curl. “Don’t eat yourself with knots,” you instruct him, but his eyes only grow harder, his posture stiffer. “I wanted it, and Tahumi saw it, and he bought it. He did it to please you, because you are so here-and-there with your underlings. Your favor can’t be curried because it doesn’t exist.”

“They are warm, walking corpses, and nothing more,” he says, stone-solid, cold. “We don’t need them for anything more than catching bullets and carrying out orders. You are not a tool to buy their way into security. There is none, and you–you’re–” 

He turns his head and breathes out hard. His body is held so tightly it paints pain on the walls behind him. His molars squeak as they grind together, trying to collect himself, but he is upset.

“Andryu,” you say, pulling his diminutives, trying to pluck the chords that will bring him back to you. You bend your body to swerve, attempting to capture his eyes. “Andryusha.”

There is a little break in the armor, a crack where you can push your fingers in, to find contact with him. There is a little light in his eyes. “We cannot allow you to be taken advantage of. Your wholeness is…” he trails off, struggling, and you provide him the territory to prowl, find his words. He turns and meets your eyes, and there is his passion. “Our last shred of warmth is you. If you are pained, or used, or discarded–it is a blow that would destroy the last human thing in us.”

And, here, your scant humanity answers his. You fold, slope, ease. You nod in agreement. “I know, Andryu, I do. But all of you know where my loyalties lie. You know I wouldn’t hesitate to find you if I felt targeted.” You want so horrendously to reach out and touch him, but you don’t. You have to allow him to initiate, otherwise he cannot handle it. “My lot is in your lot. I go where you go. Everyone else is a corpse that forgot to lie down and die.”

Using his language in ways that he understands it unlocks him to you. His gloved hand comes up, hovering just to the side of your jaw. But he doesn’t touch, he only traces the air in a line down the bone structure. 

+

He allows—or, rather, you give him no in allowing you to stand in the kitchen as he unpacks your meals to plate. It could be call an awkward affair, if either of you had the social graces to register that feeling in your minds. 

He’s taken his gloves off and swatted at your hand trying to take the paper bag for recycling, giving you a sharp look borne of the love he holds. Again, not allowed to lift a finger. 

There are faded Cyrillic characters tattooed across his knuckles, the black ink bloated and faded to blue. SOS across three fingers: either spasi, otets, syna or Suki Otnyali Svobodu. Save me, father, your son. Bitches robbed my freedom. 

He’s never told you which in specific, though he’s offered both as options. Tattoos are carved into so much of his skin, and he’s given you brief walking tours of them when he’s stripped down enough for them to appear. A warping on Russian prison tattoos, repurposed for the Spetsnaz. 

Epaulets on his shoulders—horses die from work. Devils just below those, oskals, hatred of authority. ‘I Fuck Poverty and Misfortune’ in Cyrillic, riding his Adonis belt. A lighthouse on his forearm, yearning for freedom. His skin tells his story, hard-lived, a language known to few. 

His plating skills are what cause him minor self-consciousness. He’s not an artistic man, and he has no eye for aesthetics. The blood-rare ribeyes are just placed and pushed to one side of the plate, crumbled blue cheese dumped artlessly on top. Creamed potatoes end up slopping over roasted asparagus, and he growls in his throat, frustrated. He is trying incredibly hard to make it pleasing. The more he moves it around, trying to be careful, the worse it looks. 

He wouldn’t care if it was solely for him. His frustration is because you will not be eating something pretty. In his mind, the only things you deserve are pretty and perfect. 

His hands stop fussing, resting on the edge of the counter, glaring down at the plates. “It looks like shit,” he renders his verdict. It sounds like he is considering throwing it away and ordering something else.

“Pelmeni look like shit. So does poutine. But it all tastes good, so we still eat it,” you push back. “No one eats shiny plastic or tinsel.”

He grunts again. “People eat shiny plastic and tinsel all the time, because they are fucking stupid.”

“If any of you are insinuating that any of us are fucking stupid, you’re being a fucking child.” Despite the content of your words, it is not said with heat. It is an olive branch, trying to reach him across the expanse of his dissatisfaction. You’re not sure you’ve made contact until his fingers start tapping on the counter, and he hums Krokodil Gena’s Birthday Song deep in his chest. He is calming, rectifying reality with himself. 

After a few, long moments, he picks up the plates, nodding at you, and carries them to the dining table outside the kitchen. It is situated in front of a set of big picture windows that he honestly does not like you standing near, ever, but it is for the sake of the evening. He sets your plate down, and pulls out your chair for you, before he seats himself. There are already sets of silverware and water on the table. A bottle of vodka, and two small glasses to drink from. 

