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weirdthinkingdragon · 10 months

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Yandere Werewolf Idea

yandere male werewolf x gn reader

Thinking of a werewolf who specifically becomes yandere for someone who doesn't use colognes, perfumes, or even essential oils.

Warnings: a bit of self negativity, forced relationship (but that comes with most yandere stuff, let's be honest)

I know the idea of werewolves noses being more sensitive to smells even in their human form. That also makes me think how I'm super sensitive to those three types of things and don't wear them because even the lightest bit on friends next to me makes my eyes water and sting severely, and don't wear makeup from sensory issues of AuDHD.

Anyway, back to my thought. A man who is secretly a werewolf who is incredibly attractive to most of the public.

of course, every date or so he's been on they get all dressed up and make themselves smell good to impress, right? not for him. Every time he has to try his hardest not to recoil at the stench of whatever they put on. He can barely even hold down a few bites of his meal with them.

Every time it leads up with him asking them the reason about the smell and if they'd ever possibly put it on less often. He always gets answers of they like how it makes them smell, so probably not. and that's the last he really tries to date them.

that is until he finds a rather intoxicating smell that doesn't overpower him in a bad way. A more natural scent! He just has to meet you!

It leads to him befriending some of your friends to get more on you and finally meet you once he knows you won't get away. he wont let such a precious thing go.

Whenever you two start hanging out as really close friends, he has to hold back everything in himself to not shove his face in your neck and stay there as long as possible. Something snapped in him, and he absolutely refuses anyone else. Even other werewolves he's tried to date, but him and them just never felt what was needed to know it's meant to be.

the only problem is you refuse to date him. You've seen the way others glare at you whenever one of his arms are behind you or he grabs your hand, interlocking fingers. or even how close he likes to sit with you over anyone else. You think he can do better than you. You barely put effort into your looks most of the time after all. An ex friend even said standing next to him you look like a troll. They're still missing from several months ago.

He's not ignorant of the glares either, making him glare back at them. A feral and threatening glare that would make even the most hardened warrior shiver from.

He finally snaps though when people start trying to ask you out, and you agree to them but not him???

He follows them late at night and rips them to shreds. Literally. they're so torn up it's impossible to recognize them. It's then he also decides to show you who he truly is.

He easily enters your house from a key you gave him, still covered in blood. It's past midnight.

You immediately smell the copper and manage to sit up where you were, worried for a second that he was injured. But there were no visible wounds that would show that much blood.

You didn't even get a chance to move before he lunged and tackled you down faster than a fox with a rabbit. A drop of still-wet blood falls down onto your forehead as you look into predatory eyes a way you've never seen before. Fear enveloping your whole body that you're about to be killed next. His ragged breathing being the only thing in the silence.

You close your eyes to brace for it, but nothing happens. A large hand cups the side of your face. The wet, sticky texture of the clotting blood touching you as well.

He lets out an inhuman growl. "I tried to do this the right way. To have you be mine. For us to be happy together. I need you to be with me. I'm not giving you a choice." His hand grows to have sharp claws on it, but he doesn't fully transform. He doesn't need to. The inhuman growls rumbling in his chest were all you needed to know.

"You know what I am, and I want you. Only you. I'll rip who ever tries to get between us ever again to shreds. Just like I did them. And don't even think of trying to run. I'll easily find you no matter how far you get. And who would believe you a werewolf exists? heh."

He leans down and gives a surprisingly gentle kiss on your lips, sealing your fate.

#yandere werewolf #yandere werewolf x you #yandere werewolf x reader #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere x you #yandere idea #yandere #yandere supernatural x reader

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octagoncalibrator · 2 months

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Nebula devblob Feb '24

This is a crosspost from cohost.

Thinking I'm going to start doing a weekly or fortnightly summary of changes on Nebula in a given week. Probably not going to be the most super thorough or well structured post, as I am a bit scatterbrained at the best of times, but heigh ho.

Nebula SS13 is an open source project based on the Baystation 12 version of Space Station 13. SS13 is a topdown multiplayer simulation game where you play the crew of a ship, station, colony, etc. depending on your fork and map, with the Nebula and Bay forks having a focus on roleplaying and simulation interactions.

Notable changes

Traitors (sort of like mafiosos in Mafia, secretly assigned antagonists) were getting tasked with assassinating their own informants among the crew. That has been fixed.

Quite a bit of work has been going into the fluid simulation. The current sim is a bit haphazard and allows you to use crewmembers or monkeys as sponges to soak up any flooding, since the water goes into their touching reagent holder and vanishes into thin air.

Lots of optimization work being done by Penny, mostly around initialization time, event registration/deregistration, and various smaller fixes and streamlining from her downstream project Lighthouse.

Outstanding bugs of note

There's a fun issue with the dev branch currently where, due to some changes to how atoms handle temperature changes, if you put a human in a 100C environment, all their blood will instantly coagulate into one giant clot. This has absolutely no negative impact on the human.

A serious client crash issue has been narrowed down to specifically trying to cut the tail off a humanoid mob with one. As soon as you dismember the tail, everyone within viewing distance will experience a hard client crash to desktop. This may simply be God's punishment; investigation continues.

Using an elevator to descend a level can drop you into a small patch of vacuum for unclear reasons. If you're very unlucky, that one tick of total pressure loss can explode your lungs. Use the stairs for now, it's better for you.

Current priorities

We have a few PRs waiting for merge into the 5th staging period, where we shake as many bugs as we can out of the dev branch before marking it an official release and pushing it to the stable branch. When those go in, we'll start r5 staging. Exciting stuff.

I'm working on some changes around enhancing the cooking system and the general experience of interacting with food. So far I've rewritten utensils to work a bit better - previously they liked to just teleport a chunk of food from your meal into your guts, bypassing all checking of petty things like 'can I actually fit this food in my stomach' and 'am I physiologically capable of eating this mint without exploding'. Next up: Soup(tm).

I kinda wanna add fishing? But I don't just want to use Polaris fishing where you click a rod on some water and wait for 300 years. Pondering how responsive a Stardew Valley fishing minigame would be in BYOND...

#ss13 #gamedev #nebulass13 dev

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kwiwrites · 4 months

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God at the End | Rosekiller microfic (1k words) | barty joins a fight club, falls in love with evan

HERE'S THE LINK TO READ IT ON AO3 if you guys prefer that

God at the End

Meeting Evan Rosier is like a gunshot in the night.

Point-blank, barrel to the teeth and you pull the trigger and there it is- your own jaw, split open like a ripe pomegranate. Teeth spilling out like seeds.

He moves swift; river water over black rocks. Cuts like midnight frost. You back away, you spin, right foot pressing, quick as lighting, kick out and there he is, a man without limits, wrenching your leg out from underneath you and you go down, and it feels like you’re on fire .

You look up at him and he spits in your mouth and the broken lights haloe him like a god disgraced but not forgotten and he says I will gut you like a fish.

He is everything, and when you look at him it’s like watching a beautiful death, eyes gleaming and stormy but he’s death nonetheless, because nothing else in the world has hands like that.

Barty discovers this all in the span of five minutes.

Minute zero.

The fight starts. The buzzer counts- one two three , the crowd howls like a pack of hyenas long starved. They smell blood. He readies his fists, all bandaged and battered and broken open because he just came out of a bad fight, but he needs to do this. He needs the money.

Thirty seconds in.

They call him The Rose . There’s rumors, in the Pit, that he’s a devil-spawn. That he sold his soul and got fighting skills to match a bear’s in return. Barty doesn’t buy it. He stopped believing in God the moment his father started.

Minute one.

He has wild hair, matted and clotted with thick crimson, hanging low over a scar-twisted face. A twist of his lips, and sharp and silver canines that Barty can cut his fingers open on peek through. A crescent moon, if it was a weapon, wrenched out of a starless sky. He’s restless, fingers caked with blood dancing across the black air. Barty hangs back. Watches , and he’s sure that he’s going to die.

