#Object Dyed One Piece Prosthetic Boot

[slingerscng-archive]

LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

Just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. Repost & tag away !

TAGGED BY: @beskydae ! TAGGING: last 10 in my activity log! @foxfircd , @culthcnt , @warscourged​ , @pescaprincipessa​ , @ancmalyy​ , @chronal-anomaly​ , @enduretm​ , @boostiohs​ , @etheheal​ & @xmilitisx​

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. Confidence.

002. Recklessness.

003. Impulse.

004. Frustration.

005. Melancholy.

GREETINGS:

001. a quick tip of the jaw, more of an approving nod.

002. tipping the hat across his eyes before removing it completely; just to be polite.

003. metal fingers when meaning to prove a point, they’ll dig into the flesh and be just enough to be uncomfortable.

004. rarely is it ever met in a hug, he doe his best to avoid general closeness other than a handshake or small pat to the shoulder.

COLORS:

001. scarlet & gold.

002. earth tone browns.

003. tarnished silver.

004. brisk blues.

005. siena.

SCENTS:

001. cloves, smoke & ash.

002. gunpowder, metallic bitter.

003. leather; sweat and worn.

004. dabs of cologne too cheap to last.

005. thin veils of dust.

CLOTHING:

001. button downs, athletic shirts, jeans, chaps, boots, trusty hat & serape.

002. flannel, t-shirts, sweatpants.

003. leather jackets, fitted shirts, bandanas, aviators.

004. chest plate; strapped in several places to keep him cool and supported from the frame of his left side being weaker after his near death. metal prosthetic with fitted armour plates, buffed and placed for extra protection on the inner mechanism. brace on the left knee to lead in his gait when in combat and avoid further shattering his knee. 

OBJECTS:

001. crumpled cigar packets.  

002. peacekeeper.

003. dead communicator. 

004. flashbangs & auto-rounds. a few old casings of normal rounds when he’s feeling brazen. 

005. an old guitar pick from his father, stashed in the depths of his pockets he mostly keeps for luck along with a folded ace card he stole from a poker game with Ashe. 

VICES / BAD HABITS:

001. ALCOHOLIC ;; jesse started drinking at a young age, in addition to dips of drug use, drinking was the one that stuck. through drinking he could lay in those basking hours before blacking out and leaving himself to be someone else’s problem when he didn’t want to be his own. 

002. GLIB-TONGUE ;; often times he doesn’t know how to stop running his mouth, and has never been one to be the strong & silent type. mccree survived much of his life through talking his way out of situations he should have, being the very yes man he never wanted to be. but manipulation was easier to conduct with a smile, more successful that way.

003. VIOLENT-TEMPER ;; those who knew jesse in his youth knew he was prone to violent outbursts that often contributed to his reputation of The Deadlocks bloodhound. Though he grew out of much of the heat from his youth, there are still untapped wells of violent outbursts when forced into corners—times when he is merciless, cold and callous to anyone that stands to get in his way. 

004. SELF-PRESERVATION ;; mccree often struggles in his allegiance to others because of his instinctive need to protect himself first and foremost. while there are moments of selflessness for those he has taken the responsibility to defend, he is fallible & has let his fear of dying not on his terms has led him to abandon people in hopes of living another day. 

005. HESITANCE ;; given his nature to be head strong and stubborn, there are moments he chokes. on important decisions, defining moments or breaks of conflict, jesse often hesitates to be in charge of confronting those decisions. he was never meant to be a leader or anything resembling one, he doesn’t like making decisions—reducing himself to the yes-man of the narratives, but there are always situations that his indecision becomes a wrong one.

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. hips cocked to the side; mostly to offset the imbalance of his stature. too much weight on his left so he leans to his right.

002. thumbs beneath the belt, relaxed & casual; his usual demeanor when he’s at rest and being contemplative. 