You start by pouring two sips of vodka, offering him one. A toast falls out of your mouth, unthinking, and he clinks your glasses together in agreement. When you put your shot back, he hands you his glass, and you shoot that, as well. He has not removed his mask. He will not. But he overturns his glass next to yours.

It’s an odd affair, how the meal goes. Conversation picks up, on plans and your work, on the state of the world as it stands. That will run out, and you will both turn to other topics. Books, movies, cars. Oh, Nikto has such a soft spot for cars–he could talk about them from dusk until dawn. Luxury cars, supercars, performance and rally cars, working vehicles, even an astonishing breadth of consumer cars. He has opinions that stretch the globe, and you soak it up like a dry sponge. 

The oddest thing is that you eat, and he does not. He keeps his hands resting on either side of his plate, guarding it as if he was a prisoner, but he does not once touch his silverware. He won’t eat in front of anyone. He can’t, not without taking the mask off. It’s something he didn’t have to explain to you, you just understood it by studying his patterns. It’s something that made him even softer toward you. 

You finish, part of your steak left–you intend to slice it up and put it on some grilled crusty bread with piles of caramelized onions later–resting your fork and your knife on the edge of your plate. “That was good. Despite the dignitaries and dog shit. I want a copy of their menu, to tear up and eat bit by bit. I want all of you to have more dates with me, this one dripped romantic. All the seams were splitting up, and it went drop by drop by drop.”

“Date?” he queries, looking at you across the table as he reaches for your plate.

“Date.” You nod once, emphatically.

He shudders, smothering something that sounds like a sigh, averting his eyes. “We…will make sure there is a menu for you, next time,” he starts, unphased by your request. “Roses, if you like.”

You shake your head. “No use for roses, they wilt and die. Flowers all-wilted smell like the dark parts of the bunker, and my stomach eats and eats away at me because of that smell.”  You send an apologetic look across the table, thinking. “I’ll take tokens in trinkets. Whenever you bring me jewelry, I don’t take it off.”

As if in example, you pull up your sleeves, showing him the bracelets he’s brought you, left for your discovery on desktops and dressers. Next, you tug at your collar, showing him a pile of necklaces. 

His fingers twitch, looking at you helplessly. Not even he can prevent the swallow that goes down his throat, when he sees that you hoard the fine things he brings back for you.

Another long moment passes, and he is hoarse when he agrees, “Jewelry. We will bring you jewelry, then.”

In as much of a rush as you’ve ever seen him, he collects your dishes, and the bottle of vodka, storming back through the kitchen door. It doesn’t latch behind him, and you know he will be a while. It feels dirty, destructive and found and deceitful, but you sneak up to the crack, wanting to watch him.

His back is turned, his mask removed. Hair so deep in darkness it shines white under lights sticks up from his head at all angles, some of it missing from the side of his skull, along with an ear. He eats quickly, in clipped bites, gorging himself, stopping only to tip back the vodka bottle. It’s almost an ugly display, brutal necessity, and you know as well as you know the own pounding of your heart that he is uncomfortable, that he hates this. He hates to be bare.

You cannot see his face, and you would not try to see it. You want to see it someday, and that will only happen when he is ready to show you. You will not steal that freedom from him. You will not sneak looks when he is unawares. It is the same courtesy he has afforded you, and you are hellbent to pay it back in kind.

With that prickling your skin, you back away from the door, allowing him his needs. 

When he returns, sitting next to you on the couch, he is warmed-through and softened by the alcohol and food. He takes hold of your ankle, pulling it into his lap, rubbing the knob of your bone with his bare fingers. His masked head tips back, resting against the back of the couch, and he heaves a heavy sigh.

Your stomach clenches, and your heart races. There is so much love between the two of you, so impossibly massive that it cannot ever be feasibly dealt with, and that is something you are fine with when his eyes meet yours in a crinkled smile. 

Perhaps your union will kill the world as it stands, but you don’t particularly mind. His hands are warm against your bones, reaching deeper than any other human possibly could, and he looks at you as if you are his only purpose in life, even if that is not true.

“Andryusha,” you greet him quietly, turning your leg in his touch so he can have more skin.

Another small noise, pleasure, and he rubs deeper, followed by a soft, heartsick request, “Say it again, Paukya.”