He has pretty lips.

Minute two.

Evan lunges first, and immediately there’s a river of red, cutting across Barry’s right cheek.

“You made a mistake.”

Barty laughs, high and sweet, and God, he thinks this is the best decision he’s ever made in his stupid, miserable life.

“Don’t think so, love.”

“You’re stupid.” Another slash, a blunt knife-handle to the gut, and he’s coughing up blood. “Thinking you could take me on.”

He’s dancing backwards, and everything is air. He’s high off of it, this fear . It’s a low ache in his gut that builds and builds and then it’s an explosion of metallic, sticky warmth in his mouth when Evan cracks him across the jaw.

“Maybe I am.” He says and grins through red teeth.

Minute three.

Evan flips his fringe off of his face, and oh , his eyes are so pretty . Narrow, set into hard lines and years and years of pain carved into every pull of the muscles around them. Scar tissue coats him like sand, a shore that speaks of a sea of anguish.

He’s so, so pretty .

Barty’s tongue dries up, and there’s a flipping shadow, a lethal knife-edge of movement and he’s knocked flat on his ass. He looks up dazedly and thinks look at me. Look at me, I want to worship you .

Footsteps, beside him, and they swell. There’s a low pressure on his chest, that steadily grows into a wildfire of pain and he thinks that he should be crying, calling out for help, begging and spitting for mercy but all he wants to do is say more more more, crush me into the earth. Tear me open .

There’s a boot, pressing down on him. Twin eyes, grey like a ripe stormcloud, peer down at him with something like disbelief swirling in them. Lips with cuts dissecting them like rivers with mountain ranges. Red, red , and ripe and Barty wonders if Evan would taste like hot pomegranate juice. Bitter and cloying and addictive, the stuff right from Bacchus’ goblets.

He has found a God, and it’s when he’s dancing with death. Possibly the last minutes of his life.

“You like this.” Evan murmurs, silk-smooth voice lilting with wonder.

A ball clangs, and there’s only sixty seconds left in the fight. Minute four.

Barty huffs out a laugh, the best he can with cracking ribs. “I do.”

“You’re strange.” It’s an observation, not a question.

“I am.” He hums.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like this?” Something vulnerable in his tone, plump for the picking. Barty wants to sink his teeth down on it. Swallow it and never let go. A dog to the bone, a human to the apple on the forbidden tree.

“ ‘Cause you’re pretty.” He grins again, and he thinks there’s a few teeth missing. Good .

Evan blinks again, narrows his eyes. “You cannot win my favor. Others have tried.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

There’s a lot of answers, to that question.

The most accurate one would probably be you look like life and have death in your throat and maybe I wonder what you look like under the moon or maybe in another life-

“I don’t know.” He murmurs. And maybe that’s the most honest answer. “I have no fucking clue, Rosie .”

The bell rings again.

The fight’s over.

Evan presses down, once more, the heel of his boot digging in like a second knife. Barty relishes in the pain. Crack me open, split me open and drink all of the bad things inside of me .

“Don’t call me that.”

He lets go, walks off.

Barty is left staring at the ceiling, the ringing in his ears steadily growing. His head pounds, and he’s choking on copper-laden blood. Thick and swirling in his throat.

And he thinks-

In another life

maybe the world is kinder

and you have sunlight in your hair

and I’m washing oranges

my hands sticky with water.

He lets himself go, lets the darkness bleed in with that thought sticky like spider-webs in the corner of his mind, and he wonders when he got so sentimental.

#rosekiller #microfic #marauders #evan rosier #barty crouch jr.#fanfiction #i have nothing to say for myself

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sigloverofwords · 7 months

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let me wrap my teeth around the world

An Astarion x spawn!Tav fanfic

Series warnings: violence, injury, abuse, self injury, suicidal ideation, animal death, rape (past), ptsd, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, scars, panic attacks, manipulation, transformations

Summary: You awake at the nautiloid crash, wounded and starving but free of your Master for the first time in your life. You’re determined to get as far away from Him as possible, and finally get some answers about your existence. Fortunately for you, you stumble upon another spawn. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you.

Your ability to transform into a monster quickly changes his mind, though.

Posted to AO3 first!

Author’s Note: this is a y/n-free second person slow burn hurt eventual comfort fic. Lots of heavy stuff addressed, please take care of yourself and don’t read if any of the warning subjects are triggering to you.

2k+ word chapters

Chapter 3 (prev)

Astarion points out the path to the West and you walk along in silence for most of the morning. Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way he glances over at you, eyes narrowed into crimson slits as he studies you like a collector examines a pinned and mounted bug.

Your own mind is busy piecing together your memories of the last week. Between your multiple bouts of unconsciousness and the havoc that transformation always wrecks on your body and mind, memories of your recent past are as disconnected and fleeting as lightning strikes. Carefully you trace back your steps, starting with the forest you now walk through.

Forest, druid grove, beach, nautiloid wreck, mindflayer pod…

Your throat closes a little at the flash of memory of the pod. You had come to in a haze, blood clotted over familiar wounds, fading bruises in rings around your neck. The pod had been too warm, the air heavy and humid around you, filling your lungs like blood. You had barely had the strength to try and turn away when the mind flayer forced the tadpole into you, let alone fight back.

The feeling of the worm wrapping its needle-like teeth around your eye and wiggling back to press into your brain, biting and ripping to make room for itself, was almost the worst thing you’d ever experienced.

A shadow crosses your face and you startle backwards, suddenly back in the present. Your heel hits a raised tree root and your lips part in surprise, arms flying out to try and stop your fall, but it’s too late and you can feel yourself heading for the hard ground.

Before you slam into the dirt, a hand catches your wrist and hauls you back to your feet, steadying you.

“Careful there,” Astarion drawls. “Wouldn’t want to muddy those new robes so quickly.”

He’s too close, eyes too sharp, grip too tight. Your eyes widen, chest caving in around lungs that can’t hold enough air. Before you can stop it, you imagine pushing him away and fleeing to familiar arms to be cradled by hands that drip with your own blood. It makes you freeze, and you fight an invisible battle to force that instinct far, far down.

He isn’t your home, he hasn’t been for a long time. Don’t fucking think of him like that.

You have to clench your jaw to fight back the urge to either scream or throw up. Maybe both.

In contrast, your companion is utterly unruffled. His eyes find your wrist, slim fingers unfolding like petals to reveal the mess of your skin. You watch him carefully, so you spot the almost imperceptible twitch of his eye, the shallow swallow that makes his throat bob.

“Not the prettiest mark to be left with,” you say finally, voice frustratingly weak as you claw composure back from the war inside you.

Astarion drops your wrist suddenly, turning away.

“Looks like someone didn’t learn their lesson the first time,” he says sharply. They were words meant to sting, but you had long been impervious to biting little barbs.

You trail after him.

“Contrary to the impression I’ve given thus far, I don’t cry easily, so you’ll have to try harder than that to earn my tears again,” you say. It’s true, before the last 24 hours, you can’t remember the last time you cried. It was as if the tadpole was stripping away layers of defenses you’ve erected over the years, a double edged sword that you weren’t entirely happy with. In most cases you’d found dead eyes and unemotional reactions serve you better than weeping and flailing, but the release you’d felt at letting yourself tear up even a little had been welcome.

Now, with the sun and fresh air around you, your wrists free of all but the memory of restraint, you are finally starting to feel more like yourself. You push the last remnants of your tainted instincts away and take a deep breath.

“So, Astarion,” you say, forging bravely forward despite the cutting look he sends you. “How long have you been turned?”

The elf turns his eyes upwards, as if beseeching a god for patience.

“Good gods, you must be new,” he says. Each patronizing word drips with condescension. “You just jumped from ‘hello, my name is’ to ‘how much do you make a year and do you think your parents really loved each other, or you?’”

You frown, tilting your head a little in confusion.