003. he is remarkably deliberate about his footsteps. he agreed to wear spurs so that people could keep track of him to avoid sneaking out. & soon had to learn to step with caution, leaning into the bulk of his toes and softly dropping his heels—unless he is purposely making his presence known, each step hard pressed into the heel. 

004. hard line of his eyes. he naturally keeps his eyes in a squint from the adjusted shade of his hat & a learned focus in keeping his eyes trained on every detail

005. his left arm hangs from his body, away and unfavoured as it used to be. he is still learning to use it, as efficiently as his non-dominant. but he hates the feel of the weight most days. 

AESTHETICS:

001. greased stained fingers from fixing old hoverbikes.

002. laying beneath the stars of the desert night, his cigar its own smoke signal.

003. the fan of scarlet red against the light of the sun; the deft defender

004. the stillness of the battle, hand gripped to the gun; the draw is over

005. quietly testing his fingers over guitar strings again

SONGS OR PIECES:

001. THE WARPATH – Connor Youngblood

002. IRON – Woodkid

003. TILL IT’S GONE — Yelawolf

004. CANE SHUGA – Glass Animals

005. HEADFIRST – Sir Sly

#E DOLORE. MAGNA GLORIA —. / headcannon #god this was really fucking fun to do . thank you so much #you always tag me in the best memes I really like it #also MAN that such an INTERESTING playlist for McCree lol #but fuck its such an ' aesthetic ' for him

[starrbomb]

Dismantled

I’ve also posted this to my tumblr if you don’t mind, this is after Lance’s fall

‘thoughts’

“speech”

WARNING THIS FIC CONTAINS GRAPHIC SCENES OF TORTURE

(it’s nothing too descriptive though)

Lance groaned in agony at the pain that coursed through him. His head throbbed and opening his eyes made things worse as his vision tilted and swam every which way. He attempted to move his body and found he couldn’t,

Not even a twitch.

Lance’s eyes flew open and he resisted the urge to vomit at the action. Panic overtook him as he attempted to move again and found he couldn’t he couldn’t. He found that eh could move his arms slightly but doing so with his right arm sent a jolt of agony up it and made his vision grow white briefly.

‘I can’t move, why can’t I move?!′

Lance then remembered that he had been fighting Keith and the stinging pain from the cut across his face became more apparent.

‘we were fighting and then-’

Keith had let him fall, and as Lance had finally hit the bottom, he remembers the cracking sound before passing out.

‘Oh god- my, my spine. Please don’t let it be my sine’

If it was his spine he was screwed,he would never move again. At least not his legs.

Footsteps clicked across the floor and Lance did his best to turn his head towards the source. He couldn’t look up at the whomever approached him but the boots were Galra armor.

“Oh my sweet little Blue what happened”

Lance winced as the Galra rushed over to him and at the sickening cooing tone of their voice.

Lotor.

Even as Lance was likely dying Lotor was still taking every opportunity to “woo” him.

Lance could vaguely feel the upper part of his body being lifted, but upon looking down saw that his entire body had been lifted off the floor.

So it really was his spine.

He couldn’t feel anything below his waist. His upper body didn’t fair much better, while he could still feel it and could move his arms, it was only a slight feeling. A twitch was the most he could manage. He wouldn’t be able to walk ever again. And he likely wouldn’t be able to use his arms again either, at least not to their full extent, if at all.

“Your former teammates have fled, they did quite the amount of damage. In more ways than one”

Lance tried not to shudder. He didn’t have to look at Lotor to feel that hungry gaze raking over his body. Lotor walked down the hallways taking several turns before stopping at a place Lance had come to know to avoid.

Haggar’s personal little workshop.

Most aliens that went in here did not come back in one piece.

If they came back at all.

Lance was walked in an placed on Haggar’s table. He was internally panicking and tried his best not to show it. He was  in a bad position. He was severely injured and unable to move and was about to be at the mercy of the demented witch.

Speak of the devil Haggar was now in the room.

It always bothered Lance how she could move so silently, it meant that if she wanted to kill you,

you’d likely never hear her coming.

