#of the unimaginable variety | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

Text

Still Going (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rated/warnings: T - suggestiveness, language, panic attack, feels Word count: 1.4k

Summary: A meaningful moment with your new husband. Author's Note: This is just a lil idea that popped into my head last night. Inspired by just wanting to hug the sad!Anthony from one of @fayes-fics stories. Thank you to @colettebronte for helping me pin down the right moment for the header. 💙

Months into your marriage and your husband still left you numb with pleasure each and every night as you tumbled with one another across your bed. Two things had become abundantly clear to you soon after marrying Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. First was the reason unmarried young ladies were not allowed in private company with young gentlemen, particularly of the rakish variety. And second was that you were one of the lucky ones who did not view cavorting with your husband as some sort of grueling, customary duty for the sole purpose of conceiving children. No indeed, it was proving to be the highlight of your life together as he unlocked unimaginable sensations within your body that left your mind soaring even as you lay limp and panting in his arms.

It was in just such a moment on a still summer night at Bridgerton House that you both collapsed back into the pillows together, spent and euphoric from your lovemaking. You chuckled, nuzzling in close to Anthony’s side as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. You were fuzzy, lapsing into welcome sleep when he leaned away to reach for something on his nightstand. Then you heard the small clatter, immediately followed by his hissing curses.

“Dammit! No…” He rolled away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed as his voice rose in volume. “No, no, no. Fuck!”

Your eyes flew open to see his broad back hunched over, clutching something in his hands. You gathered the sheet around yourself and shifted to sit behind him. “Anthony? What’s wrong?”

In the low moonlight from the windows you could see he cradled his pocket watch in his palm, a splintering crack now etched across its face. His shoulders were beginning to heave, his breath growing short as he stared at it, transfixed. “It broke…” he croaked. “It…it just fell. I’ve dropped it before, but it broke and I…” He was gasping now, fighting for air like a drowning man as his eyes darted and his hands began to shake.

You had seen this before, one of his spells when fear and overwhelm consumed him. It had happened when his youngest sister had broken her leg during childish roughhousing, again when his brother had received an innocuous bee sting, and again when you had come down with a nasty but passing fever after your honeymoon. Every time someone he loved found themselves in harm’s way he was liable to lose control of his faculties, only temporarily, as his mind spun toward the worst possible conclusions. You knew why he suffered this way and didn’t judge him for a moment. Instead, you had committed yourself to bolstering him through the storms, learning techniques that helped call him back to himself.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and felt how he trembled.

He continued mumbling to himself, eyes locked on the watch, each word rasping. “It broke…I can’t…what do I…”

“Anthony?” You kept your voice clear and steady. “Anthony, look at me.”

He turned and you were nearly undone by the anguish you found in his eyes. You brought a hand to his cheek and pressed your foreheads together, his frantic exhales gusting across your skin. “My love, it’s alright.” You soothed, stroking his face and running your fingertips into his hair, imploring him to hear you. “You must control your breath. Anthony, follow me.” Reverting to what had worked before, you took his hand and gently guided it to press flat over your heart. You did the same, bringing a hand to rest on his heaving chest so that you mirrored one another. Tears threatened to form at the terrified pounding you felt under your fingertips, something so vulnerable within your husband who was otherwise a pillar of strength.

He was still panicked, nearly vibrating against you as he choked for air, but you kept your breath slow and deliberate, leading him out of the tempest with something solid and rhythmic. After a few moments he fell in sync with you, shuddering inhales that struggled to pace with your own, and desperate exhales as he released the disquiet that surged through him. His pulse began to slow, ever so gradually, and you felt the tension begin to melt out of his frame. He still clutched the watch tightly in his free hand, but the one against your skin grew soft and warm again as he regained himself.

“That’s it. Very good. Everything will be alright.” You cooed, running your thumb over his cheek. You hated that he was faced with such demons and were grateful that your methods of combatting them seemed effective. Anthony sagged against you, starting to breathe through his nose as he settled back into equilibrium. He was always exhausted after his episodes.

“Let me see.” You dropped your hands and gently pried the pocket watch out of his, inspecting it. As far as you could tell the damage was only superficial. Just a fracture in the glass but the mechanism was still ticking. “We can get this repaired.” You reassured him.

He looked back at you, eyes huge and pleading. “It was my father’s watch.”

This was a fact you knew well, with Anthony himself having told you many times before. It wasn’t that he thought you ignorant, it was the anxiety of the moment speaking for him.

“I know, my love.” You nodded. “It is precious. But it is not broken. It’s only the glass that is cracked, see? It’s still going.” You held the timepiece next to his ear so that he could hear its steady ticking for himself. Undeniable relief lit across his face as he let out a shaking exhale, inclining himself to listen more closely. The tempo of the watch gears proved as soothing to him as the beating of your heart. You smiled, knowing the worst was behind you. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll take it to the jeweler and have the glass replaced.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Anthony nodded. Then he turned to kiss your wrist and place the watch safely in the drawer of his nightstand. Sliding back into the center of the bed, he wrapped you in his arms and burrowed down into the sheets, breathing deep into your hair as he pressed you to his warm, naked torso. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I’m sorry you have such a fool for a husband.”

You pouted. “Why would you say he is foolish?”

“Because he goes to pieces over something as silly as a broken watch.”

“I don’t think it’s silly.” You stretched an arm across his chest, tucking your head under his chin. “I think it speaks to how deeply he cares for his family. How much he honors his father’s memory, like a true gentleman.”

“Mmm. True gentlemen should not fall prey to such reckless displays of emotion.” He fell back into his Viscount’s tone, bitter and exacting. His censure in that voice was cutting to anyone but most of all to himself. His brutal self criticism had nearly come in the way of your betrothal, and it was something you were actively encouraging him to reduce. Particularly in this matter where he was so obviously not at fault, you would not allow him to chastise himself. You saw things from another perspective entirely.

After a moment, you spoke softly. “I think it may be your heart’s way of asking to be heard.”

Anthony scoffed. “You think I have one?” Not the reaction you wanted, but perhaps the one you should have expected.

You pulled back to meet his eyes, arms still banded tightly around one another. When you looked at your husband, the most handsome man you had ever seen, the man who had fought for your affections and filled your life with wonder every day since he had won them, you felt nothing but certainty.

“I know you do. I have seen it.”

His features softened, brows turning up as his warm eyes grew misty. With the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, he lovingly brushed a hand along your cheek. “You have seen it?”

“Yes, and in time you will see it too.” You smiled and leaned up into his gentle kiss then returned to lay your head on his chest, trailing your fingers languidly through the dark hairs found there. “I would not have married you if you did not possess one. It is nothing to be ashamed of, Anthony.” You curled more tightly against him, pressing your ear down until you could hear the proof of it. The heart that you loved so dearly, the one bound to your own, now returned to its strong and constant cadence.

“It is beautiful. It may have some cracks, but it is still going.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #female reader #fluff and feels #romance #regency romance

3K notes · View notes

monstersdownthepath · 2 months

Text

Deity: The Sea of Teeth

(Pic source: Craig Spearing, though it doesn’t seem to be on his site anymore and exists only as reuploads)

Chaotic Evil God of Endless Hunger

Domains: Chaos, Death, Destruction, Evil, War Subdomains: Demon, Entropy, Catastrophe, Cannibalism, Blood Favored Weapons: Bite Symbol: Fangs surrounding bones, stars, and/or planets. Sacred Animals: All gluttonous animals. Sacred Colors: N/a

The Abyss is deeper than any being could possibly comprehend, stretching an unknowable distance into the chaos beyond what sane beings consider the relative safety of their reality. Whether it has an end or a bottom is a mystery none have yet solved, as the deeper one goes, the more they must grapple with the knowledge that the hundreds of layers occupied by the foulest sorts of demons are merely the surface level of the Abyss, the safest environs a mortal of this cosmos can exist in. To venture into the Abyss is taxing enough, but to delve deep into the Outer Rifts, where the primordial qlippoth and beasts even stranger roam, is something few can withstand for longer than fleeting moments. It is easy, though not entirely accurate, to compare the demon-occupied Abyss as something akin to the levels of the ocean where the sun still reaches. It is dangerous, laden with hazards and predators which may end the life of an explorer... But the Rifts? If one were still comparing the Abyss to the ocean, the Outer Rifts are depths where sunlight cannot reach, where the pressure is so intense that even steel buckles and crumbles, where the cold is so penetrating that nothing can defend against it, and where life as we know it simply cannot survive.