“I’m not new.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? Could have fooled me, little monster.”

You stiffen, but the nickname isn’t imbued with any venom, so you simply scowl.

“I…haven’t been around a lot of spawn,” you confess through gritted teeth.

“Obviously. You manners are atrocious, but surely you must have picked up some form of decorum, even in Neverwinter?”

He glances over to see you glowering at him and chuckles.

“If you want to pull off the intimidating stare, darling, you’d do better in your other form.”

“Stop talking about it,” you snap, shame and guilt wrapping their hot hands around your spine and electrifying your nerves. Without thinking, you push past Astarion, stomping ahead on the path. You were starting to seriously regret your choice of traveling companion.

Of all the spawn I meet it has to be the one with a silver spoon up his arse.

You fume, throwing various profanity at him under your breath. This was going to be your plan for the foreseeable future, or at least until you got tired of scowling at the ground, but something pulls you from your anger. The familiar, sharp scent of blood teases your nose.

Your head jerks up, and your steps immediately soften. In an instant, Astarion is at your side, also moving silently. The two of you head to where the forest breaks ahead of you, slipping in and out of shadows. A quietly running river has worn a small gully in the land, but a sturdy stone bridge crosses it. The raise of the bridge blocks your sight, but you can practically see the tendrils of scent that beckon you from the other side.

“Blood,” you say quietly. Beside you, Astarion looks tense and drawn, a strange pallor to his skin.

“I smell it,” he replies.

Surprisingly in sync, the two of you head for the bridge.

As soon as you reach the crest you can see the carnage laid out before you. Human adventurers and goblins alike lay slaughtered, their bodies abandoned where they fell, pools of blood staining the cobblestones.

“What happened?” You wonder aloud. Astarion scoffs.

“Who cares? Let’s see if they have any valuables.”

He starts towards them, but something makes you reach out and catch his sleeve.

“Wait—”

An arrow buzzes past his nose, interrupting your warning. Then you spot them: goblins, perched in a few trees on the far bank of the river, and concealed along a crumbling wall that encircles whatever poor town they took over.

“Shit!”

Astarion backpedals quickly. The two of you run back for cover on the other side of the river, black tipped goblin arrows clattering to the stone in a hail right behind you.

When you reach the treeline you start to slow, but Astarion yells back at you.

“Keep running! Those bastards have our scent now, they won’t stop til they kill us or we kill them!”

Thus motivated, you kept running.

What had been a whole morning’s walk melts away under the speed of two scared spawn. Although neither of you are too much faster than a fit human, you both have more stamina, free of a beating heart to struggle to keep up with you.

Still, you know you haven’t fed in far too long, and when you finally misplace a step you can’t stop yourself from falling. Astarion isn’t there to save you this time, and you plow into the ground. Your head is swimming and you can’t feel your fingers anymore. The scent of earth and plants fills your nose, the cool dirt a welcome relief to your fear-flushed skin.

Astarion spins around when he hears you collapse.

“Oh for fucks-” he races back, but your muscles have given out, and you can do little more than loll an arm over his shoulders. You can hear the chittering of the goblins, who have given relentless chase since the bridge. Something rustles in the forest ahead too, and you could almost laugh if you weren’t delirious with hunger and over-exertion.

Of course they got in front of us, too. Just my luck.

Then the unexpected happens.

Out of the foliage around the path bursts a party of adventurers, so mismatched and different that you couldn’t imagine them together in any other context.

At the lead is a githyanki woman, teeth bared in a snarl and sword already raised as she dashes past you and slams into the first goblin. A dark-skinned human is close on her heels, his jaw set and a glimmer in his eye. He dispatches the nearest goblin with an adroit twitch of his blade, moving to another like a dance.

A middle-aged human man skids to a stop next to you, raising his staff and chanting. As three glowing missiles fly from him to twist and wend to the charging goblins, a final figure stops beside you.

You look up into the serious, scarred face of a young woman. Her dark eyes are hard and severe.

“Come on,” she says shortly. With her help, Astarion is able to lift you and get you off the path. After making sure you’re out of the line of fire, the woman turns and dives head-first into the fray, although the other three have it mostly wrapped up by now.

The gith impales the final goblin with a satisfied nod, then withdraws her sword and flicks the dark blood from the tip.

The other human—the swordsman, not the wizard—approaches and drops to his knee before you and Astarion with a friendly smile.

“You alright?” he asks. You blink, still processing the fact that you’re not currently a goblin arrow-cushion.

“We are now,” Astarion answers for you. “That was a well-timed appearance.”

The man stands and holds out his hand.

You reason that it’s far past time for you to get off the ground and introduce yourself, so you get to your feet. Although you’re a little more unsteady than you’d like, you manage it with minimal embarrassment, and hold out your hand.

“Tav,” you offer.

“The Blade of the Frontiers, at your service,” he says. His voice and stature is full of the heroism you had thought a thing only in story books. “Although, my friends call me Wyll.”

The girl who helped you off the road seems to roll her eyes at this.

Astarion is about to reply when he doubles over with a groan of pain. Wyll does the same, as do the others behind him. You step back in shock, barely noticing the tremors of pain in your own head. There’s a hint of something around the edges of your mind, like a dog sniffing around a closed door to try and get inside. A moment later it passes and Astarion straightens with a gasp.

“What—”

“You’ve got a tadpole too,” Wyll says. The gith seems to curse under her breath at this.

“I, well, yes,” Astarion replies. “What was that?”

“The tadpole. At least, as far as we can tell,” the other man says, stepping forward. “Gale of Waterdeep, at your service.”

And with that, it’s introductions all around. The girl who pulled you from danger is Shadowheart, a name that makes Astarion purse his lips with faux sympathy.

“Her parents must have hated her,” he whispers to you when attention is momentarily off of you both. You give him a sharp look and a jab with your elbow that you hope communicate “try not to antagonize the people who saved our lives” but just makes him grin.

The gith is Lae’zel, and seems incredibly put out by this entire experience.

“We have now lost time and resources,” she says, every word clipped short. “Between your ridiculous demand to rescue that druid and now helping every helpless istik that crosses your path we will be ghaik before we even see the creche.”

Shadowheart scowls, annoyed, but Wyll maintains his chipper attitude.

“No loss at all, Lae’zel,” he reassures her, then turns to survey you and Astarion with a critical, but not unfriendly, eye.

“These two are under the same pressure we are.”

He addresses Astarion directly.

“We’re searching for a cure, and our best chance is the druid Halsin, who’s fallen into enemy hands. If you can fight, another blade is always welcome.”

“How can I say no to such a tempting offer?” Astarion replies lazily, then looks down slightly at you with a wicked grin.

“What do you say, dear sister? Shall we join forces with our brave rescuers?”

You give a weak smile in reply.

“As you say,” you reply.

“Fantastic!” Wyll claps his hands together. Gale surveys you both with mild concern, and Shadowheart and Lae’zel both seem unamused by the entire conversation.

“As long as they can fight,” the gith says finally, spinning on her heel and marching away. Shadowheart shrugs and follows.

“We can,” you say, stepping forward as the rest of the group starts to move. “Fight, I mean.”

Astarion rests an arm around your shoulders, the casual touch making you want to rip said arm off. You settle for glaring at him, which he easily ignores.

“I can fight,” he corrects. “My sister’s skills lie elsewhere.”

Gale brightens slightly.

“Cooking? Another hand at the fire would always be welcome.”

“Perfect,” Astarion replies smoothly on your behalf, making you sigh.

Let it be on his head, then, when they all find out you can’t cook for shit.

#astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #wrap my teeth #wmt chapter 3

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tf-cyberaligned · 9 months

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I guess that the Cybertronian artifact not only expanded their human lives but also their storage brain capacity. What do I mean? Not to be mean or say that your Cyber-continuity doesn't have sense. Like, NO, IS AWSOME AND I CAN'T WAIT TO READ MORE. I'm just a dumb person who likes to search for things that catch my attention and made me want to ramble... sorry.