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

if mk is adopted, that means reader has to choose to adopt mk, even knowing of all the risks of having someone born like the monkeys doesn't it? there isn't that i wanna say social? obligation to keep the kid, she could bring mk to someone else to raise and wash her hands off of it, but to adopt is to call him her son in spite of or perhaps because of the connection to the monkies. people are much more likely to raise kids they made than they randomly find, you know?

but if mk is bio kid, then there really isn't that struggle to choose, because there is already a blood bond to encourage reader to keep mk.

Yes Reader would have to choose to adopt Mk that is true. But I have an idea on how it would work. As I said she would have already been pregnant weather with Mk or with the twins. Who are the twins? Bao and Tao the little shadow and light monkies! I love these two so much!! Haven’t written much about them though.

Anyways when Reader finds the island she settles down in after finding out she is pregnant she spends several years in peace raising her children. She had traveled to a place that The Brotherhood never travels as they don’t think there is treasure of adventure there. It’s mostly human territories, except for the one island that Reader ends up on!

That being the dragon island (Don’t have a name for it) This is where she meets Ao Lie who takes a liking to her and helps her out along with his friends, Sandy, Mo, Pigsy and Tang! (This is more of a LMK than JTTW au btw)

So Reader has two Monkie demon children she is watching and taking care of when she finds Mk. A small child covered in dirt with dark brown fur, six lotus shaped ears and bright golden eyes. Or should I say Bao and Tao find him, at the age 5 years old they are very adventurous and find the cub who instantly starts following them around. Which they quickly decide to guide straight to their mother who immediately freaks out worried they kidnapped a poor child but soon finds out that’s not the case. (He hides his ears by pressing them together because everything is too loud for the poor baby - Reader finds out about his ears after she officially adopts him)

So when Reader meets Mk her own cubs are already very attached and don’t want to let him go. They debated letting Pigsy watch over him but because Pigsy is a traveling Merchant in this Au they decided against it. No one else in the village wants to watch the monkey child and the responsibility falls to Reader. Not only because no one else will do it but because she knows how to care for monkey cubs to a point (She’s not perfect but does everything she can with love and care)

Anyways what I’m trying to say is that Reader doesn’t HAVE to take in Mk but she does because she falls in love with the child. And what’s one more cub? (It’s a lot! He is as mischievous as his older brothers who like to get into trouble. Luckily Ao Lie likes to help them and his great granddaughter becomes fast friends with the monkey trio)

I hope this answered your question Anon! Thank you for your input! I love reading people’s opinions!

Prioritized this due to the poll! I hope I didn’t post it too late~

[honourablejester]

A Space-Themed Trinkets List for TTRPGs

Exactly what it says on the tin. Roll a d100 or choose from the following list of space-themed trinkets for your character to have with them:

01-02. A tattoo showing the galactic coordinates of your homeworld.

03-04. A sheared metal bolt from a spacewalk tether mounting unit.

05-06. A frayed cloth patch torn from your old uniform when you left.

07-08. A small display case containing soil samples from every planet you’ve visited.

09-10. The last vacuum-sealed bar of a discontinued line of rations that you’re keeping as half collector’s item and half item of last resort.

11-12. A small holo-unit that projects an image of your parents.

13-14. A poster showing a luxurious pleasure resort that you’ve never had the money to visit.

15-16. A small chip of a reddish mineral that glows in the dark that you have no idea of the origins of.

17-18. A small holo-unit that you bought in a junkshop near the spaceport and that purports to show a partially-corrupted map to a hollowed-out treasure asteroid.

19-20. A portable lamp that mimics the sunlight and day cycle of your homeworld.

21-22. A chunk of rock from the first asteroid you helped mine.

23-24. A metal box containing a horrific lump of congealed engineering fluids that you found on an inspection and are keeping partly as an example but mostly out of curiosity.

25-26. A strange metal object bearing a weird greenish symbol on one surface that you found on an otherwise completely uninhabited asteroid.

27-28. The smashed remnants of a medical scanner from your first, ill-fated mission.

29-30. A collection of tiny bottles of the weirdest alcohols you could find on various worlds you’ve visited.

31-32. A picture of you and your old crew in a protective sleeve.

33-34. A bio-locked address book containing the contact details of friendly faces in the various spaceports you frequent.

35-36. A holo-unit showing a person you don’t know that you salvaged from the personal quarters of a derelict ship.

37-38. An electronic portable library of choice reading material to keep you company on long hauls.

39-40. A really cool jacket that you bought with your first pay check and like to wear for shore leave.

41-42. An ‘emergency depressurisation kit’ that consists of a grappling hook and a canister of ‘sprayable oxygenated face mask’ that you bought from a shady guy at a spaceport and have no idea if they’re functional or not.