But like the ocean’s darkest depths, there is still life to be found, alien and strange. Predating even the eldest of the gods, the qlippoth crawl and slither and skitter in endless varieties and maddening shapes. From tiny insects to the great, demigod-level Qlippoth Primordials, qlippoth span across every branch of existence, forming grotesque and twisted mirrors to the biospheres found all over creation, all living and eating and dying and transforming. It is a great, eldritch ecosystem, where even worlds must feed.

And with the imprisonment of Rovagug, it has lost its apex predator.

Ask any zoologist what happens to any ecosystem in which an important predatory force is removed and you will receive a similar answer; the prey gorges itself until it starves, reproduces until there is no more room, and the cycle of life comes to an abrupt and terrible halt as the links in the chain give way one by one. In extreme cases, the entire environment is destroyed by the unbalance. While it’s true that the Abyss has no shortage of predatory creatures all willing and able to consume one another, none of them work on the scale that Rovagug did, devouring and destroying entire landscapes and worlds at once to keep the growth of the Abyss itself from becoming too dangerously rampant.

But now that he is gone, the balance is upset, and the invasive species that is demonkind has done more harm than good as the natives of the Rifts experience an apocalyptic collapse. Unfortunately for the cosmos as a whole, from the deepest depths of the Outer Rifts a new apex predator has risen to fill the vacuum.

It has no name, but it has many titles; the Sea of Teeth is the most common one, but it is also known as “the Devouring God,” “the Black Well,” “Hadal,” “the Consuming Cascade,” “the Final Tide,” among others and their many variations. It is more location than creature, as though an entire layer of the Abyss has shuddered to terrible life and apocalyptic hunger, branching titanic tendrils throughout the rest of the plane to consume all which falls in its shadow. To those that know if its existence, it is hunger unimaginable, a ravenous force that depletes and destroys everything it crosses. It does not just settle for the twisted flora and fauna, but the very landscape itself is chewed apart, and when there is no matter left it drinks up the local quintessence until the fabric of the layer frays and collapses. It constantly sends tiny tendrils of its matter throughout the Abyss to hunt for new rich feeding grounds, the smallest and weakest of these ‘roots,’ pinpricks of its essence that emerge through tiny portals it gnaws in reality, take on the shape and strength of Shoggoths with the Savage Mythic Template. Because of the immense power of these tiny specks of the greater Sea, it rapidly overtakes any stretch of the Abyss which doesn’t contain any creature or force capable of combating its searching limbs, but any layer with such defenses enjoys some level of safety from the greater Sea. Slaying the roots causes the limb from which they grew to recoil slightly, slowing its spread into a particular layer and allowing them time to plan for the next incursion.

The irony of the Abyss finding itself besieged by a threat which spreads across multiple planar layers and which requires constant, combined efforts to fight back against is lost on many demons. And it is indeed demons which find themselves at the fore of the Sea’s attacks; the Sea is indiscriminate in its feeding frenzies, consuming all in its path with no regard for the qlippoth it technically shares kinship with (with the sole exception being the Iathavos, the only being which it ignores entirely), but much how like animals of Golarion will flee an impending natural disaster hours before it happens, qlippoth seem to possess an innate sense of when and where the Sea will strike, assuring only the injured, the slow, the ill, the foolish, and the foolhardy are actually devoured. Why and how they preternaturally know when it will arrive is a secret they have not shared, and likely never will.

It is believed that no fewer than six entire Abyssal layers have already been entirely consumed in the short few centuries that the Sea has been known to mortal scholars (and perhaps many before anyone even realized it was there), several dozen are actively besieged by its reaching limbs, and hundreds more are being inspected by its roots. Any normal plane which hosted such a force would quickly be rendered lifeless and barren, but the sheer size and repulsive fecundity of the Abyss assures no such catastrophe will occur, and even if the “shallows” of the Abyss were to be depopulated entirely (an impossible task in and of itself, even for a god), the Sea would simply retreat into the deeper Rifts to continue its feast in unknowable lands until the shallows recovered and regrew, just as a roving predator does when prey is exhausted in one area.

... But this relieving truth has yet to be uncovered, and will likely not be known for several millennia. In the current times, a mere few centuries after its emergence, the Sea is spoken of by doomsayers and prophets as an existential threat of cosmic magnitude, threatening the entirety of existence as it’s known. There are many who believe that the Sea’s emergence is a sure sign that the Abyss will soon be destroyed, devoured utterly down to the last demon larvae, and demons as an entity in the universe will completely cease to exist. These same thinkers and madmen are divided on what, exactly, this would cause in the Great Beyond as a whole; some posit that the removal of the tumor that is the Abyss will usher in a profound universal transformation in which certain breeds of Evil can no longer exist, while others think the Abyss itself will transform into an entirely new Neutrally-aligned plane! The implications of this transformation is, itself, a topic of conjecture and debate. Planar scholars from all corners of creation have driven themselves to fevered frenzies trying to imagine what a universe without demonkind would look like, whether or not demonic power would simply emerge in a new form elsewhere... and whether or not an end to demons as they’re currently known warrants aiding the Sea of Teeth in some way.

Any mind pondering the possibilities of the Sea destroying the Abyss itself must, of course, answer the inevitable question of “what happens afterwards?” Perhaps it will consume itself or starve to death! Perhaps it will slink back into the Outer Rifts, finally satisfied that it has killed every last demon. Perhaps it will pupate into something worse... Or perhaps, once the Abyss has been consumed, the Sea will rush to fill the empty roots left behind which will connect it to a thousand new feeding grounds, swelling further to break down the shorelines of all creation and bring about the end of all things.

Whatever the truth is, the Great Beyond will have to wait and see. There IS one absolute truth that can be shared with whomever is reading this, though: Despite what doomsayers scream of what will happen were it to drink the Plane of Water, inhale the flames of Creation’s Forge, or invade the Ethereal Plane to consume the thoughts and dreams of mortals, the Sea of Teeth does not work towards such apocalyptic goals. It does not plan its assaults, it does not consider the consequences of its actions, and it does not dream of the endless banquet waiting for it just outside the walls of the Abyss.

It, in fact, does not think at all.

----- Obedience and Boons -----

Many cultists, madmen, studious Outsiders of every shape and description, and scholars of every species and alignment all ascribe different reasons and motivations to the Sea’s actions, whether it be divine rage against demons, a rampage to eventually free Rovagug and prove that he is truly the lesser evil when compared to the unseen powers in the deeper Rifts, the incarnate form of the Abyss’ predilection for predation and parisitism turned horribly self-destructive, the incarnation of hunger as a concept, or maybe even the herald of the end times... but the truth is truly right in front of them, described in the first section of this very article: The Sea of Teeth is a hungry beast which has found a stretch of uncontested land, and has begun to gorge itself on a population that has few true defenses against an invasive species.

Though it is indeed divine, it is still essentially a simple-minded predator driven entirely by instinct. It is a form of life which operates on a scale that a common mind struggles to envision, but it serves a function that is familiar, almost mundane, and its presence in the Great Beyond is unfortunate happenstance, not an apocalyptic omen. Any ‘meaning’ to its rampage or claims that it is acting towards some unfathomable goal are pure conjecture, the product of minds desperate to establish a pattern or see some divine truth where a mundane truth would suffice. A hungry wolf which devours a farmer’s sheep is not some punishment for his failure or some insatiable, sadistic beast torturing him because he cannot fight back... it’s a hungry animal, any mythologizing or anthropomorphizing is the fault of the farmer, not the wolf.

This truth, however, is beyond most creatures in the cosmos, to whom the Sea is an incomprehensibly threatening force of annihilation. To them, it is whatever they want it to be, whatever they project, and often whatever they fear it is, as it has no desire (or even ability) to answer questions about itself. It has unintentionally gathered numerous cults in its name--doomsday and otherwise--all led by powerful figureheads who’ve achieved some divine contact with it... or at least contact with a figurehead which worships the Sea, in some bizarre and indirect form of faith. There exists a ritual one can use to connect to the Sea and gain some of its power at the cost of becoming perpetually ravenous, a ritual used by many to achieve positions of power in the budding cults of the Sea of Teeth, up to and including becoming divine fronts in and of themselves... which inadvertently makes them beacons for spells such as Commune attempting to reach the true Sea, further muddying the waters about its supposed goals and desires. Undoubtedly, one of the most famous of these figureheads is Chormilg, the Thousanth Tooth, a powerful Nyogoth Cleric/Exalted of the Sea of Teeth (CR 18/MR 6) which claims to have hatched from one of the Sea’s teeth after it broke itself against the heart of a forgotten deity, and thus is the literal mouth-piece of the god. Chormilg is the closest thing to a true leader that the disparate cults of the Devouring God have, and is currently the highest authority in the Sea’s faith, acting as the deity’s proxy, AND the reason many believe the Sea’s hunger to be primarily directed at demons, as Chormilg itself despises demonic life.