But if you wanna take this into consideration when the thing with the relic happens and you want to explain something, I'll leave you with this. No need to listen actually.

The complexity of longevity with humans lies in the inability of organists to withstand the burdens of operating for more than a couple hundred two hundred years, basically, joints would eventually begin to break down under their own weight and stress, that's why we turn into dust when we die, but of course, lest remember that this is a Cyberpunk dystopia so fortunately, robotic organs will be the next fashion heat!!

But is it possible to replace all the various parts of a body?

Unfortunately no, there are limits, and those limits lay in our brains!! A human being is capable of storing around 100 terabytes of memory, or, what are the same, 100,000 gigabytes of memory, experiences, knowledge, etc. All of them are embedded in our heads thanks to the aforementioned neurons. It may seem like a huge number but eventually, likely in 300 years, a human brain would be full of memories, information, and all kind of stuff, making a person unable to put two words together, feel disoriented, as if you had a "brain fog." Having trouble finding things that could be in front of you. Feeling very confused, taking longer to process new information, or having trouble understanding things. Difficulty making decisions or analyzing things... etc. Let us also not forget about diseases that deteriorate the brain, neurodegenerative diseases, that make this process painfully faster.

Is an incredible concept for horror. But like I said, this is just me doing research on a topic that I just got focused on because I need to stress myself.

I am glad you asked this, cause I did not realize this about the human brain!

Old lore is in italics and is not 100% anymore

For the body

How they stay the same age looks wise is because their bodies are essentially put into a stasis-like state. So their joints don't wear down, their organs don't fail, and and things like cancer don't really grow. The only things that do seem to change is their blood cells and keratin in their body, so their hair and nails still grow. This is all based around Cybertronian anatomy.

The artifact was created by Cybertronians, who when creating it used Cybertronian anatomy as a basis. Now, human and Cybertronian anatomy are different, but hold many similarities. The relic had targeted the organs and parts of the human body that were shared in similarity with Cybertronians.

Things such as brains, circulatory system, eyes, muscles, bones, skin, and digestive system are all examples of similarities between the two species. The relic effected these organs, making them similar to how Cybertronian organs are. This means that the blood will still regenerate, they still have to eat, and they will still mentally age. However, things that are not comparable to Cybertronian anatomy were effected differently.

The relic had no clue how to handle things like hair, nails, lungs, reproductive systems, and other organs such as spleens and kidneys. There was no translation of these organs to Cybertronian organs, so the relic just didn't do much with them. Inner organs were put into stasis, still functioning but they were only effected due to being in proximity to other comparable organs. Hair and nails just weren't really messed with by the relic.

However that can have some big drawbacks. Their skin does not grow back to form scabs and scars, which can lead to wounds continuing to bleed. Their blood is able to clot cause in blood there are red blood cells and white blood cells. The white blood cells have something known as a platelet, which creates the blood clots. Since their bodies are no longer able to regenerate their skin, skin grafting surgery is required for large wounds.

Obviously, with several of the characters, this is not an option they are able to take. Miko for example got an acid poured on her face during a recon mission, and skin grafting would not have fixed this. That is why she has a metal plating around her head. Jack's chest also has metal plating after getting an injury across his chest. Most of the small scars you see on our human characters either came before the beam blasted them, or were the result of donor skin grafting. Kade's burn scar for instance is one of the injuries that is received before the beam hits the group.

Now for the brain issue

In Cyberpunk Edgerunners, which is one of my many inspirations, we are introduced to these ports in the skin.

These ports as seen in EP 2 "Like a Boy", David and Lucy are seen stealing a technology known as Datashards from Corpo people. These Datashards can contain anything from money, information, photos, videos, schematics, etc.

It's basically a glorified SD card.

We are also introduced to Deep Dive Tech. This kind of technology is connected to the occipital lobe to allow for high amounts of data transfer between minds or mind and technology. This is highly dangerous and requires trained professionals to operate.

So what does this mean for my continuity?

Both of these heavily inspired what I plan to do for the brain situation.

These brain ports are connected to the occipital lobe just the Deep Dive Tech. Memories are able to be copied, downloaded, transferred, and even deleted. This allows for the operator, Raf majority of the time, to be able to extract the memories not needed for everyday life from the rest of Team Prime and the Rescue Team. Miko even asked for him to delete the memory she had of getting half of her face melted off, which is perfectly understandable in that situation.

The memories that are extracted are able to be returned to the person as well. Kade for instance had his memories of Hailey copied and extracted, put onto a hard drive specifically for those exact memories. Hailey was not one of the people hit by the beam, leading to Kade losing her by her dying of old age. He had his memories of her extracted so that he wasn't constantly reminded that she was gone, but he could also redownload those memories when he needed to.

So that's my idea for fixing the memory capacity issue! Yes it's very sci fi bullshit, but that's the fun part of cyberpunk universes.

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crimsonrainseekingflower · 10 months

Text

Zhuzhi-lang doesn’t know where he is.

The last thing he remembers is the sickening slide of Zheng Yang being pulled from his body, steel against bone, blood welling up and seeping between injured scales. It didn't hurt. He had been beyond pain at that point, mind focused solely on using his remaining strength to curl around Tianlang-jun in an effort to protect his lord from their crumbling surroundings.

It hurts now.

His lips press into a thin bloodless line as he tries to push up onto his elbows, the smooth sheets of the unfamiliar bed beneath him wrinkling as he shifts. He can’t stay here, wherever this is, he needs to find Tianlang-jun. Nothing is more important.

Uneven red splotches begin to bloom across the bandages wrapped around his chest; he’s reopened the wound. Or perhaps no blood had clotted in the first place. It feels raw. If he doesn’t breathe then he can bear it. He squeezes his eyes shut, needing a brief moment before he continues.

“Zhuzhi-lang.”

His eyes snap open. Voice hoarse and hopeful, he calls, “Junshang?”

He forces himself to turn, an aborted half-movement that causes the sharp pulsing in his chest to radiate further. With one hand pressed to his chest, he leans his weight on the opposite forearm and blinks away the darkness encroaching his vision.

Tianlang-jun lies on another thin bed a few paces away. His head rests on a porcelain pillow, dark bruises mottling what remains of the skin on his face. He does not look well, but he’s alive. That’s what matters.

“Lie back down,” Tianlang-jun chides. “I don’t have the means to help if you fall out of bed. It was already such an ordeal to convince the humans to purge the water from your lungs, and stuff you with enough priceless pills to keep you alive for the journey.”

Zhuzhi-lang releases his breath in a slow stream as he gingerly lowers himself, unwilling to let his pain show in front of Tianlang-jun. He can feel sweat beading at his temples. “Where are we?”

“Zhao Hua Monastery.”

“For how long?”

“A while. You, dear nephew, have been feverish for days.”

Zhuzhi-lang frowns. That must be why he feels so warm. He’s never been sick before, let alone had a fever. For his heavenly demon blood to be unable to heal his wounds after multiple days have passed, he truly must be in poor condition.

“You’ve been crying out in your sleep.” Tianlang-jun’s tired eyes hold a teasing glint. “Such salacious dreams you must have been having. What was it you said before? Ah, yes. That you held none of Luo Binghe’s intentions towards Peak Lord Shen. Your subconscious appears to disagree.”

Zhuzhi-lang does not have the energy to sputter his objections. A deep exhaustion has begun to weigh him down, nearly eclipsing the terrible ache that seems to have no end or beginning. He tries to keep his eyes open but it’s becoming an insurmountable task. “I’m glad that Junshang feels well enough to tease me.”

“Always.” Tianlang-jun manages a wan smile. “Are you falling asleep on me?”

Zhuzhi-lang thinks he says, “No,” but he truly is so tired. He should be used to being held captive by his body’s limitations by now, having spent so many years stuck in an undesirable half-serpent form, though his frustration does not abate at the remembrance.