43-44. A medical pass granting you permission to leave the quarantine zone around your homeworld.

45-46. A disabled distress beacon from your escape pod fifteen years ago.

47-48. An inert and cracked AI core module that you really weren’t supposed to have taken from that derelict ship.

49-50. A ‘lucky coin’ you won in a game on leave that your opponent seemed weirdly upset to lose.

51-52. Your grandmother’s lucky bone-handled knife from when she used to be part of the distant exploration corps. She never told you what type of bone it was.

53-54. Your trusty environmental scanner that is four models out of date but has never failed you yet.

55-56. A tiny metal disc that a weird guy once paid you for a job with, which if pressed to your skin somehow perfectly regulates the temperature of the air in your vicinity to your preferences by no visible means. It works on every planet with an atmosphere that you’ve been on so far.

57-58. A beautifully carved spice chest containing spices from your homeworld, for when you’re feeling homesick. It’s been getting really hard to restock it out here.

59-60. A disabled registration chip from the labour camp that you kept after escaping, even though it would be a really stupid thing to have on you if you’re ever back in that sector of space.

61-62. A tiny bag of glittering micro-crystals from the surface of a moon. Worthless, but so pretty.

63-64. A canister of engineering lubricant that you are literally never without.

65-66. A tattoo of a series of unknown symbols that you and your buddies from your old military unit got after a particularly hellish mission. None of you took any pictures of the lab you found them in, but somehow all of you remembered them perfectly.

67-68. A portable mining lamp your dad ‘borrowed’ when they decommissioned the old colony. The batteries on this thing are incredible, as they haven’t run out nearly 55 years later.

69-70. A seashell from the first time you ever saw an ‘ocean’ after growing up in space.

71-72. A portable personal forcefield that only stops rain, from the first time you experienced ‘weather’ and decided you didn’t like it very much.

73-74. The helmet of a spacesuit that has clearly been partially melted through by some sort of acidic substance and which you refuse to answer questions about.

75-76. An object which you found in a junk bin at a salvage yard and which no one you’ve ever met has been able to identify.

77-78. A single live seed in a viability canister that everyone who leaves your homeworld is given to take with them.

79-80. A religious pamphlet that some nutjob on the hub station gave you. It’s got some seriously weird and somewhat apocalyptic stuff in there, but for some reason you haven’t thrown it away yet.

81-82. A well-read, second-hand copy of ‘Myths of Hyperspace: A Collection of Spacer Tales’ that you bought for funsies and totally don’t believe in, no sir.

83-84. A collection of antique medical equipment that your old captain gave to you, for reasons you aren’t entirely sure of.

85-86. An unlabelled collection of beautiful music recordings you found in a spaceport, and which you’ve been idly trying to identify ever since.

87-88. A dataset of sightings, speculation and other information regarding a mysterious ship that has been seen on and off for the last fifty years by gas miners and illegal racers in the clouds of your gas giant homeworld, and which you’ve been obsessed with since you caught what might have been a glimpse of it yourself.

89-90. A ring gene-locked to your lost partner that will never come off your finger.

91-92. A tiny realistic-looking but robotic animal that was the only type of pet allowed on your company’s spaceships.

93-94. A bottle of extremely heavy-duty and almost definitely expired anti-nausea medication that you kept from your first shuttle ride into space.

95-96. A dog-eared magazine containing a two-page spread of the most beautiful spaceship you’ve ever seen in your life, and which you’ve sworn to yourself that you will one day own.

97-98. A corporate logo of the company that left your colony to die, torn off the side of one of the cheap delivery crates full of useless equipment that they supplied.

99-100. A recording of a garbled and unintelligible transmission one of your old buddies sent you, and which you’ve only kept because they vanished not long afterwards. There’s a weird sound that keeps repeating in the background, but you don’t know what it is.

[mothslair]

Alight I'm trying some thing new, I'm selling dragons with art. These two green creatures are both up for 1,500 gems each I am open to mixed payments, either treasure, genes or breed change scrolls I'm after after (list in her bio). If your interested lmk, if you want to do mixed payments feel free to dm me and we can talk it out. doing this over the cross roads too

Light green ather AVALABLE

Dark green ather AVALABLE

[egg-emperor]

Oh what has Oshima stated about Eggman? I'm curious.

This Twitter DM which was from quite a while ago, can't remember when, where from, or who to but it still gets spread around:

All respect to Oshima of course, like I said, the man is a legend and treasure. But that first part literally isn't what happens in the game at all. The way he's describing it makes it sound like Eggman came along with innocent intentions, Chaos appeared and started doing something evil and then he wants to protect the world and be a hero or something. But the game's events simply aren't anything like that at all.