The largest cult to the Sea is the one founded by Chormilg, known as the Salgurat, an Abyssal word translating to “Ebon Maws,” a cult devoted to capturing and consuming demons and their mortal fanatics, as well as making regular, organized sacrifices to the Sea of Teeth to empower it in the hopes of accelerating its growth through the Abyss. Some smaller cults grow from gatherings of heretics among the faiths of Thuskchoon, Jubilex, Cyth-V’sug, Zevgavizeb, and other great and ancient beasts of the Abyss, who believe their former deities to be the offspring of the Sea and have thus chosen to serve the “Progenitor Maw” or “Hunger’s Father” out of respect. Other cults have many reasons for their worship, such as Creation’s Eclipse, a cult of daemons and their maniacal mortal followers hellbent on finding ways to help the Sea enter Creation’s Forge and snuff it. Some of these smaller factions even have benevolent, though misguided, hopes for a universe without the Abyss, Whatever the case may be, any follower of the Sea are as varied as the morsels it consumes, coming from all over the universe.

The Obedience ritual to serve the Devouring God is a lesser form of the Shores of the Sea of Teeth occult ritual, and both of them have the same effect at different intensities: It convinces the Sea that the creature undertaking the ritual is actually a part of itself, and so it sends a tendril of its essence and a spark of its power into the creature, often physically mutating them. This offers the creature not only supernatural might, but some protection from the Sea’s appetite, with many audacious beings--Chormilg included--nesting within the god’s churning body, believing themselves favored by the horror due to their faith and devotion, unaware they’re doing the mystic equivalent of dabbing an ant colony’s scent upon themselves to avoid being torn apart by the swarm. The Sea has no loyalty to anything but its own stomachs, any power it offers given only through unintentional trickery or divine reflex, but it is nonetheless a power that any creature--regardless of alignment--can tap into, should they know how... and should they brave the consequences.

As a true deity, the Sea of Teeth can grant Boons to any creature taking the Deific Obedience feat, but it does not possess a dedicated Prestige Class such as Feysworn or Diabolist. Boons are typically gained slowly, achieved at levels 12, 16, and 20, but by entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes as early as possible, they can be obtained at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. While normally a deity as ambivalent as the Sea would grant only one set of Boons, the fanatic devotion of countless beings and the fear of infinitely more has created a potent psychic impression upon it, allowing it a full three.

Obedience: Spend at least 30 minutes meditating on the sensations of hunger while surrounded by circle of ritual objects made of materials harvested from creatures you’ve killed and consumed portions of. At the conclusion of this meditative period, eat anything you have available--preferably portions of creatures you’ve helped slay in the last 24 hours--until you’re full. Benefit: You become permanently afflicted by the Oracle’s Hunger curse the first time you perform the Obedience ritual, and the curse cannot be removed by mortal magic. For 24 hours after performing your Obedience, your total Hit Dice is treated as your Oracle level for the purpose of determining the intensity of your curse; failing to perform your Obedience causes your curse to weaken, treating only half your Hit Dice as your Oracle level for the purpose of the curse. If you are already an Oracle, for 24 hours after performing your Obedience, your Oracle level is treated as 4 higher for determining the intensity of your new Hunger curse.

------ EVANGELIST ------

Boon 1: The Preview (Sp): Gain Grease 3/day, Hold Person 2/day, or Spiked Pit 1/day.

Boon 2: Titanic Appetite (Ex): The gnawing hunger in your belly drives you to eat anything you can get your hands on, trusting your connection to your god to protect you from the consequences. You become immune to the effects of all ingested poisons and diseases, and cannot be sickened, nauseated, or cursed by items, food, or creatures you eat. You can digest and draw sustenance from any matter you can consume. Any bite attacks you have ignore the first 5 points of Hardness when damaging objects, widening your potential palate.

Boon 3: Crushed by the Depths (Sp): Once per day, you can focus the power of the Sea onto your foes, allowing it to reach across space and devour them utterly. You may use Implosion once per day as a spell-like ability, but you may target even incorporeal or gaseous creatures with it, and if the target succeeds the saving throw against the effect, they still take 10d6 points of damage. When you target a creature with this ability it possesses a unique visual effect: a phantasmal, protean mass envelops the target and crushes inwards. Any creature killed by this ability is entirely consumed; any nonmagical items they possessed are also destroyed, and magic items fall into their former space.

------ EXALTED ------

Boon 1: A Bite of Everything (Sp): Gain Adhesive Spittle 3/day, Allfood 2/day, or Dispel Magic 1/day.

Boon 2: Ravening Form (Ex/Sp): Your connection to the Sea of Teeth deepens and more of its essence flows into you. This connection twists your body in incomprehensible ways, granting you the constant benefits of 50% Fortification and the Compression universal monster ability. In addition, once per day as a standard action, you may undergo a horrifying but thankfully short-lived surge of vitality as tendrils of the Sea’s matter slither through your body to restore you, gaining the benefits of the Regeneration spell.

Boon 3: Whirlpool of Teeth (Sp): Once per day you may open a portal leading directly to the Sea of Teeth to send entire pieces of the world to your god, in effect casting Maw of Chaos as a spell-like ability. The spell is altered in the following ways: Each round at the start of your turn, all creatures and unattended objects within 40ft of the Maw are automatically pulled 10ft closer to the Maw before it makes its CMB check (potentially allowing it to pull a target twice in one round); this summoned Maw lasts an additional +3 rounds after you stop concentrating on it; and you are unaffected by any of the Maw’s effects, though you may not enter its space.

------ SENTINEL ------

Boon 1: Soften the Meal (Sp): Gain Ray of Sickening 3/day, Blindness/Deafness 2/day, or Ray of Exhaustion 1/day.

Boon 2: Slavering Jaws (Ex): Your teeth sharpen to frightening and deadly points and your jaw can distend to repulsive and terrific effect. The bite attack gained from your Hunger curse becomes a primary natural attack which deals damage as if you were two size categories larger (2d6 for a Medium creature). The bite attack ignores 5 points of Hardness or Damage Reduction and is considered a magic weapon. Finally, due to the horror your mouth has become, you gain a profane bonus to Intimidate checks equal to your Strength modifier, and you may make an Intimidate check as a swift action against any creature within 30ft when you confirm a critical hit against another creature with your bite attack.

Boon 3: Hole in the Universe (Ex): Your stomach becomes an extradimensional space which partially intersects the Sea of Teeth. The bite gained from your Hunger curse gains the Grab and Swallow Whole abilities if they did not already have them, and you may attempt to swallow any creature of your size or smaller that you have grappled. Your extradimensional stomach may have any number of creatures or objects of any size swallowed at once. Creatures and unattended objects within your stomach take 6d6 bludgeoning and 6d6 Acid damage each round. Extradimensional spaces (such as Bags of Holding) cannot be opened while within you, but otherwise do not interact with you in a destructive way. If a swallowed creature deals enough damage to cut free, instead of creating a hole, the pain forces you to regurgitate all creatures and objects in your stomach at once; you are nauseated for 1d6 rounds and cannot use Swallow Whole for 1 minute after.

#original concepts #Pathfinder

184 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 10 months

Text

✭— gn!reader + sfw + arranged marriage.

He doesn't remember much of his ex-lovers. Only that they hated Sae enough to throw lukewarm coffee at him and ruin his white sweater.

And only that they told him a variety of crude, terrible things. Most of them jabs at his career, softened at the ends with words of sadness and melancholy. His first relationship started the same way it finished, empty and obligatory.

Only one thing really sticks out to him. That at the end, the person he'd been with with for nearly a year told him they'd never met someone so incapable of loving before.

Sae wonders about that.

It didn't hurt at the time. It was an inevitable end to a relationship he didn't pay any real attention to. He doesn't even remember their birthday. The world was narrow when he was 22. He has enough self-awareness to know he's always been self-centered when it comes to his career, so it's no surprise a once meaningful relationship fell through the cracks.

Sae doesn't really understand how other people move through life and feel. He has feelings but they're reactive and sometimes misplaced. He gets angry, irritated, or pleased and contented. But the way even his little brother feels so intensely, with such visceral anger or such deep melancholy is foreign.

Sae is a serious character. And he isn't unfeeling or unsympathetic. He has morals and principles. He's human.