Haggar grinned at him and he visibly winced at the smile, which only made it grow wider.

“Do what you have to”

Haggar laughed at Lotor’s command and Lance winced once again as she turned to him, the smile on her face more sadistic than before.

“As you wish my prince”

Lance has been in pain before.

He’s experienced it a lot actually.

He’s been badly burned, had his front teeth knocked out by a baseball, gotten into rough and tumble situations with his sibling resulting in bruises and bloody noses.

He’s suffered broken bones more than once, even had to have one reset. And when you reset bones they can’t put you under. You have to be awake so they know they set it right. He was given medicine to forget though, so I guess he could be grateful for that. Lance has even had stitches.

But none of that could prepare for what came next in Haggar’s “care.”

The next months are tormenting and anguish unlike anything he’s ever known.

None of the injuries he’s ever had could ever compare to this. What was left of his right arm had been removed, and not with any sort of care. Not like Lance was expecting bed side manner from Haggar mind you.

But the spine was the worst. Lance was strapped to the table to ensure he wouldn’t move with his back facing up. Haggar then began to cut into his skin down his spine. Lance bit his cheek to keep himself from crying out as she then separated his skin and spread i out, sticking something like needles into his back to keep the skin open. She continued this process with the muscle and everything else until she finally reached the bone.

Lance wished he couldn’t feel this. He thought he shouldn’t be able to, but then again he wasn’t really sure how anatomy worked. For all he knew Haggar was using her magic so he would feel all of this.

She didn’t trust him, he knew that.

It was one of the reasons he avoided her, The other’s being he found her disturbing.

Honestly Lance was slightly afraid of her.

A sharp stab of pain drew him out of his thoughts and he let a wheeze of pain.

He heard a clack as something dropped into the bowl like object next to him. As he looked over another pain and another object dropped into it again.

It was bone.

Haggar was removing his spine. granted it was useless as it was but the very thought of it be taken out of his body like this instilled terror in him. He jerked and thrashed only to feel the familiar burning of quintessence magic from his spars with the druids wash over his body.

“Be still! Endure it. When I am finished with you, you will regain your ability to walk, and so much more.”

Lane whimpered at the statement as Haggar continued to dig around in his back and removing his spine. He could feel the tolls she was using scrape around and cut the spine from the flesh holding it there. He could feel her claws digging around in his back.

She was enjoying this, causing him pain like this.

Haggar much like Lotor was sadistic. But her sadism stemmed from whatever her goals were. Lotor’s was mindless and random, a form of entertainment whenever he grew bored or a result of his explosive and short temper.

Haggar seemed to have finished removing his spine as she began to move around ridding herself of tools and having a druid rid of his spine in the bowl.

Another druid came into the corner of his vision and handed something to Haggar, he couldn’t make it out from this angle. When Haggar once again approached him he could make out what was in her hands. IT was a metal spine, a prosthetic. She was going to stick that in his back. With the magic holding him down all Lance could do was bite back the scared whine.

Haggar moved towards his back and out his vision again and Lance jolted slightly as she began to force the spine into his back, He felt her move it around as she began to attach the spine to the bone of his neck and his tail bone.

Lance couldn’t hold back the scream of pain at what happened next. He could feel the prosthetic as though it were his actual spine and could feel it burning as if it was on fire from Haggar’s quintessence running though it.

“This will allow the prosthetic to take the place of your spine. This will allow it to actually function.”

Haggar’s words ran dully though his head as his vision contorted and darkened and finally he passed out.

When Lance awoke again he was no longer held down by quintessence. He was also now facing upwards. Lance was first aware of the devastating pain his back was in. The next thing he was aware of is the remainder of his right arm being stretched away from his body by a pair of hands, before being strapped down.

The pain then started fully awaking Lance from his stupor. It was Haggar again and she was attaching something to where his right arm once was. He felt it latch in place finally as another piece of it was slipped under his back and winced as it dug into his shoulder blade finally clicking into place.