Eggman specifically intends for Chaos to destroy Station Square, so he can build Eggmanland on the ruins.

Sonic story:

Tails story:

The only problem he has is Chaos betraying him and making him his enemy, which means he's now a threat to him too and that's when it's a problem.

Last story:

He specifically states that it's because he defied him/didn't follow his orders. Instead Chaos is doing it on his own terms and making him his enemy, meaning he can't build Eggmanland and is now in danger too instead. Otherwise he'd love that shit because it was literally his goal to destroy it XD

JP translations are showing me the context doesn't change and Eggman's reasonings remain exactly the same.

Sonic story:

Tails story:

Last story:

I like that last line, it perfectly represents his selfish "if you don't serve/obey me/aren't useful to me, you have no reason to exist" mindset. 🥰 But yeah, he's extremely blatant with his selfish reasoning in both versions.

But yeah what Oshima said about Adventure makes no sense. The Adventure guide also said something like him not thinking of himself as evil, I believe? Which is the only possible thing one could cite in relation to him "not being evil" in Adventure. Which doesn't make any sense there either for all the above and every game ever actually.

And what I have to say to the idea that he doesn't think of himself as evil in general is this post, showing just a few of the examples of him very clearly understanding that he's evil and doing bad things and not caring, and and specifically calling himself, his creations, and actions "evil". Bios which can and have been inaccurate in various ways for multiple characters don't change that.

Also I get where Oshima is coming from with the second part of the man/machine/science vs animals/nature thing but it seems like he's kinda saying it in a way that seems to imply that the one is just a threat to the other in general. When this appears to not be the case in Sonic CD, as good future is a world that can be both natural and mechanical in harmony. And I think that's a lot cooler.

Eggman represents the harmful, selfish, greedy, dark parts of humanity, it's clearly never been presented in a way that paints humanity as a whole as a bad thing. It's not a misanthropic all humans are evil messaging, just an example of the kinds of evil that humanity can be capable of, how they can destroy nature, how they can be greedy and power hungry.

Also the whole Eggman wants to make the world "beautiful" thing is true because as a selfish egotist, it will be the most beautiful and perfect it can be when it's under his control in his eyes, in by his own twisted definition, that's detrimental for nature, wildlife, and everyone else in it. Nobody else will want but will have it forced upon them by him.

People trying to present this as fact are ignoring how Oshima emphasized that it's his "personal opinion". That's not what determines decisions made during actual production and finalized solid canon, which in this case shows something completely different in the game, English and Japanese. But he's not trying to pass it off as final fact so I have no issue with him, it's the fans that are.

Word of god that directly contradicts canon events and characterizatiom doesn't hold up no matter who it's from. Something especially doesn't suddenly become true canon fact because someone was privately sent a DM about a creator's personal opinion, that they also specifically emphasize to be just that to them on top of that lol

I only ever note word of god in fact sharing or analysis I do if it's just reiterating/explaining what was already shown/described/implied in the actual games and very blatantly so, for reasons like these. As there can be stuff is literally completely different in the games and isn't just a matter of interpretation.

So yeah thought I'd finally bring this up and break it down properly since it's been around for a little while now but I've seen it getting spread around again like it's fact lately. Eggman is very aware that he's evil and he certainly wasn't a good guy in Adventure, nor any other game XD

[edennill]

If Tolkien characters had Tumblr blogs part 2:

part 1

Finduilas:

url: waitingtothewind

pfp: drawing of a fictional crush in pastel colours (babygirl fulfills her royal duty to exercise patronage over artists by comissioning reams of fanart lol)

bio: ✧˖･* princess finduilas of nargothrond :) ✧˖･* 47 ✧˖･* poetry appreciator ✧˖･* romantic at heart ✧˖･* girl of many fandoms ✧˖･* favourite animal: doggos ✧˖･* favourite food: strawberry juice ✧˖･* and if I had a voice that could make mountains melt I would walk over stars just to see how it felt ✧˖･*

title: ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

has a very pink custom theme with a fancy font. runs a fandom/aesthetic blog and stays clear of discourse. writes really good meta that is quite popular and poems that get notes in the single digits. doesn't really know how to deal with anon hate. participates in every tag game she comes across.