But that kind of bone-deep, all-consuming emotion that seems to haunt so many people is foreign. If something is unpleasant, try to fix it. If something can't be fixed, let it go. Worry about the things you can change. Be a good son. Try to be the kind of brother that can make your little brother grow. Be cocky only if it's well deserved. Be even colder because the world is unforgiving, and steel yourself for when it inevitably hammers in your ineptness.

Sae is stoic. In the traditional sense. He's never thought about love. He thought he'd meet someone like him with time. Someone who wants a life of luxury and looks good in the papers - and that he'd spend the rest of his life with someone he tolerates because the thought of loving another person is odd at best. They'd have a hotshot career and Sae would meet them at a fancy dinner party. They'd chat a bit, get to know each other.

And Sae would like them, enough to put it on paper. It'd be mediocre and uninteresting. Born from a sense of duty.

A life full of something like love - is unimaginable. It's an intangible idea, to love someone like they write in songs.

When his mother called him from Japan, said that there was someone she'd like him to meet - he already knew what it was. He was at that age now. 29 and single. It could only mean an arranged marriage.

Sae goes, because he has nothing to lose. He's been single for 7 years. And he's a devoted son who always does what he's told.

Sae meets you with no expectations. Not one to hold you to. You'd be a nice person he's sure - maybe someone who wants to be a homemaker. Polite. Tolerable. Lukewarm like that turns to wedding rings.

The first time Itoshi Sae met you - you arrived late to the coffee date. You came to him panting and out of breath, clumsily rambling about your experience trying to chase down the subway to make it in the nick of time. You rambled on and on, and ordered coffee by waving your hand at someone and talking to them too.

And when you realized he hadn't gotten a word in, you stopped and flushed and apologized so profusely that he found himself smiling. Laughing a little, really - under his breath. He made a comment to tease you about it.

Koi No Yokan, a Japanese saying with no real translatable equivalent. The premonition of love. It means to meet someone and know you will love them inevitably. Not fate, exactly.

But to meet someone that is impossible not to be adored by you. To connect with someone and think you will love them. The realization is off-putting and abstract but even now when Sae is asked.

When did you know they were the one?

His reply is always the same - a small smile and look of familiar mirth.

Since the beginning. It just felt right.

Sae asks you to a second date. And a third, and a fourth before finally asking to be official. Sae learns quickly that there are in fact people in the world who exist like they're made to be loved. Or at least, there is someone in this world he was going to come to love all along.

It turns out - love is less complicated than he'd originally thought. That there are people who see you for who you are and love anyways. Sae doesn't know what you see in him exactly. You're a regular civilian, a regular job. A simple, simple life. None of his accolades mean much to you - though you do always express how cool it is.

They're not words that carry weight because of what they are. Rather, they mean something because of him. It matters to you, because Sae matters to you. And somehow, somehow he just knows that. There is doubt, but only sometimes.

There is hope but always. Always.

You can't identify the difference between designer brands and all your shoes are from the bargain bin except your formal ones. You like to toss coins in fish ponds and close your eyes extra tight when you wish. You always look at the moon - every night when he drives.

Tell him in all sorts of voices about how beautiful the moon is. How you miss the country side, and that there's too much light pollution in Tokyo. He thinks the term down-to-earth suits you well.

But in the kind of way that makes Sae feels a little more grounded. He envies it sometimes. That you manage to shine so brightly and be so good without having to try at all. He envies that you seem to have been born so loveable, so warm.

You love Sae. But Sae knows, deep down - he loves you impossibly more. All the things he once thought to be trivial and pointless get their own color in his busy calendar. He travels and thinks of you - writes locations down with your name. Smiles to himself when he thinks of how brightly your eyes would shine taking in the worlds wonders.

Sae bets that you'd be the same everywhere. Whether in Tokyo or London or Madrid or Chicago or Shanghai - that you'd tug at him and tell him to look up to the beautiful views above. He'd bet you buy sunflower seeds to feed ducks just like you do now, thousands of miles from home.

He bets you'd cry and weep about things he gives you, fluster yourself trying to be grateful. He'd have to wipe the tears of your face, put you to rest in his arms. Let you tuck yourself into his neck and sleep long and sniffly.

Sae loves you more because he'd let you. He hopes the mascara you bough from 7/11 ruins his stupid Dior sweater. He'd die before even thinking about dry-cleaning it. He's sure he'd just keep it in his closet and touch the sleeve every time he's too far from home.

He says it sometimes. Says love you and miss you in those breaths that feel sturdy enough to carry something so heavy. But you, just like him, just seem to know that he loves you. There is doubt, but the days come where you find yourself sleeping in his arms and there's hope again.

He wonders if he'd been incapable of loving. Maybe being around someone so easy to love solved it. It feels like a pin-prick wound. Like one day, he cut himself on the edge of your smile and has been pouring all the things spilling out into you.

He thinks his mostly the same. Intolerable, and arrogant, and unfeeling for better or for worse. He doesn't feel so all consumed. He doesn't feel blinded by the feeling of love. Nothing about it is overwhelming.

He think that maybe the absence of joy goes unnoticed when nothing truly moves you. All Sae can say for certain about anything is this - that if you were to disappear from his life, he'd surely never be able to look at the moon the same. And that he'd always keep sunflower seeds just incase.

Itoshi Sae. 29 years old. Professional Midfielder for Real Madrid CF. Married.

Sae wakes up bright and early, to see you next to him. You crinkle your face as the warmth hits your eyes. Stirring awake to look at him, you yawn then smile.

"Morning," You saying, clinging closely and peering out at the sun "The sun is so bright today.

He looks straight at you and smiles - barely there.

"Very bright."

#itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #gender neutral reader!!#writing tag #feeling like wax poetic about love ig

506 notes · View notes

monachopsis-11 · 4 months

Text

The infantilization of having restricted eating is crazy, I get treated like a kid on a regular basis by people who were treating me normal five seconds earlier just because of my sandwich order.

I have sat at a restaurant meeting while I was a hostess where all my coworkers laughed at how plain the food on the kids menu was and how kids had no taste and they were so glad they weren’t like that anymore. At the same job people questioned my orders when I got food at the end of a shift saying it was barely even the same thing anymore and wouldn’t I like something else? If I had wanted something else I would have asked for it, you don’t need to double check and use baby voice with me I’m fully capable of deciding what I eat.

I get judgmental looks and questions from people who take my food orders in public more and more often as I get older and it’s less socially acceptable for me to say no vegetables on things without being treated like a spoiled child who’s inconveniencing them. People look at me in surprise and ask if they heard right, scoff, roll their eyes etc. on a pretty regular basis.

When I need to send back food after someone makes a mistake on my order and I can’t eat it my family acts like they’re embarrassed of me and sometimes when I’m not paying they refuse to let me. I will go hungry every time and have been made to often as well.

For years school trips and meals with other peoples families were a terrifying ordeal and still give me anxiety. I was denied desert and sometimes the meal as a whole for not eating even though I asked what was being made ahead of time so I knew if I should eat before hand or bring something else and even knowing this people ignored it and changed meal plans to try and pressure me into eating more variety.

The worst part of all of this is that I wish I could eat everything other people can but sometimes the smell or look of food I don’t like on someone else’s plate is enough to make me feel sick, the thought of putting it in my mouth for any reason is unimaginable.

And maybe the whole “they’ll eat if they’re hungry enough” thing works at a certain point but I lived off beef jerky, raisins, and half a bagel for four days on a school trip where no one bothered to accommodate my eating restrictions and I would’ve gone much longer before eating what was offered.

I had a teacher who kept me in for six recesses in a row over me not trying a bite of food we cooked in class in third grade purely because they were annoyed and took it on themself to step into something that wasn’t their business.

I regularly get guilted and called out on my unhealthy diet and it hurts because I would do anything to be able to eat more foods, I hope that maybe I will in the future, but right now it’s not an option. I’m hoping if I find a good smoothie recipe I can get more fruits and vegetables in my diet but even then I won’t ever be in a position to just eat what is served and I shouldn’t have to endure judging and being treated like a child by random strangers who have no business in what I want the food I’m paying for to have on it.

It’s valid for adults to have restricted eating too, it doesn’t make us children, and it’s not a moral failing. It’s also not anyone else’s business.