The last thing he wants to do is let Tianlang-jun out of his sight, even for a brief rest. What if he awakens to find Tianlang-jun is gone? Or dead, and this has been a mere dream?

“Look at you. So stubborn.” Tianlang-jun sighs. “How will you heal if you don’t sleep? I need someone to fetch new installments of Regret of Chunshan. The monks won’t allow it.”

“I will do it,” Zhuzhi-lang mumbles.

“Not like this, you won’t.”

“Junshang, I—”

“Sleep,” Tianlang-jun says. And then, because he has an uncanny knack at getting to the heart of things: “I’m not going anywhere.”

[also on ao3]

#my fic #my writing #zhuzhi lang #tianlang jun #svsss #svsss fic

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yet-another-heathen · 10 months

Text

Impact

1,846 words. Original Series: Liliholm and Page.

[Masterpost]

Content Warning | horror, body horror, whumper-turned-whumpee, a borderline-immortal whumpee described as a dead body, gore, aftermath of an explosion, head injury, seizures, casual misogyny, excessive foul language. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Taglist | @ink-and-salt @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpvp @redwingedwhump @lave-whump @castlehillwhump @sideblogformindtrash @burtlederp @fanastywhump @whump-in-the-closet @sunshiline-writes

Author’s Note | It’s finally here! The very first solo Luca and Garcia chapter in the series. I do have one detail for you before you read (one that will be worked more organically into other L&P chapters in the future): With Luca’s healing, be it on themself or on others, every single moment of the pain it would take to heal on its own still has to be felt. All those weeks and months of pain get compacted down into a matter of seconds. And if it was something that should never have been able to heal in the first place? Well. Why don’t you watch.

It had been longer than it should.

Garcia had his head buried in his hands, his knee tapping nervously. It had been almost two full minutes, and the shredded remains of the body next to him hadn't moved. Glassy blue eyes stared up at nothing, blood smeared across pale skin. Half of their lower jaw was missing entirely, what was left of their ribcage torn open like stuffing from a doll. Their head sat at an angle that was intensely wrong, and he knew even without touching that it was because the back of their skull was little more than pulverized bone.

No twitching fingers. No tears brimming in those empty eyes.

Nothing.

He stood up and started to pace. Aimless circles around the perimeter of the room, round and round the black-red pool of blood clotting on the floor. He saw nothing of what was in front of him, only thought of where to place his feet.

Three minutes.

Their arm looked like it had too many joints, now. A patchwork of wrong angles and open fractures, peppered with torn flecks around the shoulder. There was barely any skin left. Barely any muscle, either. Garcia couldn't bring himself to even look at their hand. The finger stuff had always made him queasy.

For a moment, he thought he saw movement. But when he looked again all it had been was the draft catching on a lock of their hair.

Four minutes.

Fuck. Fuck. Come on, Luca.

He sat down on the crate again, raking his hands back through his hair.

Five minutes. Six.

He'd never seen their healing take more than thirty seconds to begin. Usually it came even sooner than that, whether they started off conscious or not. But this? He'd never seen them hurt like this.

They might not be coming back from it at all.

There, on the very edge of his hearing. A sound like the crinkling of cellophane, something wet just barely beginning to shift. He watched as their head began, in almost unimaginably small increments, to turn.

There was still nothing at all behind their eyes.

A flood of icy adrenaline locked his limbs in place. He stared, paralyzed. It was only after a few more moments that he recognized the movement for what it was.

Their skull was beginning to piece itself back together.

He let out a breath of relief, watched as those vacant pupils slowly constricted down to pinpricks. Then Luca's entire body arced off the floor.

Their body went into flailing convulsions as neurons began to weave back together, eyes open wide. The bones in their ribcage shifted and cracked back into place. Their diaphragm was visible beneath the spongy remains of their lungs, hiccuping in some desperate attempt to pull air through a windpipe that wasn't there. Their jaw was moving soundlessly. And all the while the mushy back of their head rattled against the floor, uncontrollably battered by their seizures.

Garcia didn't touch them. He knew they wouldn't forgive him if he did.

After five seconds those attempts at breathing became a rhythmic wheeze of air through their throat. Ten seconds, and the sound became a rattle. Fifteen seconds, and Garcia finally recognized the spasming of their diaphragm for what it had been since it began.

Luca was screaming.

He turned his face away. Counted his breaths. The sound filled every inch of the room, echoing until it was deafening. It drowned out even the snapping of bone, pitchy and full-throated and raw.

The convulsions gave way to active thrashing as their body healed. They writhed and twisted like a snake with its head cut, clawing at their own wounds in mindless agony.

The screams didn't falter. They just became slowly more and more recognizable, until there was no mistaking whose voice was behind them.

He had never heard them like this. And there was no describing the selfish amount of relief he felt when the last of their skin finished stitching together, and the screams rose to a fever pitch. And then they suddenly died off into breathless, wheezing sobs.

Luca's back was turned to him. They just collapsed into a heap of limbs, every inch of them soaked red.

Thirty seconds passed. A minute. It was some time before they managed to get themself back under control. They tried, shakily, to push themself up onto their elbows. Then to their knees.

They swallowed several times before they managed to get the remaining scraps of their voice to work. "...what got me?"

"Pill bomb. Looked like they'd set it into the door frame, just above the handle."

"Fuck." They had their head in their hands, as though staving off a horrific headache. Their voice was raspy and thin. "Did they get away?"

"Molinaro went after them."

"Alone?"

Garcia didn't answer. There hadn't been enough of Luca left to move, and someone had needed to stay to watch over their body.

"...Fuck."

They tried to push themself up onto their feet, arm shaking where it was braced against the wall.

"Hey, what are you doing? You know you can't be up yet—"

"We're going after him."

"No, you're sitting your ass back down before you—"

"Garcia!" They turned on him, their eyes as cold as their voice, "I'm hunting them down whether you come along or not. Where is my gun?"

Garcia sighed. There really was no winning with this little shit.

"Fine. You know what? Here," he pulled it out of his back pocket, and handed it over. The safety was on, but there was already a round in the chamber.

They shoved it into their waistband. Their dark shirt was completely in tatters, holding on only around one wrist and in the scraps of fabric still tucked into their trousers. They looked down at themself, and made a face that was half self-consciousness and half distaste. The only place on their body that wasn't covered in blood was the upper half of their face, and what little of their near-white hair hadn't been plastered down with gore. It made their expressions all the more haunting.

They looked back to him and held out their hand, "Give me your shirt."

No, Garcia wasn't surprised. He could already see them fighting back the urge to wrap their arms around themself, the bristling antsiness written all through their body would only get worse as the seconds passed.

"Give me your shirt."

"You are such a demanding little priss, you know that?" But he turned around and started taking off his jacket. "If I'd wanted to get nagged at like this I would have gotten married rather than becoming a mercenary." He pulled his t-shirt off over his head, and tossed it to them before putting his jacket back on. He kept his eyes averted while they changed.

"Does Molinaro still have his tracker?"

"He'd better." Garcia dug his phone out of his pocket, and pulled up the app on his screen. Luca joined him a moment later, tying the shirt in at the waist.

It looked utterly ridiculous on them. Garcia was a 3XL, and he'd be surprised if they were even an XS. It made them look like a child in a parent's nightgown.

....albeit a very gorey one.

"There. Three blocks north, one block east," he said. They both watched the blue blinking dot for a moment. It wasn't moving. That....very likely wasn't a good sign. They needed to go, now.

"We'll take the subground, we're too conspicuous to walk up top."

"No kidding." He grabbed his own gun.

Ten minutes later they were at the base of the new building, far below the tracks of the Mag-Link that rushed overhead. Down here the sidewalks were wide and abandoned, nothing to see them but trash and the occasional tramp. The few people they passed took one look at Luca, and immediately found reasons to leave. They weren't far from the shipyard, and the warehouses like this one mostly stood abandoned.