Maeglin:

url: keeps changing it between @molelol and @twilitdark because he likes small animals, but wants to sound edgy.

pfp: keeps changing it between a baby mole and the kind of very dark photo where you can't really see what it's supposed to be.

bio: M / not a minor

title: the dark under the trees

guards his personal info incredibly closely (a good practice, but how much of it is due to his father having been so controlling that he learned secrecy early on is up for discussion). rarely posts, mostly reblogs photos and shitposts. vaguely vents about his idril/tuor/gondolin/treason problems. when he gets into discussions with people he can be uncomfortably fierce, has sent anon hate on occasion.

Celebrimbor:

url: craftingsilver

pfp: red eight pointed star (default variation, not technically fëanorian) on yellow background

bio: older/younger than you think | look I've seen the Trees that's enough | Noldorin jewelsmith | male

title: time and soul, wrought and tempered

mostly posts and reblogs crafting tiktoks and tips, sometimes adds a dash of science, philosophy or something personal. has made a resolution to filter out any posts pertaining to his family on his dashboard and keeps to it almost till the end. shows a strong sense of humour and has gathered quite a following.

Idril:

url: celebrin-does-things

pfp: blurred photo of her with her back to the camera

bio: 500s - architect, wife and mother - everyone is welcome

title: "ammë, there's winter in my boots"

started off as a miscellaneous blog, but shifted to being mostly about Eärendil's shenanigans. she vaguely vents about maeglin/gondolin/cousin's treason sometimes, but still comes off as way more laid back than irl. hardly used her tumblr before her son was born and still treats it mostly as a place to document things he has said + a way to talk with like three treasured mutuals. the architect part in bio is mostly a ruse because she has only ever completed one or two projects but can hardly reveal she's a princess, can she? (before the fall of nargothrond if she got on tumblr it was to nag Finduilas to remove her personal info from bio hah)

@eri-pl, this is in part because you asked (a while ago, sorry), though I'm afraid I don't have much to say about all your suggestions. I prefer not to get into Sauron's headspace actually, but the idea of him having access to social media is horrifying lol. And Pharazon has all the worst characteristics of Reddit atheists, non-ironic modern white supremacists and racist trolls rolled into one with the added horror of the new unsavoury state cult. Míriel is not allowed a sim card🙁😬

also I'm just now realising I tagged a compatriot in something I wrote at 3 am so if you have time stamps on you now know my messed up sleep schedule and if you don't I've just told you lol but never mind.

[popiacopia]

Papa, what do those symbols in your bio mean? <3

Oh, those are some of my favorite materials to work with in alchemy.

It was one of my favorite subjects to study, back when I was still working my way up the ladder in the Ministry. I taught a few classes on it as a bishop. It’s one of the optional classes that new initiates can take while they are learning about the Ministry. Now that I am at the top of the ladder, I have been thinking about brushing up on my skills in my free time. It has been a while since I last worked with alchemy.

For example, 🜏 is black sulfur or brimstone, also known as the Leviathan Cross. You may have seen it used as a form of Satanic cross. The upside-down cross (𐕣) is also used to represent Satanism. (It is also called the St. Peter’s cross.) And 🜀 stands for quintessence, which is a word you have probably heard when people talk about the ghouls. It is short for the Latin “quinta essentia,” or “fifth essence.” The other four essences (or elements) are fire, water, air, and earth, but quintessence is the most powerful and difficult to describe. People used to believe it was what made up the stars and planets, and some today describe it more like dark matter. It is both, and it is also neither, all at once.

The rest are all for you to figure out, if you like. Like a treasure hunt!

[throughtrialbyfire]

If you’re open to it, will you drop some of your most treasured Cicero headcanons? 🙏🥺

YES OMG i absolutely can!!!! i have so many HAHA .

-cicero joined the Dark Brotherhood at a very early age. in a way, it was the first time he felt he had a family, as his bio family was uh. rough to say the least. he was probably in his early teens when he got involved, if not a tiny bit younger.

-adding onto that, his mommy issues didnt begin with the night mother. his bio mother was very hot-and-cold to him since he was a kid, where praise was on a very high shelf and he had to reach for it as much as possible, and the silent treatment was frequent.

-he has gold eyes that tend to look hazel in most lightings

-hes always worn kohl ever since he was a teenager, so even before his jester look, this was a constant feature of his appearance

-he has wavy-curly hair ❤️

-his real laugh is very loud and he snorts when he laughs

-extremely, extremely clever. he has a mind that never stops working and words are one of his fav ways to show this off

i have a hell of a lot but these are all that i can think of at the moment, thank you so much for asking anon i will always infodump abt this man <33333333

[carnivorousyandeere]

Im kinda freaky about Genesis I bet they are freaky too like, imagine the possibilities

Genesis is the wisp of smoke in the corner of your eye when you change clothes, the eyes you can feel when you touch yourself in the dark of your room at night. Whispers, promises, encouragement to try new things. Static raising the hairs on your skin, the air feeling cold and full of energy like the drop in air pressure before a storm hits.