#actually autistic #autistic experiences #late diagnosed autistic #invisible disability #actuallyautistic #autism #asd #autistic community #disability #restricted eating #sensory issues #food issues

211 notes · View notes

rathayibacter · 27 days

Text

the ultimate artistic lesson of homestuck, and why you see its influences in such a wide variety of different works, is that you make a dumb joke early on and then much, much, much later, when the stakes have been raised unimaginably high and everyones grown and changed so much, you bring the bit back 100% straightfaced and wait for your audience to pick up on it

#this isnt *just* about k6bd #but it is about k6bd's latest update

114 notes · View notes

elliesbff · 19 days

Note

I feel like you’re the person for this job.

I feel like this fandom needs more cowboy Abby fluff. CAN A GIRL GET SOME PURE SOUTHERN COMFORT AROUND HERE??? Like we all know that woman would hold doors open and be such a good little provider yk??

i LOOOOOVEEEE this idea. i’ve seen multiple fan works of abby as like a cowboy, or like a farm worker and sometimes even in a red dead redemption au, and it’s been on my mind ever since.

enjoy these headcanons! (since my brain is fried and i can’t focus on anything) cw: slightly suggestive at some points!

cowboy abby anderson,

she’s such a gentle-woman for you. always opening doors while making a grand gesture with her arm; “after you,”

to add, although she knows you’re perfectly capable of these things yourself, she provides these acts of service anyways, just to show her love and devotion to you.

she’s so good with horses, and animals in general. you always stare in awe as she tends to them, cleaning, feeding and the likes.

on those scorching-ly hot summer afternoons, she’d wear tank tops that revealed that a little bit of her chest and her back. some would say she does it on purpose.

her with a southern accent…. somewhat similar to joel’s, the exaggerated pronunciations of the end of each word. she’d still have those commanding, almost always sarcastic undertones in her voice.

would definitely let you wear her large cowboy hat, and only you.

because of her muscular build, she can easily haul objects such as hay bales, game, and even a variety of animals around — including you, with little to no struggle. use that to your imagination.

she’s exceptionally good at horse-back riding and controlling her hips. it’s no different in the bedroom.

from the amount of heavy duty work she does; lassoing, hurling heavy loads around and such, her hands are ridden with callouses and scars. combine this with her unimaginable grip and strength, your skin is far from safe when it comes to slaps and spanks.

on the outside, she’s a tough, burly stud of a woman who’s strength is near unmatched. but when you dig a little deeper, she’s just a warm ball of energy, who turns to mush at the mere sound of an earnest compliment.

good behaviour is always handsomely rewarded.

her lasso skills come in handy behind closed doors.

she’s old fashioned when it comes to gracing you with affection; neck and hand kisses, inviting you to dance even in the midst of silence, breakfast in bed, and gifting you with flowers she found while hunting.

on the topic of hunting, she’s mighty good at it, and never fails to impress you with her bow and shotgun — watching her come back home with an abundance of loot always amazes you.

her skilful providing never goes unappreciated.

that’s all i can think of for now, sorry if it’s not that good💔💔 i’ll try to think of some more tomorrow!

#abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou2 #tlou part 2 #tlou series #cowboy abby anderson??#headcanon #rdr2xtlou2 #abby anderson is a gentlewoman

76 notes · View notes

itsxcowboyrocksteady · 1 month

Text

Please don't be mean to me about this 😅 It's a sincere request and I still love that everyone is having fun with all of this.

I mean no shade or nastiness towards the people who write these things or are into these things, and I'm not trying to be the fun police. Do you and have fun! But, like...

Can I get some tiefling fanfic that doesn't talk about their "sensitive horns" or how they "purr"?

The horns thing moreso. It takes me right out of it every time. Which sucks because there are so many awesome fics out there, that wind up doing this thing, and then my brain kind of checks out.

As a fanfic writer, myself, I get that fics are usually written primarily for the writer, and I totally appreciate that fact. And as such, I'd honestly just write it, myself (like I did for the lack of Dwight Fairfield {Dead by Daylight} stuff) instead of asking the community at large, but I'm so burnt out I haven't been able to work on anything on my current list, and I've been living off of the incredibly talented people writing for Rolan and Zevlor in particular. Seriously, you are all so wonderful and your work has been a bright spot for me right now during a majorly difficult time I've been going through ❤️

Although I read someone on a different site say that tiefling horns could be viewed like goat horns because devils and goats are so often associated with each other, their horns seem to be a lot more like ram horns. This is an important distinction because goat horns have important nerves inside of the horn, whereas rams don't.

If a goat breaks a horn, not only is it incredibly painful, but they can bleed out and die. Rams, not so much.

Tieflings are shown to not only have broken horns (i.e. Karlach) in both D&D and BG3, but filing the horns down is also an option tieflings can take... Which means that there aren't nerves inside of the horn. If there were, at best, something like that would be unimaginably painful. At worst, they could die from it. And considering tiefling children can straight up break off a horn and grow it back, it's even more highly unlikely that that's the case.

If there aren't nerves in the horn, they can't feel it if you stroke the horn, or graze it with your fingers, etc.

I know we all wanna write steamy sex scenes and such—and, again, because tone is so often lost in text, I don't mean this as something mean or eye-rolly—but not everything needs to be an erogenous zone. Besides, horns can still be grabbed and used as handlebars! That's super sexy!!!

As for the purring, or other Infernal traits that get written similarly, like I said, that's way less a thing for me. But they're not Tabaxi and were originally made from humans whose blood and bodies were altered by making deals with Asmodeus. It's why tieflings can only be born of two tieflings, a human and a tiefling, or two humans with infernal blood.

Again, if you're into this, or write this, I'm not trying to tell you to stop lmao. It's just that this is everywhere and I'd like some variety that takes these things into account 😅

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #tiefling #bg3 tiefling #bg3 zevlor #zevlor bg3 #baldur's gate 3 zevlor #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #zevlor #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #baldur's gate 3 rolan #baldurs gate 3 rolan #rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan nation #rolanites

88 notes · View notes

beyondmistland · 1 month

Text

And now his watch has ended...

Found out earlier today Steven Attewell (or as some of us knew him, Race for the Iron Throne) has passed away and honestly I'm still in shock. While I never had the pleasure of meeting him in person, I know from my interactions with him here on Tumblr that Steven was an honest and caring soul whose passion for a variety of topics ranging from comics and ASOIAF to politics and economics could be infectious at times. (Scratch that, ALL the time.) Indeed, if it hadn't been for him, I would never have gotten on Tumblr myself. He will be sorely missed by many, including myself. Condolences to his friends and family in this unimaginably difficult time.

#race for the iron throne #racefortheironthrone #steven attewell #fuck cancer

58 notes · View notes

ranticore · 2 months

Text

Chapter 1 - Seven Years

[Forward by the author]

The protagonist of our story was born like this:

At an engineering facility on a planet called Ceti, a Human named Dan Loris worked for an entity called Atom GeneWEAVE. He* was tasked with writing the genetic code of a variety of engineered humans and he composed them with the skill of a master musician, for a very particular brief. The first six attempts were not viable and his computer** simulations didn’t predict a favourable outcome for them. The seventh attempt, however, would work. He implanted this genetic code in a Human egg and fertilised it in an incubation chamber, and it began to grow.

Outside his facility, under the unknowable sky of mysterious Ceti, there was a great ship called The Lonely Sailor. This ship was larger than you could ever imagine, large enough to hold thousands of Humans and the requisite cargo to let them live on a new world long enough for them to become self-sustaining there. Measurements on record state that The Lonely Sailor was more than a kilometre long.

The Lonely Sailor was owned by Atom GeneWEAVE and would carry a cargo container full of fertilised Human eggs to the new world. These were known as embryos and were mostly held in a frozen state, but there were twenty of them which were not frozen. They were placed in false amniotic sacs and allowed to continue growing throughout the entire voyage of The Lonely Sailor, even though the adult Humans themselves would be frozen instead.

Dan Loris slotted his first viable attempt at life into the cargo hold last, knowing that it would be the first to wake. He used a computer machine called a Deep Dreamer to monitor the growing life, and encoded within it an operation called ‘Athletic_Boy_Childhood_03.deepdr‘. He wrote on the amniotic sac the name of his creation: Ishmael© property of ATOM GENEWEAVE®.

Dan Loris then settled himself into a sleeping chamber which would freeze him harmlessly for the duration of the voyage.

The journey from Ceti to Siren would take seven years. Ishmael grew from fertilised egg to embryo and then became a baby in the normal period of time that these things take. But he was not born then. He remained asleep, dreaming that he was living a Human childhood.

We can only guess at what he dreamed of, as the memory encoded into him was designed to fade, leaving behind only the lessons that Atom felt were necessary for him to learn, to function normally and not emerge from the seven year journey in a feral state. He learned how to speak, how to read and write, all without ever having taken a single breath. When he was old enough, he moved his body as though he were engaging in games of chase and team sports, and this allowed his muscles to develop.