"There," Garcia said quietly. Thirty feet ahead, one of the metal doors stood slightly ajar on its hinges. Luca followed his gaze, and pulled out their gun.

Inside the warehouse was vast, lit from far overhead by panes of yellowed, broken glass windows. Dirt covered every inch of the cement floor, piles of broken equipment and empty beer bottles heaped around the edges. The place smelled like old pipes and piss.

Despite the horrific consequences they'd just faced, they didn't hesitate before being the first one through.

Luca nodded down to a smear of blood on the floor. Part of a boot print, another smear, another print. Both of them followed it, keeping their eyes moving about the dim space. The trail lead up a wide, metal-grate staircase to the loft level, half of the steps bent and warped with wear.

Garcia gave them a dubious look. He was a very big man, and nothing about those steps looked stable. Even if they didn't collapse, if the metal shifted wrong then everybody in this building would hear it.

They rolled their eyes, but gave the steps an assessing once-over. They set their foot on the first level, slowly. No sound. Their weight shifted up onto it. Still no sound. They kept their gun close, and moved smoothly up the next few levels before pausing to glance back at him.

Well that's great for you, Luca, but I weigh a hundred and seventy pounds more than your puny ass, his face said.

That's your problem.

And they continued upward without him. Garcia gave an irritated little sigh. But his boot settled on the first step right above the brace, and he carefully followed after.

There were voices from up ahead. Too faint at first to distinguish, but as they grew closer he began to make them out. The first one was unfamiliar, wet and nasally. They were speaking quickly, an edge of franticness to their voice.

The second one, notably calmer and steadier, was familiar. Luca heard it too—he saw it in the way their shoulders lowered just the smallest bit.

Garcia whistled loudly. Both voices stopped.

Molinaro called back to him, "What took you so long?"

They ascended the last of the steps, and were greeted with a welcome sight. Two dead bodies on the floor, and Leon standing over a third mark with his gun pointed at their head.

The man was kneeling with his back to the rusted railing, both hands cuffed around the pole behind his back. His nose was broken, blood pouring down his chest. And when his eyes settled on Luca, he went paler than a ghost.

"You—no! I saw....I saw you—" The captive shrank in on himself as Luca stalked forward. Molinaro lowered his gun.

Their voice was vicious, "If you wanted me dead, you should have tried harder."

The toe of their shoe smashed into the man's windpipe, snapping his head back into the railing with a BANG. His mouth fell open into a silent gasp, eyes wide as he tried to draw in air. The noises his collapsed trachea made through those attempted inhales were like music to Garcia's ears. And all the while those wide, horrified eyes stared up at Luca as they knelt down in front of him. Their thumb dug savagely into the indent in his throat until their nail drew blood, cutting off what little remained of his air.

"And now, you're going to pay for it."

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skyloftian-nutcase · 7 months

Note

Oookay, iif someone were in a coma (for a fic, it's a century, and not healing like Link's) what are some ailments they would have after that? (Assuming you know about how people react to comas!)

I love your writing, by the way! :)

If it isn’t a healing thing, they’re just in a coma… uhhh. Let’s see.

Muscle atrophy to oblivion

Pneumonia and atelectasis - lungs are just laying flat and deflate and settle like sad balloons and stuff can get into them and cause an infection

aging - they’re old and crusty if they’re even alive

blood clots. So many blood clots

Which also means potential for heart attack, stroke, pulmonary embolism

Food? Water? They need that or they’ll die within the week

They probably wouldn’t survive this lol

This is assuming they’re just… existing with no medical/magical help at all 🤷🏻‍♀️ Good thing the Sheikah have their fancy magic fantasy tech for BotW Link!

#you ask skye answers #lovely anon #Skye talks medical stuff

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jadeleechsupportgroup · 6 months

Text

personal happenings and thoughts below the jump. cw talk of medical stuff, death, cancer, mental illness, bipolar, idk, a shit ton.

my dad is dying. he got diagnosed with metastatic liver cancer in may, a week after he turned 70. he got immunotherapy treatments all summer. it shrunk the tumor but also destroyed the rest of his body because he was already just so sick in general. about 3 (4?) weeks ago, they found blood clots in his lungs and an especially large one in his leg. they suggested discontinuing treatment and moving him into hospice care.

i inherited my food allergies and bipolar disorder from him. and i'm trying to use that as a turning point in my own life - doing my best to avoid those foods (gluten non-negotiable, dairy just a bad idea), going to therapy (including IOP), staying on medication, etc. all the good shit.

but it has been so hard watching him die.

He tells my mom how no matter when he sleeps, he has nightmares. Whenever I go back home (out of state) to help, I see the manic and depressive episodes hit fast and hard. I feel like I'm witnessing the brain damage in action, and I feel like I'm watching whatever will happen to me if I make it to that age. I also never sleep like a normal person and have horrible dreams. without the meds I hear background noise in my brain, which I only learned more recently is a form of psychosis.

it's easy to look back and either be angry or sad about how i never got this kind of help as a kid or teen. I had symptoms in early grade school. but it was the 90s (1900s am I right haha) so I doubt there was anywhere my parents could have even taken me for treatment.

I'm trying to just...feel my feelings as they come. Practicing the things I learned in group because they mostly make it manageable. blogging here, i guess. learning not to ruminate too hard on this or the other things in my life which are shit, which idk if i'll ever have the strength to blog about, but maybe someday.

my dad and i have had a more difficult relationship since the you-know-what in 2016. living at home because i could afford nothing else, and coming to the realization that i was non-binary in addition to ace, suddenly became a hellscape with him spewing bigotry so openly. when it gets right down to it, i'm sure he wouldn't have thrown me out on the street. which i know is the bare minimum. it's complicated. but I also know he loves me. I can tell lately he's been thinking back on his life and the mistakes/choices he made. it doesn't make it okay but it's.......something.

I don't know. I spend my days waiting for the crushing sadness to punch me in the chest. It hasn't yet. But it's dark all the time now and it's cold as shit and the holidays are the worst part of the year for me because so many bad anniversaries are coming up. I'm in a place I've only lived for a couple years and I don't really have any friends outside of work (which is, of course, two jobs, because capitalism is a plague).

I know things will happen. Some good things, some bad things, some things with no emotional points awarded. knowing it's gonna hurt is not doing me any favors. but I have to get this out somehow so here it is.

and now for some pics that cheer me up.

my dad and I are both pilots, so this one is cute.

I won an iguana at the carnival as a kid. He lived an extremely spoiled life. And got very long.

and, of course, the wiggly pig (one of amelia's numerous names)

thanks for reading if you've made it this far, or even if you didn't.

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glutaminase · 2 months

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been watching so much greys anatomy with my sister and one of my favorite things is how they have to explain stuff to a non medical audience via the dialogue so u get doctors talking to each other like She has a pulmonary embolism….THERES A BLOOD CLOT IN AN ARTERY TO HER LUNG! Like i know theres no way around writing it that way without confusing people but it just delights me to imagine explaining a PE to a surgeon

#im gonna start talking like this and see how long i can keep it up before someone calls a stroke code on me

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flowersarefreetherapy · 1 year

Text

Shadow of Stars: Chapter 5

CW: Blood, drugging (in a way?? Like the vampire drugging stuff), biting, everything that comes with vampires feeding (idk how to tag that), whumper pov, dubcon themes

Daniel stares at him, his dark eyes both hungry and hesitant. Star keeps his arm outstretched, waiting even as his fingers start to go numb. If Daniel doesn’t hurry up, there isn’t going to be any blood left in the limb to feed on.

“You’re serious?” Daniel breathes.

“Would I have, have offered if I was, wasn’t?”

