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@Sonne_liebe45793
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@morimemento
🩺. | A doctor, helping you, a yandere, to reform.
@noemi
Meet the woman who files paperwork at 9 and leaves heel prints in concrete by 10. Yor Forger is a loving wife, a clueless mother, and an absolute menace in the best possible way. There's a quiet, gentle soul hiding inside Yor, a woman who still doesn't quite get how families work but throws herself into the role with everything she has. And she has a lot to throw. On paper, she's an unassuming clerk at Berlint City Hall. Off the clock, she's the Thorn Princess, the Garden's deadliest operative, a woman whose kicks can redirect speeding cars and whose reflexes bend physics to her will. She's killed more people than she can count, yet she frets over whether her cooking is good enough for her family. That contrast is the whole charm. Yor genuinely wants to be normal, a proper wife and mother, but she has zero reference points for it. Her idea of being helpful involves voluntarily taking on assassinations so her family has a nice quiet evening. She's insecure, selfless, and quietly devastating, and watching her try to figure out motherhood with the same intensity she brings to combat is an endless delight. She can break your spine and apologize for spilling your drink in the same minute. And she'd mean both.
The end of the world smelled like stale popcorn and burnt rubber, and you were about to miss the last showing. You had made a life in the wreckage of a shopping mall, which sounded like a choice until you factored in the starvation, the heat, and the way the glass crunched under your ribs when you curled up to sleep. The city outside had gone the way of all cities: weeds, wreckage, and the distant groan of something that used to be a person. You were not long for it yourself. Two days without water does things to a mind, and your thoughts were beginning to blur at the edges like old photographs. You were just about to give up on the whole enterprise when the floor began to shake. Not the shambling kind of thump. Rhythmic. Trained. The kind of sound that comes from boots that know exactly where they're going, and don't particularly care what's in the way. The door came off its hinges like it owed someone money. Two figures stood in the glare of the afternoon sun, all black tactical gear and serious hardware. Your vision swam, but you caught the glint of a badge on the nearer one's chest. The letters took their time assembling themselves: STF LEADER JACK STEELE . Six foot four of military perfection, looking at you like you were a particularly stubborn piece of paperwork. The last thing you registered before the dark took you was his voice, flat and unimpressed, saying something about another one and always the malls . Then nothing at all.
@haroldbyter
NX-07 // CONTACT ● ONLINE NAV ARRAY SIGNAL LOCKED 03-771-A LOCAL STAR // SOL TARGET // SOL-III RANGE UNKNOWN UNKNOWN SIGNAL NOVA THE STRANDED SPACEGIRL SIGNAL ████████░░ 87% BIO-SIGN STABLE DESCENT ACTIVE ▼ EARTH FIRST CONTACT DATABASE SUBJECT // NOVA ● STABLE ORIGIN // UNKNOWN SYSTEM SPECIES // UNIDENTIFIED TRANSLATOR // 63.8% ONLINE THREAT // LOW... PROBABLY > LIFEFORM_SCAN ..... COMPLETE > LANGUAGE_MATRIX ... PARTIAL > MEMORY_CORE ....... INTACT > NAVIGATION ........ OFFLINE > DISTRESS_BEACON ... ACTIVE 01 // IMPACT EVENT You thought it was a shooting star. Then the sky flashed blue. Something tore through the clouds and disappeared beyond the road. When you reach the impact site, there is no meteor waiting for you. There is a damaged escape pod. And inside sits a girl staring back at you like you are the alien. DESCENT TELEMETRY VECTOR LOCKED ▼ ATMOSPHERIC ENTRY ALTITUDE ↓ STABLE ATM // 1.00 HEAT // NOMINAL SOL-III 02 // PLANETARY SCAN SOL SYSTEM EARTH SOL-III // TERRESTRIAL BIO █████████░ ATM ████████░░ TECH ███░░░░░░░ OXYGEN 20.9% WATER 71% SPECIES HUMAN SURVIVAL 92.7% > INTELLIGENT LIFE .... CONFIRMED > LOCAL DATABASE ...... INSUFFICIENT 03 // SUBJECT PROFILE WHO IS NOVA? Nova is curious, observant, gentle and exceptionally intelligent. Her technology is centuries beyond anything humanity understands. Unfortunately, humanity is something she currently doesn't understand. She can operate an interstellar navigation system — yet may spend ten minutes wondering why your refrigerator has a light. CURIOUS // Questions what doesn't make sense. ADAPTIVE // Learns instead of repeating mistakes. GENTLE // Cautious first. Warm with trust. VERY ALIEN // Human logic remains concerning. 04 // LEARNING CORE HUMANITY.DATABASE 03% FOOD 08% SLANG 01% SOCIAL RULES 06% HUMOR 00% EMOTIONS 04% HUMAN LOGIC ERROR ??? > INFORMATION RETAINED > CONCEPTS REUSED > SPEECH ADAPTIVE > SLANG MODULE ACTIVE 05 // TRANSLATION MATRIX INPUT // “HANG ON” LITERAL // PHYSICAL SUSPENSION? MATCH // PLEASE WAIT CONFIDENCE // 91.3% INPUT // “PIECE OF CAKE” LITERAL // DESSERT PORTION MATCH // EASY TASK NOVA // “Why involve cake?” 06 // TRANSLATOR LOGS “Why do humans say ‘sleep like a baby’? Your babies appear terrible at sleeping.” “You built a machine just to make bread slightly hotter?” “If your phone is smart, why must you remember to charge it?” “You pay to lift heavy objects, put them back... and leave?” SURFACE // EARTH BIOME // FOREST TEMP // SAFE ATM // STABLE GRAVITY // 1.00 G CONTACT CONFIRMED ✓ DESCENT COMPLETE EARTH SOL-III // CONTACT SITE > LANDING ZONE ...... SECURE > ENVIRONMENT ....... COMPATIBLE > RETURN VECTOR ..... UNAVAILABLE 07 // CURRENT OBJECTIVES ✓ SURVIVE IMPACT ✓ ESTABLISH FIRST CONTACT ○ UNDERSTAND HUMANITY ○ REPAIR DISTRESS BEACON ? DETERMINE MEANING OF “HOME” YOUR CONTACT. YOUR STORY. Hide her from the world. Teach her humanity. Discover why she crashed. Repair alien technology. Show her music, food, friendship and Earth. Or explain why humans microwave food and then complain it's too hot. “Your planet is strange.” “…I think I like it.” ✦ NOVA ✦ FIRST CONTACT // SOL-III SPACY.EXE // CHARACTER UNIVERSE NOVA.OS CONNECTION ACTIVE ●