( MDNI, No Age in Bio DNI )

Genesis loves peeping on you, invading your dreams and tempting you to indulge your desires more and more, and to bend to theirs. Genesis is a sadist, fond of both mental and physical pain, who treasures the idea of breaking your mind and training you to take whatever they give you with a smile and a “thank you.” They’re not at all against possessing people you’re interested in. Outside of possession, their form is more malleable, fluid, shadows and t.v. static and smoke. They can roughly imitate the form of whatever you’d like, human or monster. Genesis is fond of wrapping around you like tentacles or a slime. They also love to sneak up on you and scare you. Fear play, degradation, corruption, and mind-control all turn them on greatly. They also like to corrupt you in other ways. They might encourage you to torture other poor souls and lower demons for their own gratification.

[noblesouls]

a study.

BASICS.

full name : olynna blackwood name meaning : helpful, researcher, comfortable nicknames : oly, nana. epithets : the beauteous raven titles : lady of raventree hall gender / pronouns : cis woman / she/her sexuality : heterosexual date of birth : on the thirteen day of the first month age : seven and twenty years zodiac : capricorn place of birth : raventree hall, the riverlands, westeros accent : northern westerosi languages : common tongue, old tongue, high and low valyrian allegiance : house blackwood religion : the old gods

APPEARANCE.

faceclaim : synnove karlsen height : 5′5″ eye color : blue/grey hair color : brunette with copper undertones dominant hand : ambidextrous

MEDICAL.

mental : n/a physical : n/a

PERSONALITY.

positive traits : eloquent & resourceful negative traits : opinionated & judgemental hobbies : reading, needlework, medicine, horse back riding

RELATIONSHIPS.

parents : ruling lord lonan blackwood & late ruling lady ilianna blackwood siblings : lord alton blackwood, lord samwell blackwood, lady alyce blackwood, lady melissa blackwood, lady ilianna blackwood extended family : tba spouse : n/a children : n/a pets : birdsong ( raven ), onyx ( friesian stallion)

FAMILY DYNAMICS.

house blackwood is an ancient one and as so they were expected to carry duty over anything else. it was why even though lord lonan had fallen for different woman and fathered a bastard he still married the woman chosen for him by his father. sealing his fate and that of lady ilianna for a miserable marriage. the new lady blackwood vent backwards in hopes to gain the favor of her husband, and when she gave him a son she almost thought she had him, only to learn his mistress had also given him a daughter not long after. but she did not give up, her children watched her break for a man that paid her no mind, and eventually she lost her life in the false hope of giving him another son. not long after mourning period and with no one else to deny him he married his mistress and legalized his bastards. now the power balance tips back and forth with the ruling lady fighting for her bastard born son to become lord heir, while the children of the first wife refuse to back down.

BIO.

olynna had been her mothers treasure, a soft chubby babe that cried rarely and laughed often. the second gem of raventree hall, gentle demeanor and rosie cheeks, her birth had been an ease, as if predicting the calming nature that would run through her veins. as she grew up it was clear olynna would be everything a lady was expected to be, soft spoken, witty, gentle, but the demeanor of any raven ran deep in her and she was also strong willed and opinionated. and while she had a tendency to please and listen to the careful path suggested for her, there were instances were her strong personality came to shine.

her role was clear, even though she was her parents beloved, she would marry to strengthen the alliances when the time came. but that wasn’t enough for her, learning needle point, how to rule a house, she demanded to learn politics and strategies, she took her lessons and asked for more, the more knowledge was poured into her the more she craved

her life came to a sudden halt when her mother became pregnant once over, the pregnancy had her sick and bed ridden, and not long after the babe had been born lady ilianna was not longer with them leaving olynna with the weight of a promise to always look out for her siblings. at the tender age of thirteen she took it to heart, leaving everything that wasn't their care to become second in her list

but the little piece they manage to find came crushing when his father did what olynna had been most afraid, decided to marry his mistress, which she knew would only be the beginning of the darkness that would surround their lives. the children of the first ruling lady of the house welcomed the new comers with resistance, specially olynna, whom would accept no other than her mother as ruling lady and so raventree hill became a war camp

oly against all odds grew older she grew into herself; smarter and beautiful, she began creating her own alliances, her own networks. a woman that supported her family, her siblings, her friends, loyal to a fault.

olynna has seen what love has done to her father, and it terrifies she could be the same way, love is something she deprives herself of and has pledged against it. if she could remain unmarried and dedicated to her healing, her main goal is simply secure her brothers seat.