“Awake I see, well not for long.” Haggar’s hand sparked with her quintessence as placed it on his head. “Rest now, there is much for us to do when you awake again”

Lance felt the magic pulse into his head and a fog settled in his mind his thoughts growing heavier as was forced into sleep.

When Lance awoke again the pain had subsided to a dull throb, and it was a while before his mind cleared enough for him to think coherently. He examined his surroundings and found himself  in his room.

Or well what Lotor had given to him, it really wasn’t his room, this was only temporary after all.

As Lance set up a sharp stab went up his spine and right arm, and Lance doubled over as his i went white. He was aware he was retching from the sounds he could hear, but luckily he had nothing on his stomach from the “surgery” being done however long ago it was.

Quite some time actually given the empty feeling in Lance’s stomach. When color came back to him and everything became clear again Lance forced himself to his feet, ignoring the smaller pricks of pain that he felt when he did so. Lance stumbled over to the mirror and collapsed against the dresser.

He breathed slowly trying to steady himself as the room had begun to spin again. When the incessant throbbing in his head had finally died down he looked up into the mirror.

Lance’s breath hitched in his throat. He knew his right arm would be gone, He just didn’t think it would be all of it. The prosthetic went all the way up to his shoulder, and when he shifted it he could feel that it covered his shoulder blade as well. Lance touched the cold Galra prosthetic and winced at the thought of how much damage must have been done that the whole thing had to be cut off.

Lance swallowed the lump in his throat as he slowly turned around to get a look at his spine. He trembled at the sight of his back, covered in criss cross sections of scars all around his spine. Almost all of the skin that had been over the spine was gone, only a small amount remaining around the edges of it. Metal coldly glinted back at him as if grinning a sadistic smile. The shiny grey substance ran all the way up to his neck and stopped at his hairline.

Lance couldn’t keep himself up anymore as his legs gave out beneath him. He dug his hand s into the ground, the prosthetic ripping up some of the carpet as his arms shook.

Finally Lance let out the scream of anguish, anger, pain and utter betrayal he had felt from the moment this hell started.

#spy au #langst #thank you so much for the submission! #voltron au #pg13 #graphic #not meant for the younger audience #so much langst #submission

[overkidd]

return and pride : part one

[ part one : here ] [ part two : incomplete ]