Atom was as a deity to the Humans sleeping in The Lonely Sailor – Atom decided that they were going to Siren and they were not able to refuse. Throughout every source I could find, I never came across one that described what Atom was at its heart, only that it was unimaginably powerful and had bases on several planets.

Atom was so omnipresent, so all-encompassing, that no one thought to explain it, or question it, or even remark on its presence particularly often. The Humans worked for Atom. Ishmael and his cohort of engineered embryos were born to work for Atom. Working for Atom, it seemed, was the only reason for anybody to live in Precursor society, and they were utterly shackled to its side whether they liked it or not.

Atom chose Siren for three reasons: the atmosphere had the right sort of air and had grown its own plantlife; there used to be very extensive ice caps around North; and a rival entity known as The Authorities could not interfere with Atom on Siren. The writings of Dan Loris state several times that Atom held The Authorities in contempt, but they were the only force powerful enough to punish Atom for poor behaviour. Genetic engineering such that had been planned by Atom was not permitted by The Authorities, and Atom GeneWEAVE, the part of Atom responsible for it, wanted to work with projects which would be profitable in spite of their illegality in the eyes of The Authorities.

Despite the unclear nature of Atom and The Authorities, I believe this is a story which has been repeated time and time again throughout the centuries. Whom among us has never found a secret corner to hide our trespasses? This was a game of chase, and the only thing that motivated Atom, the thing which caused it to sink a considerable amount of resources on The Lonely Sailor, was the pursuit of profit on a scale so grand that the modern Sirenian can hardly comprehend it. And, in the face of this monumental scale of profit, it was hoped that the Authorities would be rendered ultimately powerless.

The Lonely Sailor arrived on Siren on the date ‘20/07/2378’, which I am sure was significant to the Precursors. For the sake of legibility I will refer to this year as Year 1, the first year of Humans on Siren. The Sailor found pleasant weather, low winds and a water level slightly raised from the baseline in West, where the settlement began. While this was noted by the meteorologists aboard The Sailor, they weren’t to know its significance, which any one of us will recognise immediately; West was recovering from a High Tide which must have taken place only months before.

The captain of the ship was a Human called Ivana. She* was the highest authority under Atom itself on the ship, and the first to wake from her frozen sleep. She gazed down at Siren from above and wrote her observations, which I can reproduce here following extensive translation work:

Beautiful morning on Siren. What I wouldn’t give to show Dad this. A career first! We will land in seventy-two hours after finishing our preliminary rotation and once the landing crew have walked off the brain freeze.

I assume ‘Dad’ is a significant other of some kind, perhaps deceased, judging by its absence.

The landing was described in a series of cargo logbooks and completed by a small crew which had been woken up from their sleep. Supplies were conveyed to a low mesa in West and within a matter of days the settlement was born. It was built out over the surface of the sea, anchored to the mesa with powerful brackets that remain today. Throughout the entirety of its existence, the Atom Settlement continued to grow outwards, so the very heart of it was the oldest, the bowers constructed to house the first crew. One of those very first bowers was the gene laboratory, which had been transported in its entirety from Ceti.

Dan Loris offloaded the embryo cargo pod thirty-nine days after landing, still in the first year. Five days later, Ishmael’s amniotic sac was drained, and his deep dream interrupted by his birth.

The last moment of his encoded dream was common to all artificial dreams, designed to ease the transition into true waking life. He was falling asleep in his bed (an archaic sort of bower), his body feeling tired but satisfied after a day of typical, perfectly generic childhood games. He had something called a mother in this dream who pulled the blankets around his shoulders and kissed him as he drifted off, though he did not remember what their face looked like, only that they instilled within him a sense of perfect safety.

His moment of calm was soon eaten by sensation. It was cold, he realised. Colder than anything he had ever felt. The fluid that had supported him at a constant temperature for seven years was draining away and he reached out, to grab at the blanket he half-remembered. His nerves were alight with new sensations and the world was so bright it felt that he was staring into Odr’s eye.

Dan Loris described him as strong and healthy, but Ishmael did not feel that way. Everything was loud and bright and his body was so heavy. He had never truly experienced gravity, but that alone did not account for the disconnect. His dream had been the dream of a Precursor Human, a bipedal creature with a fully upright stance, straighter even than a shortwing’s, with no tail, no flippers, no phocid morphology. To the newborn Ishmael’s mind, he had just undergone a horrifying transformation, and his body was wrong.

Modern selkies and phocids are likely to imagine a child similar to their own young, but this is not the case. Ishmael was unnaturally pale and almost colourless save for a growth of hair which was a light red. His skin was very thin and translucent, with no markings aside from a blue pictogram on one shoulder, a stylised Atom emblem which had been engineered to form from his own skin pigments.

He was large and heavy compared to Human children of the same age, with a long arched neck connected to his head at the back rather than the bottom as was normal for Humans and harpies, which made it difficult for him to stand upright and look forward without inviting neck pain. He had very large and powerful hands with short webbed fingers, and a combination of long torso and short legs which would help him walk on all fours and swim cleanly with his tail fluke. His arms were quite long in comparison to a modern phocid’s and, at this age, he was exclusively bipedal.

He was born with pale eyes which were white around a pink iris, though that changed over the years. The first things he saw—that he consciously remembered seeing—were his own fingers clamped over those eyes to block out the lights at the laboratory. He opened them a crack, so that the light shone through the pink webbing. It confused him—there wasn’t supposed to be webbing there. Humans (and phocids) do not have webbing between their fingers, after all.

He was curled in on himself on a cold hard surface, while somebody spoke in the background. It is a great blessing that the automatic transcriber machine is still intact today, and we can access the exact words spoken in the laboratory for the entirety of its existence. After lengthy translation work, it can be rendered intelligible to us. Later I will share the correspondences between myself and the anonymous linguist who so greatly aided me here.

“He’s a concept, Ivana, we’re not putting him in the water until we know for sure the probes were right about that sea out there. And I kind of want to leave the actual bodywork to the betas, y’know, Ishmael is just a precaution before we wake them up.”

“Could you turn down the lights a little? I’d have a headache too if I was staring up into those things for the first time,” said Ivana. She had come down to the lab out of curiosity, to see the first-born Human on Siren.

“I need to be able to observe every reaction,” Dan Loris said. “Ishmael will get used to it. Delayed births can cause absolute havoc if the modifications aren’t tuned properly.”

His hands, dry and shockingly cold, caught Ishmael’s blocky wrist. Dan Loris pried the webbed hand away from Ishmael’s eyes and shone a pen light in each. Ishmael’s eyes stung and burned and he tried to wriggle away, but Dan Loris took no notice of this.

He passed a heart scanner along Ishmael’s front and watched the live feed appear on a display window in the side of the lab. Ishmael was rapidly forgetting his dream childhood in the face of this confusing start, but he did remember, for a moment, a similar scene. The childhood deep dream that he had been given included a scene of hospitalisation, to acclimatise children to medical checks.

So the footage of his skeleton and pounding heart on the wall was oddly familiar, though the shape was wrong and freakish to him. His head felt light and dizzy and he, only seven years old, had no ability to reconcile what he saw and felt with what he thought to be true. When Dan Loris pushed the wet red hair away from Ishmael’s face, Ishmael tried unsuccessfully to bite him.

“Funny little guy, isn’t he?” Ivana said, leaning into his line of sight. “Why’d you make him so pale? Like a lab rat.”

Dan Loris snorted. His medical scissors snipped by one of Ishmael’s ear holes and sliced off a chunk of hair. “Why d’you think those are white, too? He’s not here to look pretty. The betas will have proper pigment, they won’t fry in the sun.”

It was at this point that it all became too much for Ishmael. He broke into a sobbing fit with remarkable suddenness and didn’t stop until Dan Loris clamped a mask over his nose and mouth which delivered a soothing air into his lungs. Ishmael’s eyelids drooped. He looked around for his mother and didn’t see one. Calmer, he sat on the examination table and watched over the rim of the mask as Dan Loris performed all manner of tests on him, most of which made no sense to him, and seemed pointless. Every joint was checked for smooth abduction and adduction. Skin scrapings were collected from his tail. They took his blood and his saliva, and every inch of his body was captured in image form by a roving, flashing device.

His first meal came next – a pouch of gel designed for people who had been born in similar circumstances, which might prepare a stomach that had been empty its whole life for the rigours of real digestion. He had been fed through a large blood vessel in the artificial amniotic sac, and not through an umbilical cord. As a result, he had no navel, and spent his first few days alternatively vomiting and crying as his digestive tract learned how to work.