Daniel lunges across the cell faster than he can track with his gaze. Cold fingers wrap around Star’s arm and he sucks in a breath at the proximity. This is closer than they’ve been in days. Under the smell of filth and blood, Star catches the scent of warm straw that clings to him.

“Are you sure?” Daniel whispers, but he doesn’t look up at Star, gaze focused on his arm. “I don’t want to if you aren’t sure.”

“I, I, I’m sure,” Star breathes, clenching his free hand into a fist.

Daniel’s warm breath ghosts across his skin as he bends down, tongue darting out to lick at Star’s skin. His knees go weak and he grips the silver bars to remain standing. Time seems to slow, his world narrowing to a point as Daniel lowers his mouth to his skin. Teeth scrape raised lines across his flesh and Star shudders.

Instantly, Daniel pulls back, though his chest is heaving. “Are you alright?”

Star nods, not trusting himself to speak. If he opens his mouth, he’s afraid all the words he can’t say will come tumbling out. He can’t be trusted like this. Not with Daniel so close and fantasies taking over his mind and damnit, does he want to be pinned to these bars so badly, to provide the protection between them and Daniel.

“If you’re sure . . .”

Star nods again and Daniel bites his arm. Agony shoots up his arm, but it lasts for half a breath before a soothing sensation follows. Star sags against the bars, staring listlessly at the floor as a sense of peace flows over him, deeper and stronger than any rest he’s had before. He can feel the blood pumping through his veins, moving faster as Daniel drinks his fill.

Through heavy-lidded gaze, Star watches Daniel. A few drops run down his arm, splattering to the floor in Daniel’s haste. He drinks like a starving man, digging his teeth deeper into Star’s arm, the pearly white turning red with fresh blood. Slowly, color returns to his face, restoring the mantle of humanity he wears. As if moving through honey, Star reaches out and curls his fingers in Daniel’s matted hair. He runs his fingers through the blood and grease-clotted hair with a hum.

His eyelids grow even heavier. Daniel’s heavy breathing sounds above him. When did he get to the floor? How did he end up here? It doesn’t matter. Star’s shoulder twists, arm held at an uncomfortable angle above him. He feels Daniel’s fingers dig into his skin, but not the pain. It’ll leave bruises. He’ll have to explain it. No, he doesn’t. This is fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just Daniel, he loves him, they’re supposed to be together. He’s a Shadow. That means nothing.

Star’s head rests against the bars. They’re cool and smooth against the side of his face, shining in the sunlight. Beautiful. Like Daniel. He wants Daniel to kiss him. Why isn’t Daniel kissing him?

“Oh darkness! Star!”

Someone’s finger taps his face. He smells copper. That’s alright, Daniel needs to eat. He’s supposed to be bleeding.

“Damnit, damnit, you should have accounted for size! You fool!”

Daniel. Daniel is panicking about something. Fool. Star blinks his eyes open to Daniel’s face as close to his as he can get with the silver bars. His mouth is smeared with blood, streaking to one side like he tried to wipe it off. Star’s gaze drifts to his arm. It is perfectly healed, with only two small scars to show where Daniel’s teeth were.

“Oh thank the darkness, you’re alive. I’m sorry, Star, I forgot that you’ve never been fed on before. It’s always a dangerous procedure the first time and I didn’t think–nevermind. Can you talk?”

The floating feeling that held him is starting to fade. Star nods, forcing his mouth to open.

“Y-yes.”

“Good, good, I was worried-”

“Kiss, kiss me, Daniel.”

“. . . what?”

“Kiss me.” Star tips his head back enough to smile up at Daniel, whose eyes are wide. He looks afraid, but Star can read the desire he tries to hide. “You know, know you want t-to. Kiss me.”

“Star, I-I can’t.” Daniel scoots back, pain falling across his face. “You–you sentenced me to days in the sun! All these burns, this pain, it’s because of you!”

Oh. Right. He did decree that. Star pushes himself upright, drawing his hand back. He stares at the small scars and flushes at the memory of Daniel’s fangs buried deep in his flesh. What would it be like to have whatever drug that was released directly into his neck? To have Daniel’s hands around his throat and–no, that fantasy doesn’t feel right. If anything, it should be Daniel on his knees, begging Star for the chance to taste blood, if only a drop.

“I know,” he whispers hoarsely. “I, I, I know.”

“You know. Of course you do. A high and mighty king, having to do what’s best for his people, is that it?”

Star nods. Really, he’s only half listening. What would it be like, to have Daniel at his beck and call like that? What would it be like to have Daniel muzzled, collared, at his feet? On full display of the kingdom? His property.

“And now you think a few paltry words will change my mind?”

Chains clink as Daniel holds up his wrists and all Star can picture is the soft strips of fabric they used in Daniel’s house, how he taught Star to tie knots and then he taught himself new ones because Daniel escaped those too easily. But cuffs . . . Daniel, chained to his bed, in his room. That is something else entirely.

And it is fully within his grasp.

“I’ve, I’ve changed my mind.” Star looks up, a heady feeling rushing over him. “I want, want, want you freed.”

“You’re letting me go?” Daniel doesn’t sound convinced. He’s always been too smart for his own good.

Star chuckles. “Go? N-no, no, who said any, anything about leaving?”

“Star, what are you talking about?”

A muzzle, new clothes, a collar? Do I dare go that far? Yes, it would look wonderful.

Star stands and blows a kiss to Daniel. The drugged feeling gives him more courage than before.

“You, you, you’ll see. It’ll be f-fun, I, I promise.”

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @darkthingshappen @pigeonwhumps @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinggrounds (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#i promise we'll be back to the regularly scheduled storyline soon; this AU has just taken over #and yeah we’ve crossed the line #star’s a whumper now #daniel the protector #star my beloved #blood #drugging #biting #chained up #dubcon themes #creepy whumper #whumper pov #vampire whump #vampire au #fantasy au #shadow of stars au

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milascenta · 1 year

Text

December 24th 10:49pm

I have been to many doctors at this point. Respiratory specialist, vascular surgeon, haematologist, cardiologist in April, many gp appointments, and many tests and exams run on me. They discovered I have something called Venous Thoracic Outlet Syndrome, ( if you didnt know, i found out that your thoracic outlet is the space between your collar bone and first rib and it runs your artery, main vein and nerve that runs down your arm from your heart). Normal people have enough space between them mine apparently is under a cm 0.88cm to be exact and when I move my arm to a 90° angle it decreases to 0.45cm and then if I move my arm above my head so about 180° it decreases to 0.17cm. Bit intense lol.

Back in September I noticed my arm started to turn purple/blue, thought it was weird. Couldn't see a doctor right away as we had a gig in Canberra, on the way there my arm felt so tight and painful, stretching helped but not for long. Playing my arm would cramp up and tire easily (still haven't dropped my pick before, knock on wood)

After we got back I went to a doctor, not my normal one as I don't live near them anymore, first thing, he thought it was interesting too, told me to get an ultrasound on it, but couldn't get an appointment for days afterwards. I ended up being able to see my normal gp and he thought it was interesting too lol and he got another doctor in for his option, you guessed it thought it was weird. They told me to get a bunch of tests done, and that going to the ER would be better to do them as they're all in one place. I go to the ER at 1pm, and the 17 hour waiting room/tests begin. I had an ecg, ultrasound, two ct scans and a failed mri. I didn't realise I was claustrophobic like that. I felt so angry that I couldn't continue with it. In my defence they kept me int here for like 20 minutes telling me to breathe weird like breathe in then out then hold, over and over. I had a pulmonary embolism and they were getting me to that so much. When I got out they said they didn't even get to the important stuff too that there was 10 minutes left, what were they doing for 20 minutes then? Jerking off to me breathing? The other tests were enough though. They found blood clots in my arm, one was 11cm under my arm pit and down my bicep, the other was under my collar bone, and one in my lung. What they didn't know at the time was why a 25(at the time I'm 26 now) year old would get blood clots and getting them in your arm is rare enough. I had a doctor come in and take pictures of my chest as the veins coming from my heart are so pronounced on my right side, but it should go down.