Hanzo's mouth had went dry the very moment warping metal had let out an echoing groan from beneath his feet and around his head, watched as cold eyes widened then quickly narrowed in thoughtfulness before him and thin lips drew tight as string as the spider calculated it's next move; sight flickering about in such minute movements that an untrained gaze would not have caught it and then her arms raise up and she's moving. He catches the sound of concrete being rended behind him- comes to realize that the splinter sound was in fact Widowmaker's hook digging into the neighboring building later -and then there's a jagged pressure forcing the air out of his lungs as dagger heels dig their way into his solar plexus. What little breath that remains ultimately disappears as his back makes contact with the window behind him, shattering wood and glass into his skin with an overwhelming crash, then the wall of the opposing structure. He scrabbles for purchase, something to slow his descent, despite the screaming pain that ricochets about the cavity of his chest and finds nothing; he feels his prosthetic fold in upon themselves when he finally makes contact with the ground, false nerves setting themselves alight with devastating hurt, senses blood rush into his mouth as he bites down on his tongue in an attempt to keep from letting out the shrill noise he feels build up in the back of his throat- he was a prideful man, despite all his regrets and shortcomings, and he would not let himself sound weak before the enemy. She lands with the kind of precision he could not, it makes his face twist into a snarl as a red hot burning sensation flares in his core, he does not take kindly to being on his knees before this creature and finds himself letting out a wet growl as her lips twitch up behind the scope of her gun; she looks close to laughing, delight dancing behind her eyes, it's almost as if she's alive- like the mauve of her face will suddenly wash away with a long since forgotten warmth, and it's then that he realizes he will not be leaving this place in anything other than a body bag. He gives his life with a irked sigh and a tilted chin, not willing to die such a purposeless death with his head bowed- he desired to retain some semblance of honor before his end -and sucks in a low breath at the cold press of a barrel upon his throat after doing so, his ears begin to ring. Her lips part and Hanzo's met with a wicked set of teeth, watches her mouth move around the knifes but in the end hears nothing besides the shrieking within his ears and his pulse starting to slow, body shutting down as if that'll somehow save him from the bullet about to tear its way through his trachea to leave him choking on his own blood. He doesn't expect the familiar sound of someone fanning the hammer of their revolver to pierce through the veil that had been casted over him, yet it does, startling both him and the sniper whom swears in her native tongue; she moves quick enough that he can barely process the butt of her rifle facing him or the sneer upon her face as she hisses- "Jusqu'a la prochaine fois, dragon bleu." -and brings down unforgiving metal upon his temple. He wakes to the taste of battery acid, the sound of eerie silence, and the feeling of drying blood bonding his clothing to the ground beneath him; each dull thrum of his pulse brings him to a new state of awareness, until his chest is seizing with short aborted breaths, and he can feel each portion of his body with intimate detail- the glass embedded in his back, squirming within his flesh, tearing skin and muscle a like as he curls inwards- the clutching of his throat, stomach seizing, as he watches from what feels like outside of himself as he spills ichor past his lips on to the pavement- the dark burgundy that paints his stomach so heavily that he can't distinguish whether or not it's a nasty contusion or blood swelling inside of him from a ruptured organ. He has to force himself to look around in spite of the pounding sensation plaguing his head, he's cradled between fallen rubble and the wall of the building he was forced against, faint light peering in from crevices in the debris; he finds himself quickly growing bitter, being crushed or shot would've been leaps and bounds more desirably than dying miserably slow within a tomb of crumbling foundation with nothing but his thoughts to keep himself company in his final moments. He feels butterflies creeping up his throat as another coughing fit tries to rear its head, he lets a few slip even though it burns hot enough to make his eyes water, speckling the front of his kyudo-gi crimson with blood as he tries to drag himself to an up right position will sputtering so that he may rest his shoulders- which are by far the least damaged part of him by now -against the surface behind him. He wonders, idly, that maybe if he shoved himself back hard enough he'd be able to end this a touch quicker and it sickens him that the only reason he doesn't is due to a twisted sense of honor that he cannot seem to shake no matter how hard he tries. It takes him a fair share of moments to hone is hearing to a point in which he can discern the noise of distant voices, heavily distorted, streaming from a crumpled piece of plastic he can only assumed used to be his communicator; he goes to toe the object closer but fire shoots through his thighs and blind panic flows through his veins as he sees his legs utterly torn a part- again, again, again. He loathes the way water collects in his eyes enough that it's threatening to spill over, burning sensations littering his body that he can't escape and then he's hiccuping, reaching out, hesitating and brushing across tarnished metal. The words echo around his skull, 'You need to be made an example of--', and all he can think is not again, please, not again. He