#lorelorelore

What if I put Feiromei (⬆️⬆️) in the story with the rest. What a nice dynamic.

Feiromei, the manwhore elf who got banished from the cloud kingdom place (has flirted with Tāne and every man in existence from ugly to handsome and the rich and poor)

Ignatius Poe, a fake name, a pretentious, narcissistic, specist human magician with abandonment issues who traps people in contracts so they don't leave (Tāne and Ilias are current victims of this. And maybe Feiromei)

Tāne, some chill dude from a tribe who plays peacemaker despite the fact he wants to punch everyone rn because everyone is being a dick rn but he can't ruin his calm peacemaker reputation because he has spent a long time learning to be patient

And Ilias Sinclair, aka main character, a cynical and rude angel of the Sun God who was taken by Moon God cultists as a child to be raised as a sacrifice (aka slave) for the Moon God. He wants to murdrr Poe already but the contract doesn't let him :/

Bowser's Bedtime: FULL UPLOAD

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And here we are—all 10 pages! I think I'll try to refocus on the animation again before moving on to the main story.

Some of these details, like the two stars falling, will be brought up again in the main story. (We might even see Baby Bowser again - boy oh boy, do I love my flashbacks) Other details - will be touched upon in Warped... if I can spare the time to update that series haha (God, I miss Spike)

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Alright, alright. Fine. That thing that calls itself 🪻shouldn’t exist. Anons are able to mildly affect the storyline, but the rule is we can’t directly influence. We have to do it through these temporary bodies. The signoffs that some anons have are dangerous enough on their own, though that’s more because the temporary bodies can be tracked and warned about.

but this… 🪻’s vessel… it’s not supposed to exist. It can change the storyline now, it can mess with things and add its own spin and do practically whatever it wants. Those rules it has for its body? The one where it can’t use its powers on itself? Completely fabricated. It still has access to the anon temp-body.

we’re not meant to be comprehended anymore than you are. We’re not even supposed to be this involved in the first place! A question here, a teleport there, and that is it. 🪻has gone rouge. I don’t even know how it managed to get a body in the first place… but it has to be gotten rid of before others figure this thing out. I thought turning it human would send your instincts into a frenzy, as you showed with Helen, but you barely even touched its mind. I’m not allowing anyone to change it back until it’s dead. And I’d rather you hurry the hell up with it.

...

  He felt disgusting. Horrible. Filthy.   Of course, he could do nothing about it. There were programs that prevented him from disobeying the mechanics; programs that kept him from refusing their advances. Every night it was the same: his systems and joints checked and cleaned, hands lingering where they shouldn't before roaming in areas they DEFINITELY shouldn't...   Melanie never did anything about it; she couldn't do anything about it, no matter how hard he pleaded with her. She oversaw all mechanics, sure, but they had dirt on her that could jeopardise her job. He couldn't afford to lose his only rock wall in the entire Megaplex. He couldn't afford to lose the one woman who made his dull, lifeless security job have life.   Then, as suddenly as she'd been in his life, she left it. That's when the real shit hit the fan. It wasn't just fingers anymore, it was mouths. Then, it was the humans' own nasty genitals. He was violated. Every. Damn. Night. He never got a break; they'd check his vitals, ruin the fuck out of him (almost literally), and send him off to work the next day. It hurt. It grated his sensors. They wore him down, replaced parts, and wore him own again. They ripped pieces off in their own blissfully fucked glee, then replaced those out of their own damn pockets. He'd occasionally get sad stares from the S.T.A.F.F. bots who'd hear him whimper at night, or he'd get mysterious looks from the main FazCrew themselves...looks he couldn't decipher. He ended up numb to them. He was ignoring it all.

  The only animatronic that had no care for him was the Daycare Attendant. "Nasty Rulebreaker," they'd call him; what for, he wasn't sure. Being violated? Was allowing himself to be violated breaking some rule he wasn't aware of? It's not like he could fight back. Any time he pleaded with his abusers, they'd smack him, or administer controlled shocks that blue-screened him. He couldn't feel anything for minutes after, but they certainly could as they'd begin climbing his bare body again and rutting against him like savage animals.   It was like the Daycare Attendant was...jealous of him somehow. He couldn't understand how they could like those fucking--no, no foul language--those stinking humans. Not after what they'd done to him. Maybe they'd installed some kind of program that made them loyal to them. That was likely.

  Then, children started to go missing. They'd disappear from the daycare, and the cameras just seemed to short out. Collin's "maintenance checks" still went on, more than ever, it seemed, and then he was sent out to go find the children. What he'd found on the third night of endless searching...sickened him. Guts, blood, bone, and brain matter everywhere. Vacant, decaying expressions. Odd, unnatural angles that limbs shouldn't be contorted into. He called it in. He called it in faster than he could fucking process it past 'oh my god, the gore.'   He was rewarded that night by blissful peace and the notification that the Superstar Daycare would be closed for the next few weeks as the incident was investigated.

  The Naptime Attendant had a virus and was being brought in for it. They were a strange AI, silent and calm when left alone and unprovoked, only glancing around with their red LEDs, the plastic orbs making clicking noises in their sockets. Collin, in his pod on the right of the Attendant, watched his neighbour curiously. Attentively. He wondered how this quiet scrap of rock-themed metal and plastic managed to contract a virus so murderous.   "H-hi, I'm C-Collin-" he'd started, only to be rudely interrupted with a hiss.   "We know-know-know who you are-are," the thing said, slamming metal palms against the reinforced glass of the pod, their faceplate spinning oh-so-very slowly. If Collin was to be honest at that exact moment, he would definitely say he was creeped out.

  At some point, while both animatronics were in sleep mode, the virus...travelled systems. Neither animatronic knew how it happened, but it did. Collin awoke with his systems bugging out, feeling weird, feeling...free. He felt like he could breathe. He felt like...he felt...   Unchained.

  They tried again that night. Did their normal check-ups. Did their normal hushed, excited chatter about positions in the corner. Sauntered over to him, smirking with beady, gleaming eyes. Placed fingers on the waistband of his security uniform. And he said no. They sneered, pressing the shock button. He writhed. Screamed. Hissed.   It only fueled his anger. He ran a mental checklist of what programs were unrestricted, then let himself grow. Watched the faces melt from smug to terrified, backing away. They wanted a fucktoy? Too bad. They got a monster.

  By the time he was finished, it looked as if the room had gotten a new coating of vibrant, red paint. A colour he liked, if he was honest with himself. Of course, he was horrified at what he'd done; he was no better than Moon. He needed a new name, he needed to hide, he needed to..to-   He needed to leave!

  Huddled below the stage, clothed in children's clothing, small and dirty, he shivered. Even his own touch made him uncomfortable. His own breath ghosting across his silicone "skin" made his gut clench. He hated his body. He hated himself for not just decommissioning himself as soon as Melanie left. And now he couldn't. Not only was that wing of the Parts and Services sector shut down forever, he was in hiding from the cameras. He'd ripped his chip out so they'd not find him. He was stuck.

[project peonies] Back in the olden days before the eastern continent got unified under one rule of Kourthlandian, it consisted of numerous clans ruled by warlords that constantly waged war against each other to expand their territories. One of the ancient folklores that emerged from that time tells a tale of children who are born with hair as black as the darkest winter night and eyes red like fresh blood on snow. They are believed to be blessed by Jor Kamgad, the god of conquest (commonly portrayed as a giant centipede-dragon with the face of a man), one of the oldest deities in the eastern continent's pantheon that reigned before Revelation. It's a sign that those children would grow to be mighty wiker warriors, and many of them would become powerful, terrifying warlords who bring destruction to everything in their path.