CONNECTIONS.

childhood friends; perhaps someone who knew her when she was a wild little thing swimming in the rivers of the riverlands and running through the field, stealing her fathers horse early in the mornings.

a pen pal; perhaps someone she only came across once before in the years but they shared letters constantly through the distance and time

a betrothal; set perhaps by their parents by pure political strategy, or they could be a lord in search of their own ambitions. could be nothing more than this

[dragonnerd]

Makin' a list about my LMK oc's 🐒 (Will update if i make more)

Name: Shing Delun.

Backstory: The son of King Shing Shui and [Insert name of Queen/Mother when I make her], The only child and Prince of the hidden Cloud Mountain Kingdom. Delun is on his rite of passage to prove he is worthy of being the next king by journeying out of the kingdom walls to fight evil with the magical family sword, the Storm Blade.

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Asexual.

Abilities: Cloud Summoning/Flying/Manipulation. Sword fighting. war form. Human form.

Personality: Quiet, Stoic, Calm, Kind, Noble. Secretly nervous around women.

Hobby: Sewing, Cooking, Swimming.

Likes: Quiet walks, Tea, Rain/Snow/Storms. The cold. Reading. Learning about the world outside the kingdom. Baths/Showers.

Dislikes: Modern cities, Hot weather, Crowds, comments about needing his haircut, Evil People/Demons. Mi Mae.

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Name: Seth

Backstory: One of eight monkey sons. Seth is the leader of the group of thieving brothers that live in their hidden cove. The group works together to trick humans and steal valuable/needed items for themselves or to sell to others for a profit.

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight.

Abilities: Human transformation, Sleight of hand, Fast.

Personality: Mischievous, Creative, Resilient, Funny, Trickster.

Hobby: Wood carving, Stealing.

Likes: Any treasure (but mostly gold and jade), Exploring, Pulling pranks, playfighting. Ari J.

Dislikes: Cops/Guards, Getting caught, Other groups of thieves.

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Name: Mi Mae (or the nickname 'Ash')

Backstory: A long-forgotten prisoner. The Mandrill demon was tortured and brainwashed to forget his past life before becoming 'Mi Mae' (Mi Mae = No name). He was left in prison for years until the prison literally rotted away around him, allowing him to finally escape.

Age: Proper age unknown but is around 700 years old.

Gender: Male.

Sexuality: Unknown.

Abilities: Fire manipulation, Smoke breath, Fighting.

Personality: Stoic, Vengeful, Hostile, Animalistic.

Hobby: Drawing bits of memories that remain on cave walls, Collecting things that bring memories up, Hunting Animals/Humans/Demons, Collecting fangs.

Likes: Meat, Heat, Daylight, Fresh air, The forests, Being alone.

Dislikes: Humans, Cold, Darkness, Chains, Water, Forgetting. Delun.

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Name: Ari J.

Backstory: A woman with childhood trauma and no sense of purpose outside of work gets isekai'd from her normal boring world into Monkiekid from a portal device that Syntax was testing. Now she's on an adventure to find her way home while making friends and learning to survive in an unfamiliar world.

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight

Abilities: Really good at fixing technology/robots/vehicles.

Personality: Tomboyish, Chill, Friendly, Independent, a bit of a potty mouth, Stubborn.

Hobby: Robotics.

Likes: Coffee, Rock/Metal music, Trucks, Motorbikes, Butterflies, Robots.

Dislikes: Mornings, Sleeping, Cooking, Her bio parents, Dresses, Being called by her real full name.

--------------------------------------------------------------- Child!Ari Au timeline Child!Ari Au: Ari gets isekai'd when she is five, gets adopted/raised in the countryside of Megapolis, and helps her adopted father with work.

Name: Wang Bao

Backstory: A normal guy living in a tourist town in the countryside of Megapolis Works at a dumpling stand. During working hours he finds little Ari wandering around alone. Unable to find her birth parents, he adopts her as his daughter.

Age: 31

Gender: Male.

Sexuality: Bisexual. (In the closet)

Personality: Caring, Cautious, Friendly, Little cowardly.

Hobby: Fishing.

Likes: River fishing, Cooking, Rain.

Dislikes: Megapolis/Big cities, Annoying tourists, His job, Monkeys, Demons.