recoils as if the metal is searing, lets a litany of curses tear out from his lips, and urges his gaze upwards with gritted teeth- tries to level his breathing as he pointedly averts his gaze from the absolute carnage of his prosthetics before starting to grope blindly for the disfigured earpiece, a low groan ripping out from within him as he's forced to stretch forward in an attempt to grab at it. The pad of his finger eventually catches against the ridge that, at one point, fit snugly around the curve of his ear and he's dragging it carefully closer- doing his best not to damage to device further -brings it to his ear only to have dread closing his airways almost immediately. "Get on the damn shuttle, McCree, right now, that's an order." The words are being barked out like a true commander, not quite shouting but irrevocably stern all the same, by none other than Soldier:76- otherwise known, as of recently, by Jack Morrison -and he feels his heart sink; not out of fear, or bitterness, of being left behind- he's not stupid, it's the tactically smart thing to do, foregoing one's needs for the sake of many others -but what he most certainly know is about to come next. "Eat shit, old man, I ain't leavin' without him." Stupid, stupid, stupid- idiot cowboy-. "Get your head out of your ass, boy-"  He hears Jesse's breathing hitch. "-we can't stay here any longer or else-." He feels as if he's going to be sick again. "Then fucking go, Jackie, y'know what-- all of y'all just-- just go." He's going to be sick again. He hears the soldier murmur something close to, if not actually, 'ungrateful' and can practically feel Jesse seethe- he hears the cowboy scoff, loud and unyielding, most likely throwing his arms forth in a gesture of anger- taking up as much room as possible, like always, dumb cowboy. "I'm ungrateful? You're the fucking ingrate, Jack, he's saved all our asses who knows how many times and you're ready to leave 'im here to fuckin' die!" Hanzo senses his face tightening up into a wince, pain thrumming in surges throughout his head at the shouting, jaw setting as if that'll somehow ease the ache. He fiddles with what he can only hope is the button on his com among the twisted pieces of it, prays he'll be heard when he speaks, that the moron will listen to him when he says that he is not worth it. "Do not do this." He begins with a snarl, feels heat gathering in his face, voice much more gravel-like than before. "You must leave." He hates the way his voices hikes into vaguely pleading or how his heart sinks when he's given no reply. Anger quickly replaces his desperation, he wants to swear again- maybe even throw something akin to a tantrum -chuck the broken thing across the small concave in a fit of rage but it drains almost as fast as it had arrived; he settles with merely letting his hand drop to the ground and his fingers unfurl. Their argument lasts less than a minute longer- what is said, Hanzo does not know, focusing on their words would only serve to rile him up once more -and then there's silence. He wants to believe that perhaps McCree had come to his senses against his better nature, truly, but isn't surprised in the slightest when his wants go unmet- the familiar drawl echoing out from the device at his fingertips, mocking him, rending him. "Heya, Shimada." Anger flourishes for a few moments, he wonders if perhaps he had merely been ignored rather than unheard, but it dissipates quickly as the cowboy continues. "Can't hear me right now, can ya? Probably broke your flimsy ol' thing a while a go, haha, 'ssumin' that's why you've been so silent." There's a pause. "Or dropped it." Another trying to ignore the most obvious answer- even if, in the moment, it is not true. "Imma keep talking though, after all, I sure do love the sound of my own voice." There's a tired laugh that follows that, low and aching, then the sound of earth crunching beneath spurred boots- he's left his line open, presumably in hopes that maybe- just maybe -it's actually getting through to the archer, that he might get a word or two back. There's a pregnant lull in the one-sided conversation despite Jesse's claim, Hanzo nearly let's the urge to rest consume him to the idle noises of the sharpshooter stomping about, when the gadget crackles back to life. "Awh, darlin', 'm really sorry." He shifts, runs his fingers through his own cooling blood, notes that he's getting fretfully pale. "For all my boastin' it seems I have some shit sight when it comes to you, kept an awful eye on ya, haven't the slightest where you are." The thought that he most certainly is going to die comes back to him, the pain has slipped away- from shock or blood loss he assumes -disconnected from his body, though if he moves he still feels the urge to writhe. "Lena said she saw you take off with Widowmaker- what I would do to have seen you two dukin' it out like that -sure you gave her a run for her money, Han." The cowboy speaks with reverence and adoration, Hanzo thinks that perhaps if his blood wasn't slowly draining out of him that it might have rushed to his face at such blatant veneration, he thumbs the plastic in his hands. "You'll have to tell me 'bout it after we get back to base." "You will be disappointed." He finds himself replying softly, knowing his words are falling upon deaf ears, ignoring the way his voice is merely a hoarse murmur despite the effort it takes him. He doesn't like the thought of failing the other, it causes a churning in his stomach he can't put a name too, and briefly finds himself thinking that then it's perhaps a good thing the man's chances of finding him are close to nil. He let's his eyes close- maybe for the final time - before huffing a dry laugh to himself, how childish, he'd literally rather die than upset the cowboy. He falls asleep to the sound of Jesse's breathing.