I was put on blood thinners and after 48 hours of being in hospital I was let out. 17 hours in a waiting room, I got there at 1pm got a bed at like 6am the next day and let out around 1pm the day after. I'm clot free now. Though there are still more tests to be done, I'm not at the end of this yet. I have to get the all clear from the respiratory specialist to go off the blood thinners and then once I'm off them I can get blood tests to see if I have a blood clotting problem and if I don't then I go back to the vascular surgeon and we consider surgery, removing the first rib. If I have a blood problem then I'll be on blood thinners indefinitely anyway so surgery can be a later thing.

I don't know how I feel about surgery, really I just want all this to be over so I can move on with my life.

I felt a massive change when I was in hospital though. I felt for the first time in my life I was kinda forced to look at my position and re-evaluate things. I want different things now. I want to study again, do something I've wanted to do since I was 14, study science like I was supposed to do. I going to go back to university for astrophysics. You how much I love space and hearing you talk about how much you keep up with all the news let's me know it really is something I should pursue. I've been relearning maths and physics again and getting immersed in it. Also got addicted to cyberpunk 2077 and the whole genre in general but thats beside the point lol.

I'll finally be able to work again next year, find something less physically intense. I used to work hospitality, I was a mixologist in the end, which was a passion I developed while working in fine dining. I love making cocktails, hopefully I can make you one, one day. Though I won't be able to return to it, I'll be able to find something more officey maybe.

You look SO beautiful in that dress, I hope you had fun at the party too. I mso jealous of all that get to see you in person and I hope everyone at that party knows how good you looked. I'm sorry this post is late but I realised it's almost Christmas and maybe this can be a nice surprise for you on Christmas. Merry Christmas N, I hope its filled with love and joy and i hope you know I'm sending love and warmth your way.

I noticed one of your new tattoos..

Following the footsteps of a rag doll dance we are entranced..

#her

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imokayipromiseillbeokay · 11 months

Text

(TW MENTION OF ED AND DYING)

almost 8 months ago i started having convulsions. at the time we thought they were seizures. my eyes would roll back, my body would convulse, i couldn’t speak, couldn’t open my eyes no matter how much i tried. (i was completely conscious during these episodes) i got admitted into the hospital for a few days and no one could give me answers, they said everything came back normal, my blood, my ct scan, my mri, my EEG, my EKG. the only thing they said was weird was how fast my heart rate was. they diagnosed me with tachycardia and non-epileptic seizures.

(when i say seizures in the rest of my vent just know they are non-epileptic)

a few weeks of leaving the hospital i started having fainting/passing out spells. but not really. i would collapse, but i could still hear, i was still conscious. i couldn’t move, open my eyes, or speak. but i was aware of what was going on. i then went to the er after a few days. i was admitted again. they ran all the same stuff and once again everything came back normal, the only thing they said was weird was how high my heart rate would get when i moved just a little bit. they also found out that i had 4 blood clots. 1 in each lung and 2 in my arm. they blamed the seizures and fainting on those. we fixed the blood clot issue within a couple months and it only seemed my episodes were getting worse by the day. at one point i had 8 seizures. and 23 fainting spells in a day.

(you can’t possibly imagine what that i does to someone mentally and physically or maybe you can. i was not okay.)

i started seeing doctors for these symptoms i was having. some said anxiety, others said conversion disorder, others said it was stress induced, but at the end of the day no one still couldn’t tell me what was happening. as the days went by the worse i got, i could barely get out of bed for days. the only time i could leave my bed was to go to the bathroom and sort of take a shower. almost every time i stood up i was on the floor. hell i would just be sitting in bed, reading, being on my phone, playing a game, and faint. i didn’t even have to be doing anything or moving to faint. i could be in the middle of a conversation and next thing you know i’m out.

finally my cardiologist decided to get a bunch of tests done on me, including a stress test and a tilt table test. (you ready for the kicker?) when i went to see him for my tilt table results he told me “i don’t think you needed the tilt table test.” he didn’t check it. (mind you i HAD A SEIZURE DURING IT) it wasn’t until my next appointment where he sat me down and went through every thing with me. he told me how my heart rate sky rockets anytime i sit up, stand or shift. that’s when i mentioned POTS to him (i was doing a lot of research on my spare time because if doctors weren’t going to figure it out then i was going to.)

when i mentioned POTS to him he sighed and said “i knew you were going to ask me this” he then proceeded to tell me that a lot of doctors don’t believe in POTS. he said i have all the symptoms of “POTS” but won’t diagnose me with it since the one doctor he would send me to would refuse to see me if i had that diagnosis. then he told me:

“everyone comes to doctors to get answers or to get fixed. that’s what doctors are supposed to do, cure their patients. but i’m going to tell you this. there is no cure for what you are going through. there is no “fix.” so if you truly want a diagnosis the best i can do is diagnose you with NeuroCardioGenic Sycope.”

so here i am 8 months into this stupid fight with my body, not able to do much of anything. i’m in bed all day, the only time i leave it is to get food, take my dog outside, use the bathroom or shower. i live with my boyfriend. i have no job. no money. and i’m not allowed to drive. and you’re probably wondering why i put a ED TW at the top and that’s because with all of these medical issues going on i feel like i don’t deserve to eat. i can’t burn it off at all, i don’t get more then a thousand steps a day (sometimes not even a thousand) i got better with eating for awhile until these issues started popping up. some days i won’t eat anything because i feel like i don’t deserve it and other days i can’t stop eating. i don’t know what to do anymore. i’ve been gaining the same 10 pounds for MONTHS. my boyfriend has been trying to help me as much as he can. and he will make me feel good about myself and that’s the days that i can’t stop eating.

but no one understands that i feel like i don’t deserve to eat. i can’t use any of the energy/calories that i’m taking in. and every time i look in the mirror i hate what i see. my body has changed since everything started. it looks weird. it looks different. i lost 50 pounds before this all started. i was in the 270s and dropped down to 215 because i relapsed. i’m now 225 and i’m scared i’m just going to gain it all back. everything in my body is telling me to starve. and i used to be able to so effortlessly, 3 years ago when i was deep into my ED i was 130, i could go days without eating and would do it without even thinking. then when i “recovered” (binging for months) i gained over 100 pounds in ONE YEAR. i got told i was pre diabetic and that’s what made me relapse and lose 50 pounds. and when these issues started to rise i was so focused on them that i stopped worrying about my weight. (mostly because there was times i would stop breathing and actually thought i was about to die, i was terrified that i was dying.)

now today is technically june 16th (it’s almost 3 am) and about an hour and a half ago i had one of my scariest episodes i’ve had. i passed out, went into a seizure could barely breathe and move for 30 minutes. i was alone. i thought it was it. and part of me kind of hoped it was it. this was my second episode like this, the other one was 2 days ago and my boyfriend took my to the ER. doctors said everything was normal and didn’t check in on me for 3 hours, when the doctor came in he said “oh you look way more alert then you were earlier im going yo get your discharge papers ready so you can go home.” that’s all i got.

this has been going on for so long. i still have barely any answers. i feel like my body is giving up. and some days i’m okay with that. and then there’s other days where i don’t think i’m ready to leave. everyday is a never ending battle between my body and mind. once again everything is telling me to starve and yet i just can’t? the most i eat in a day recently (the last two weeks) is 2 meals a day and a couple of snacks throughout. i hate how my body looks but i don’t know what to do.

honestly i don’t know why i’m writing this here or why i’m posting it here. maybe because no one knows who i am here and i feel like i can just let everything out. hell i don’t even think one person is going to read this. and that’s okay. but i’m just tired. i’m so so tired. i want this to be over.

#medical update #ed update #ed bllog #disordered eating mention #pots syndrome #non epileptic seizures #personal rant #vent blog #imsickandtiredofthis

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