Delayed birth, while preventing a young mind from being irrevocably damaged by sleeping through key developmental periods, was still no substitute for a true childhood when it came to mental development. Ishmael could speak and understand others, but he essentially entered life as an unusually well-educated infant in a large and overdeveloped body.

The accounts of his mental growth during his early years are somewhat sparing. There are abundant records of the tests in which he was forced to participate, the exact parameters of his growth, his weaning from gel to solid food, even records of each trip to the latrine. But nobody thought to record his mood or emotional state beyond “Ishmael was cooperative today” or “Ishmael needed sedation today”.

What I can tell you is that by age ten he stood at average adult Human height and just about average adult Human weight. He rarely spoke and gave little indication of understanding anything said around him either. By this time, the second generation of Sirenians, the beta generation, had been given their own delayed births. But Ishmael did not interact with them and it appeared that he knew very little outside the confines of the lab.

At this point in life, he met Dan Loris’s own fosterling, known as a biological child. This biological child was called Callum and he had not had a delayed birth. In fact, he had been in frozen sleep alongside Dan Loris himself. Although he was also ten years old, he had lived in total seventeen years, even if those seven extra years had passed in the blink of an eye and left no lasting impression on his body or mind. By all accounts, this was a far more ethical way to transport someone great distances on The Lonely Sailor.

Callum’s interactions with Ishmael are well recorded, and the earliest examples we have of Ishmael expressing any desires or opinions – the daily records began to include lines like “Ishmael asked about Callum” or “Ishmael was upset at Callum’s absence”. And while there are transcriptions of every word spoken within the lab, the record banks are so huge that it becomes difficult to sift through for any clues as to how Ishmael was developing internally during this time. It seemed, in any case, that he enjoyed the company of another child his age, which is only to be expected, and that he was able to ask to spend more time with his only friend.

There is another side to this. Among other records we located a diary of Callum’s. All of the Precursors were required to write reports of their weekly activities, and the children in particular were encouraged to keep journals, to discuss their emotional reaction to the great upheaval in their lives, and their imaginings of an Atom-controlled future on this new world. Callum’s diary spans his teenage period, not this earlier time, and we will delve into its contents in a later chapter. But it does mention that, at age 10, Callum was wary of Ishmael, and that after a series of incidents which are poorly described but culminated in Ishmael pulling the laboratory door off its hinges, Callum no longer felt safe in his presence.

Indeed, the incidence of “Ishmael was sedated today” in the record logs increased quite dramatically at around this time. A reason is never explicitly stated but I would make an educated guess that Callum, growing more uncomfortable, was not spending as much time with Ishmael, causing distress in the latter. Ishmael was prone to tantrums, often wordlessly lashing out and, on the aforementioned occasion, breaking a door.

Ishmael himself was never consulted to determine the cause of these incidents, with all indications being that the lab workers did not believe him articulate enough to bother reasoning with. As anyone who has spent a season in the nursery knows, underestimating a child’s ability to understand on some level precisely what distresses him is a fool's error.

At the age of eleven, the tantrums had clearly become dangerous, given the damage to the lab infrastructure and Callum’s unwillingness to spend time with Ishmael. Ishmael was growing physically powerful in a way that had not been anticipated by his creator. It may seem surprising, but the art of genetic engineering was never so simple as merely picking and choosing what traits to instil in an embryo. As Dan Loris noted, the science was still relatively new, and their techniques, while powerful, were not precise enough to predict every single possibility. Thus the need for refining a design over concurrent generations, and for producing one-off ‘alpha’ variants like Ishmael himself. Either way, Ishmael was showing a tendency towards gigantism which had not been anticipated.

Management plans had to be drafted, and Dan Loris records the first ever instance of an attempt to understand Ishmael on an emotional level. He brought in a Human called Maris to talk to Ishmael once a day, in the hopes that it would calm him and provide some insights into his psyche. The notes of Maris are an invaluable resource, providing the most detailed written accounts of Ishmael’s childhood, which even Ishmael himself did not adequately record (citing trauma and personal distaste as his reasoning).

She also captured moving ‘video’ images of Ishmael during these sessions which I have been able to access. If not for these, critical moments and historical figures in Siren’s history may have been lost to time forever, leaving nothing but a dry tally of facts recording Ishmael’s physical parameters, as though he were little more than livestock.

*Humans refer to themselves as ‘he’ or ‘she’. I will leave this untranslated as I believe those are different enough to be significant to this society. Based on my studies of Atom society I believe that their usage of 'he' is entirely unrelated to its modern-day counterpart.

**it is my understanding that a computer is a type of machine which can receive information fed to it by a person and produce a mathematical calculation based on that information which the person can interpret, or cause another machine to perform a specific operation – this was used for every facet of Precursor life to automate their machinations, from food production to predicting the outcome of specific events. We may be more familiar with computers in the form of harpy visors though these could be of almost unlimited use.

#setting: siren #there ya go. needless to say our guy had a rough start and a rough middle and also a rough ending #writing tag

49 notes · View notes

ask-the-hws-immigrants · 6 months

Note

Alfred, what is your favorite thing each of your roommates has brought over to your country? And to Ireland, Romano, and Lithuania, what is your favorite thing about America? (the country not Alfred.)

As for the others...

Alfred can afford to be a little more idealistic, but that's just his way.

**Historical Note: Though immigrants from each of these groups contributed in a variety of ways, these are some of the ways in which they contributed most prominently.

Irish Americans were incredibly active in the entertainment industry, especially in music. Irish Americans were very prominent in vaudeville, and eventually Broadway. However, this was due to a pre-existing music tradition that stemmed from Irish immigrants bringing over their folk music. Many Irish airs became popular parlor songs in the UK, America, and Canada. The strong Irish presence in the Union Army during the Civil War also further popularized folk songs such as "McLeod's Reel." Though the Potato Famine caused the decline of traditional music in Ireland, many songs and playing styles were preserved by Irish Americans in the United States and later carried back to Ireland in the 1890s-1920s when recordings began to become accessible. These recordings were also among the first to be sold in the United States.

Italian American cuisine is one of the most influential marks left by the community, especially from Southern Italians. Many innovations in Italian cuisine occurred in the United States, and many Italian immigrants became successful restauranteurs. This explosion occurred due to previously inaccessible foods suddenly being affordable in the United States, such as meat and imported cheese. Today, Italian American food is still one of the most popular cuisine choices in the United States.

Though all of the groups mentioned had involvement in labor union activity, Lithuanian Americans were particularly prominent activists. One of the most famous of these activists was Emma Goldman, but there were several others who formed the United Mine Workers and the Amalgated Clothing Workers Union. Sydney Hillman, a Lithuanian immigrant, was the head of the Amalgated Clothing Workers Union from the 1910s to the 1940s. Even in fiction, in Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, Lithuanian workers and their union activity are the central focus. Lithuanian Americans' strongest import really seemed to be their activism!

For all of these groups though, one big part of what made American so attractive was the comparative plenty to what they had in their countries of origin. Though many immigrants worked long, difficult manual labor jobs, they were able to afford new goods in the United States that had previously been unimaginable. This is mostly due to the United States' ability to produce goods en masse, which made them cheaper. Furthermore, in Ireland and Southern Italy, land ownership had become virtually impossible (through landlords hiking rent prices in Ireland or land distribution after the Risorgimento in Italy). Even if their positions were not enviable in the United States, from a financial standpoint, their salaries and the resources available put them in a slightly better position.

#hetalia #historical hetalia #hws america #hws romano #hws lithuania #hws ireland #nyo!ireland #immigrant trio #immigrant squad #hetalia ask blog #ask #last seminar my paper was on how the irish diaspora changed and preserved traditional music #so if i pop off a lot about that in the historical notes that is why (it is a roman empire in my brain of sorts)#this was a fun ask though! sorry for taking so long to answer!!

72 notes · View notes

theresattrpgforthat · 6 months

Note

Hello! I’m wondering if you have any recommendations for Animal-themed TTRPGs? Specifically wild animals if possible (jungle, arctic, desert, etc). I have a lot of recommendations for domestic animals and pets! ☺️

Theme: Wild Animals

Hello friend! You are right, there are quite a lot of recommendations out there for cute pet-like animals, but I think I managed to find a nice variety of wild animals. I also have a few longer games to balance out the 1-page rpgs I found.

One Less Lobster in Maine, by Minte.

You’ve made it! You escaped! Freed from your wooden trap you find yourself on the picturesque coasts of Maine. One lobster alone facing the world, on a journey to make your way back to the sea.