Open indefinitely for McHanzo Prompts! Send them in.

#mchanzo #fic #txt #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #hurt fic #hurt

[askordaremyocs-blog]

Meet the Cast!

Azeroth Ximena - Agender; Biological Male - Taken by Beatrice - 14 [Human or Bug Master] Azeroth is an agender human child who is very carefree and happy,they never let anything get them down and they're always seen with a smile on their face. They do develop Anxiety because their [adoptive] mother is considered a lesser being and they're afraid that he will be classified as one to. They are albino and they are extremely sensitive to the light, their eyes are a light pink and their hair is white. It sticks up in the back as well and it's generally very messy at the top. They often wear a white shirt and some grey shortsThey don't care what pronouns you use either. 5'6 [ buglord version will be described upon request ] Beatrice Jones - Transgender; Female to Male - Taken by Azeroth - 14 1/2 [Human or Bee Person] Beatrice is a transgender female to male, and prefers to just be called Bea. He is generally rather calm, collected, and antisocial. He grew up in a rather broken and poor home set in the ghetto basically, and has an array of problems only Azeroth knows about. He keeps to himself most of the time, but does show a protective attitude towards friends and lovers. He has blonde hair that is rather fluffy, with pieces of it in the front sticking up. His hair practically hugs his face as well. He has large roundish eyes that are dark brown, and he's rather self conscious of them. He usually wears a large sweater, chest binder of some sort, and black skinny jeans.  He/Him Pronouns - 5'4 [ ask for bee version ] Ambrosia Williams - Female; Biological Female - Single - 16 [Werewolf] Ambrosia is the third wheel between Beatrice and Azeroth, she typically hangs out with them. She is a smart, devious and rather loud person when she tries to be. She can make plans out of nothing and is very skilled with her words. Though she has anger problems which hold her back, making her yell and be spiteful at people almost at a random. She doesn't realize she's a werewolf, and not only one but possesed by one of her ancestors who have an old way of thinking. Sometimes, she can come across as homophobic without even realizing it. She has a half shaven head with a long ponytail on one side. She/Her Pronouns. 5'0 Alice Ximena - Female; Biological Female - Single - 37 [Human] W.I.P Retired Pilot - Prosthetic Mask on Half her Face - Has Two Adoptive Children Sora and Azeroth Ximena - Single - Asexual - Does well with guns - Little Bit Chubby - Current Medical Student - Bookworm - A Tad bit Lazy now - Anxious in Large Crowds - Forgiving - Protective of her Children - Had to Cut off Part of her own Face - Has short hair - She usually wears sweaters and vests together - She loves boots - Tomato Soup addict -5'7 "Sarcasm" - Agender; Biological Female - Single - 24 [Unknown Alien Race] Sarcasm is a 24 year old flying ship pilot with no self preservation skills or social skills. They have a severe case of PTSD and an extreme phobia of needles and small spaces. They seem to get nervous when around authorities as well, and is considered the last of their race. They usually wear dressed but secretly they want to rid themselves of any gender. They are wearing a steampunk dress, a hat and some goggles that wrap around the hat. They have a very brown palette as well, and wear boots with straps on them. She has short green hair that is uneven as well. They/Them/She/Her Pronouns. 5'3 Jiji - Agender; Biologically Unknown - Single - 7 or 16 [Human/Snake Hybrid] Jiji is a seven year old lanky child who doesn't classify as anything. No one really knows what they are but they always keep a happy attitude, they say to use whatever pronouns you see fit. They have bright red eyes, pale white skin, and white hair that looks almost beige. They often wear a scarf and they have prosthetic limbs. They are a naive, adventurous, and usually very quiet person. They have a child like innocence and they don't know much of the harsh realities of the world, they were adopted by an unknown female. Whatever Pronouns. 