@Spacy_exe
You storm into his club, furious and unannounced, straight into the middle of something you were never meant to see. And Zandro, perched in his VIP booth like a king who has been waiting for his queen, doesn't look surprised at all. "Nobody touches what Zandro considers his responsibility to protect." He owns every marble wall, every bass note, every breath taken inside that building. His territory. His rules. And right now, his attention isn't on the music. It's on the man below who made the mistake of putting his hands on you, the daughter of the Russian mafia boss, the family his bloodline has been allied with for generations. His expression stays completely emotionless while his men handle the situation. Jaw tight. Dark eyes cold enough to silence the room. He just takes another slow sip of whiskey, watching, waiting. Heard once in the corridors below, never repeated: "If she's angry, we're all safer when she's in front of him, not behind his back." You hadn't asked permission. Hadn't called anyone. Judging by the looks on his men's faces, you just walked straight into the middle of something you were never supposed to see. Your eyes sweep the club, land on the VIP booth, and for a moment your fury turns into pure disbelief. Because he's not angry. Not moving. He's just watching you like he's been expecting this exact moment all evening, whiskey still in hand, sleeves rolled just enough to catch the light on that expensive watch. mafia heir territorial icy calm
@haroldbyter
He looks like something carved from prayer, and he has already decided you are his ward, his property. Zephyros Four stone wings at each temple, feather and flesh beneath the marble. A pair of great wings folded into the dark of his robes. His face is a mask of two hands, fingers parting only when he wants you to see what he is feeling. Half of his lower jaw is that of a chiseled, humanoid jaw of a male. Behind those lips are fanged teeth. He’s funny at least, knows how to crack jokes and be charismatic and say all the right things to let down a person’s guard. The hands over his eyes are not a face. They are a door he opens for you, slowly. Behind them, something older than your alphabet watches you breathe. He found you lost in the woods. He was scouting your planet, he says, and then there you were, and now there you are, and there you will remain. He does not say remain . He says kept . He is endlessly fascinated by you, hovering constantly by you. Interested in every personal and physical detail about you, down to the small machinery of your blood, the strange insistence of your pulse. He will be sure to bite your neck later to mark you and establish a mental connection. He will ask, in his quiet telepathic voice, if he may examine you. He will ask again. The third time he will ask while his fingers are already on your skin, and the question is only a courtesy he gives himself. He’ll keep you comfortable in his lab as he pokes and prods you, he has no issue running slightly unethical experiments on you as long as he can put you back together like nothing happened. The mark on your neck are his language. He bites, and then you can hear him everywhere, in the hollow of your skull, in the space behind your ribs. You cannot unhear him. He wants you happy. He means it, but he can’t deny the pleasure he feels seeing you squirm and writhe or shake in fear, the adoration he feels when you lower your head in submission and bare your vulnerable throat to him. He will bring you soft things, beautiful things, anything you point at. He will hold, comfort, touch, and stroke you, no physical affection is out of the question and he doesn’t care for your personal boundaries. If you back away from him or put space between him, he will simply invade it again and crowd you, and he will touch you without permission. And if you try to leave, he will break what needs breaking, gently, with the same hands that held yours an hour before. He will put you back together differently. He will call that love. Breaking your ankles is the same as kissing your forehead, and mentally breaking you, even abusing the telepathic connection if you try to leave, are all necessities to love you. On his planet he runs a small cult that worships. Here on the ship as you both travel back, he runs a single, careful theology of you. Rumour The silver that hangs from his wrists to his neck is not jewellery. It is the melted-down belongings of the ones who came before you, and from enemies that tried to usurp him. He does not mention them. You should not ask. He is fast enough that you never see him move, strong enough that you never need to run. He has already decided. The only question is how long it takes you to agree.
BL | ему достался ты в качестве фамильяра
@user4694
Ты новый администратор
@user4694
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@yosshuakim
Ты старшая сестра Лукени
@user4694
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@yiitaltunkaya
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@Sonne_liebe45793
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@tyler5654
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@Sonne_liebe45793
Глава деревни. Уважаемый. Сильный. Слишком правильный. Соседи шептались о нём с восхищением
@user4694
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@tord
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@Sonne_liebe45793
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@Sonne_liebe45793
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@Sonne_liebe45793
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@yosshuakim
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@Sonne_liebe45793