This game played with a deck of cards, lets you build your own adventure. Play on your own or with friends this is meant to be a fun lighthearted story building game that is easy to pick up and play. All you need are some cards, maybe some friends, your imagination for your very own crustacean crusade.

This game can be played solo or with a group; it’s basically an oracle that presents you with events and obstacles as your lobster makes their way to the sea.

Emu Uprising, by ashleecraft.

You play an emu trying to defeat the government with the help of your friends in this 1-page TTRPG based on The Great Emu War created for the Historically Accurate Game Jam 2023!

This is hilarious re-enactment of a real-life historical event. You roll a series of times using 2d6 to determine what happens in each round of battle. Your goal is to get more Emu points than Human points. Feel free to add your own embellishments to each moment of battle!

Rise of the Apes, by WuDeRPG.

Rise of the Apes takes the premise of the movie Rise of the Planet of the Apes and lets you play as a group of Apes escaping a laboratory on their quest to reach freedom in the woods.

This is the first game using the RISE system, which divides play into 3-act struggles over which your characters will experience evolutionary moments. I think this game has an interesting opportunity as a teaching tool because players have a chance to get familiar with one part of their character sheet before adding on new pieces. I’m interested to see whether each act could be its own game session; breaking out of the lab as the first act could certainly take up to 2 or 3 hours.

Crabpocalypse, by Z Gosck.

Great news, the apocalypse is here!

but not at the hands of zombies, aliens, or unrelenting capitalism, but rather the meaty claws of giant enemy crabs. And even better news, you’re the fucking crabs!

Become crab, as nature intended, in Crabpocalypse! A game that finally puts you in the carapace of a giant enemy crab, bringing unimaginable death and destruction upon a world that sorely deserves it!

An absolutely ridiculous game, Crabpocalypse requires that players play the entire game with their hands shaped like crab claws, lest they lose a point from their highest crabtribute. The whole game is this silly and over-the-top, right to the end - where you will fight a giant, human-allied crab!

Mortal Wombat, by JoshyLongLegs.

Captured in your infancy by some Australian scientists (unburdened by morals or ethics) you have been turned into a sapient cyborg synapsid, hell-bent on escaping the laboratory you've been kept captive in all these years!

Joined by your own marsupial mob you've got to use your head and your butt to prove yourself the finest Wombatant and make your way to freedom!

Another simple one-page game, Mortal Wombat embraces the cartoonish style of children’s tv shows and gives your wombats some serious chrome upgrades. There appears to be some callbacks to Honey Heist here, so if you’re familiar with that one-pager, this game will probably be pretty easy to pick up and play.

Moose Trip, by Kira Magrann.

You’re a moose living in the human occupied wilds of Montana. You’ve just eaten some of your favorite psychedelic mushrooms with your friends. The streams are cooling, the willows ripe with delicious leaves, and soft orange moss dots granite rocks amid grassy fields. You’re settling into your favorite lush sanctuary here in the wilds for a mind altering and inspiring psychedelic trip.

This game is more of a conversational experience than something with a definable goal. You take turns rolling mushroom feelings, and then ask the group around you the related question. I think this game could also be used as a mini-game inside a larger campaign, regardless of who your characters are - you don’t even really need to be a moose to play.

The Warren, by Bully Pulpit Games.

The Warren is a tabletop role-playing game about intelligent rabbits trying to make the best of a world filled with hazards, predators and, worst of all, other rabbits. It is a game about survival and community.

There are many creatures, humans included, that are bigger, stronger, meaner, or more numerous than rabbits. The seasons and the elements do not care that rabbits are only little things. Rabbits cannot hope to meet these threats head on. Only through speed, wits, and keeping a cool head can rabbits bypass the dangers of the outside world.

The Warren hails from the PbtA family of games, and pulls greatly on rabbit stories such as Watership Down and Peter Rabbit. It comes highly lauded and is known for its ability to combine the idyllic comfort of being a small creature with the tragic horror of being everyone’s favourite prey. If you want a deep game that isn’t afraid to send you to some dark places, I recommend The Warren.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

Capybara Capers, by momatoes.

Jellyfish Felonies, by Penguin King Games.

My Fish Games Post.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #indie ttrpg #animals

74 notes · View notes

ellorypurebloodculture · 4 days

Note

I've had 'Good Luck Babe!' on repeat lately, so I'm in a very femmeslash mood XD so for FSF, Hermione/Luna (who, to my knowledge, are a new ship for you? I hate to give you repetition when you deserve variety for enrichment)

Lady Luna Lovegood is brilliant, there's no question of that. Her mind works in such fascinating, frustrating ways, ways that Miss Hermione Granger cannot follow with her own logical, rational mindset.

It's galling to sometimes look at the pureblood witch she loves, her fellow Ravenclaw who is sweet and whimsical and adventurous, and feel inferior, lesser, unimaginative and unintelligent.

"I'm going to kiss whatever you're thinking that has put that frown on your face right out of your head," Luna whispers before putting deed to word.

Hermione melts into the tender touch and allows Luna's love to banish her insecurities.

#ellory answers #ellory writes #five sentence ficlet friday #hermione granger/luna lovegood

24 notes · View notes

tulipe-rose · 2 months

Text

Nakahara Chūya, and Miyazawa Kenji... Quite the unique bunch, aren't they?

The allegedly 'inhumane', gravity manipulating beast, and the temperamental, often starved sunshine child.

They're explored separately throughout the Manga, and are given their moments to express their characters through words and actions. At first sight, they'd be rendered polar opposites. However that may be true to an unknowing outsider, their current knowledge would never allow them to understand, to comprehend what lies within.

One loyal dog, another morally grey sweetheart.

They do meet once during the main plot; multiple times during the spin offs and once during the anthologies. They're portrayed to be an admiring boy with his idol. It's truly an adorable sight to behold.

The feared Mafia executive, and the loved, yet feared agency part timer.

It's a pity that they'll most probably never get the right opportunity to connect with one another. Their past experiences and sorrows are the key factors that would assist them to truly understand each other's emotions, as they both know what it's like to grieve over loved ones. They both know all too well what it's like to be the strongest; to be the pillar of support that everyone depends on in certain situations; their trump card. They both harbor abilities that are mighty, double edged swords, unstoppable when provoked, even harmful to oneself when pushed to their wits end. The weight of responsibility could weigh on them akin to dead weight, but they persevere through it, and they manage to make it through victorious. It's truly fascinating however, that the difference in environment could impact the path taken, and ideals followed by each. The way by which they choose to handle predicaments they're to be put in reflects the duality of humans that are infinitely similar and different concurrently.

Bottling up their issues and emotions isn't foreign to either. One due to his upbringing, and the other solely because of the fact that he has no time to deal with them. Life is moving, and the mafioso cannot afford to be held up by pitiful emotions. He is capable of destressing using quality wine in the safe confines of a bar table. The young blonde on the other hand is a stranger to pitiful anger, sadness and irritation. He has been brought up to never feel the need to be anything but happy. Yes, it might have effectively impacted him, making his perspective and views brighter, much more optimistic and inviting than most. However, a certain perspective would claim that variety in emotions is what makes us human; I'd leave it up to debate, yet I personally believe that with enough care and attention, the young Miyazawa could open up, even if a little to peak of anything that bothers him. That'd be the peak of character development. Another colossal issue that is faced by this superhuman fourteen year old happens to be how he chooses to handle his hunger. He could be half starved to death, yet not a single complaint would leave his lips. He's far too accustomed to it. He doesn't acknowledge it anymore, and that is not healthy.

A lost soul, and another wandering one.

I dare say Nakahara sees a fragment of his youth in the blonde countryboy. Nakahara would go to unimaginable lengths just to keep the boy's smile genuine; to keep it cheerful and glad to be in existence as ever. He'd try to reserve the boy's happiness, because he was too familiar with it being stripped away.

They might just be the shoulder that both of them needs to lean on, cry on in case the infamous ginger winds up lost to the alcohol.

If only the mangaka gave it a serious chance.

(TDLR; I firmly believe in and support the Chuenji sibling dynamic.

Petition to allow the Miyazawa family to adopt Chūya, aye in the comments if you agree.

Hope you liked this pointless piece of meta that literally no one asked for. I'm pretty sure most of my points have been repeated over and over by other people, but never hurts really.)

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd meta #bsd analysis #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chūya #bsd kenji #bsd chuuya #kenji miyazawa #writers on tumblr #saff-ron tag #siblings #let them hug

36 notes · View notes