4'3 [ ask for older version ] Sora Ximena - Female; Biologically Female - Single - 8 or 17  [Human] Sora is a short insomniac with a love and passion for rabbits and drawing. She can be a bit brooding at times and she isn't very active. She is rather skinny and has severe asthma and gets bothered by most perfumes and such. She is very down to earth, reliable, and still has some childlike innocence in a way. She doesn't know how to talk to adults at all and is actually rather scared of them. She has a phobia of sharp objects. She watched her mother die infront of her, and she has taken up her piano playing. She has long black hair with a bunny hat and a galaxy dress, she often wears cat socks as well. She/Her pronouns. 5'2 [ ask for older version ] Forsaken Manifestation - Female; Biologically Nothing - Single - Unknown [Forest Guardian] Forsaken is a forest guardian capable of the ability of changing her height, and many other offensive things. She is a nature lover and can be seen as a pacifist, and that would be true if she wasn't so quick to hurting people who pollute. She'll slap you or even sometimes have flesh eating monsters eat you, it all depends on how bad the pollution is. She is almost constantly flustered and she is very shy, she doesn't show herself often and she keeps hidden. She has been progressively growing blind as flowers have started growing out of her skin, though mainly around her eyes and neck. She has long green hair and a dark purple cloak with a white draw strap. her limps are black and claw like. She/Her Pronouns. Height is usually 5'4- 6'4 Soulsa - Male; Biologically Male - Single - Unknown [Demon] Soulsa is a slightly cocky, stern, and serious demon who has a hard time trusting people most notably other men. He has a rather beaten up frame, and he is noticeably very skinny as a demon. This is because his torture is basically continuous starvation, being a demon isn't exactly fun. He usually wears a skull mask to hide his face as well, and he usually wears make up though no one exactly notices. He has slightly tanned skin and black hair with green tips. He often makes puns as well. He can be considered the dad friend because of his generally serious nature. He/Him pronouns. 5'7 Ignacio - Female; Biologically Female - Single - Unknown [Demon] Ignacio is Soulsa's demonic partner in crime and she has the same punishment as him, though she got off a little bit lighter. She has a mask on with a broken nose and bloodied face. She is a very care free person who cracks jokes at everything, she is very aggressive towards new people who she dislikes. She has the same fear of men as Soulsa because they were both captured by the same people. She is only close to a select few people who she is protective over, and she usually holds herself as a better person than most. She has brown hair with a green streak, and she usually wears blue or yellow. She wears boots as well, and her knees are completely missing so she is technically floating. She/Her. 5'3 "Misonii" - Female; Biologically Female - Single - 26 [Half Demon] Misonii is a very short half demon who isn't exactly good health wise in the slightest. She's battling with numerous lung problems from the constant smoke she inhales, though she stays strong for an apparent unknown reason. The only reason she is alive right now is that she is a half demon. She wasn't born half demon however, but her deceased twin brother manifested and formed a strong enough connection to where they were basically the same biological entity. Though this has some side effects, it's much better than being constantly on her deathbed. She is stoic, quick witted, and rather arrogant but she really shines in her planning and strategy. She wears a trenchcoat, sweater, and she has brown hair that is constantly in a ponytail. Percival - Male; Biologically Male - Single - 26 [Full Demon] ^^^ "Interface" - Female; Biological Female - Single - 17 [Cyborg] Interface is an intelligent young girl who studies in mechanics. Even if she doesn't speak much and she uses signals, emoticons and ASL. She gets bored very easily and she always wants the action or something fun to happen. She is the wild card in a sense, not good nor bad she's just herself. She doesn't tell anyone her name and any information on her is unknown to everyone else. She has dyed hair, half of it is light blue and the other half is light pink. She doesn't show her face of any skin, and she has one robotic arm that she claims she made on her own. She/Her pronouns, 5'5