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5 mos ago
2 yrs ago
It seems today, that all you see,
2 yrs ago
Holy Spirit Activate
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2 yrs ago
Remember the indigenous people of the Americas today.
2 yrs ago
Critical Role? More like Crunchical Hole, haha. But yes, it's pretty uh... well, the Mercer Effect exists for the same reason people think porn is an accurate depiction of sex.
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Hello, I am me from the internet. I migrated here from Kongregate's Forum Games Forum, so feel free to look for me there if you wish to follow a career in internet stalking people. (ಠ_ಠ) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

A link to some of my past characters, which I need because static tabs do not take up internet.

Infamous Quotes From People Who Exist

“I really don’t follow how your faith believes its perfectly acceptable to doom 4,000 years plus of sentient beings, on a pre-set path of no escape from sin, just so their descendants can be offered the ‘chance of salvation’ when the god murders its own son.”

“Don’t be an ass or a pussy, ’lest you get screwed by life. Being a mouth or a hand is somewhat safer, and an eye socket is pretty much sacred in this regard, so always keep a look out.”

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The first dragon-hawk to enter the hive did not do so with full intent of it, but it was far more planned than the first acquisitions of the hive. It was certainly smarter than the drakes it fed upon, smart enough indeed to pick at their edges, taking away one by one the tiny morsels of meat, cracking their shells and roasting them once it returned to its nest. It was much larger than they - and, more importantly, it had realised that this was an especially productive group! Seemingly, despite its picking away, there were more drake-termites to feed upon every sunrise!

It had figured out the why of it not too long ago. A presence, something pressing on it when it got too close to the center - which threatened to eat it, not its body, but something more integral to it. This was, at least, what the dragon envisioned. Something it sought to avoid, desperately desperately.

Yet... the more it sensed this presence. The less true this was. Was it being eaten already? It didn't know. It didn't feel like it was being eaten. Part of it wished to figure out the truth of the matter. Curiosity - lethal to most, but the curiosity grew, until it one day decided to satisfy its curiosity, and to flee if it was indeed attacked by the presence.

So, finding the drake-termites again, it flew toward their centre instead of away. The presence grew, again, but it did not eat it... the further it went, the more it discovered signs of other drakes. Drake-sloths. Drake-moles. Drake-boar. How many had it eaten? Why was it not being eaten too?

It found the presence eventually. Not another dragon, or even another drake. This one... this one stood on two legs. It had no wings, only one pair of arms, both slightly too long for its body, and not even armour upon its flesh. It had some of the look of a dragon, and indeed much of the presence of one - but not a dragon. Not nearly so unkind. Not... unfriendly? Unthinkable.

But it did not eat the dragon-hawk. Wordlessly, it bade it land nearby, the drake-termites it had eaten moving aside to form a space for it. With great caution, it took its position, suspicion rippling through its body. The moment the presence acted, it was ready to lash out and take flight again, plasma roiling in it in preparation... but nothing. It held its position, held one of its arms out, asked the dragon-hawk to come closer. Every step closer seemed a step into greater peril - but no. Even once its head had touched its clawed hand, the presence remained calm, claws grazing over its head... jolts of enjoyment. What? What was this? Why was the scratching nice? It was like being groomed by a mate, but different - not for mating, only for bonding. It did not want to mate.

It wanted to bond. The presence would not eat the dragon-hawk, no... that had been an error of its child self, when control was unknown and intolerable to it, and it could not touch anything more than the near-mindless drake-termites to begin with. Its will was greater now - so too was its mental touch. It could- but it would not. It would never, not now they knew each other. The Presence was a friend. The Presence was an ally.

The Presence needed more dragons to join it. Dragon-hawks... it knew of nests, yes. It could find them, bring them. Enhance the Presence's protection, ensure they could hunt for more and more, and in exchange, the dragon-hawks would have more of their fill than they'd ever dreamed of...

Perhaps it had been eaten, after all? Oh, well.

'How long has this threat been in the vicinity?'

'Oh, weeks now. We divined it from the Charmed Lord's Skeins, and sent some scouts into the area. Two returned just yesterday, reporting quite a few dragons clustering in an area. Ah, not a faint expedition, Seneschal...'

'Clearly. Any understanding of why?'

'Hhhmmmmm... I did some more study into the matter, and Syn'veey'n did a bit of searching through the Skeins, and she was the one who sensed a great presence there. They've drawn to a leader, believe it or not!'

'A leader... dragon?'


'Really...? A human that can command the feral dragons... how rare.'

'Unheard of! And not quite a match for the aether-dragons, unfortunately.'

'Still impressive. Did you reward yours?'

'Oh yes, Seneschal! I've pinned her to the floor with a rusted blade. She'll be there for a while yet-'


'Huaahhhnnn-! Ahh... Syn'veey'n... phhleasure to see you again... sh-so soon?'

"I got booooored. You need to be more creatiiiive."


'Sorry, dear, I'll... hooh that stings nicely... I'll find something a bit more interesting to add to it...'

'Enough flirting, you two. Seer, Familiar, you two will serve the purpose of bringing this... human into our fold. Assuming you're right about his nature, that is.'

"I don't make mistaaaakes. Stop criticizing meeeeee. Just punish me for being wroooong."

'No. Shamhat... you know what to do.'

'Mmh... and may the Charmed Lord's will be done, Seneschal...'

So, rather than the Null League, I am going to adapt a canonical faction, whose details are somewhat more known to us by default.

The inhabitants of Phlogiston Quaternus were, by and large, an insular lot no matter the hive you visited. Most so obsessed with themselves, and with their lives, and for many with their profane rituals no matter how pertinent the results, that even those who could see the stars that night were in no position to make note of one stray meteor from up above. One that ought not to have been there, if any of them saw fit to double-check those charts which determined the usual, stately, predictable procession of matter through the cosmic void.

Certainly, none would have a clue of its significance until long after they could hope to change it.

The pod, for 'tis what it was, hurtled through the atmosphere of the planet with absurd velocity, far greater than typical re-entry speeds. Even considering the world's terminal velocity, it was as if the metallic sphere had been launched from a great cannon, spitefully and with intent to shatter it before it ever landed. Though re-entry itself failed at this, the impact was much more than suited to the task - an unpleasant metallic-sounding skim from a curved mountainous rock formation abruptly turned vertical motion into horizontal, sending it well across the horizon, and eventually as it fell through tree after bizarre alien tree, only slightly slowing its momentum before its final, cataclysmic impact with the corner of a distinct, albeit large rocky formation, both pod and mountainside all but exploding into fragments of rock and hyperforged metal, both now liquidous, in the course of their mutual destruction.

Naturally, this rather disturbed the hive of drake-termites within, whose home had been more or less entirely detonated quite abruptly indeed, killing a great many of them in the process. The survivors scattered at first, taking cover in whatever hidey-holes of theirs remained, since even after that initial impact death rained down upon them like angry bio-plasma from the local dragon-hawks, both molten and solid as the remnants of their home shifted and collapsed around them. Soon enough, though, this too subsided, and the drake-termites emerged, their ranks of teeth and claws sullied and largely-vaporised to no more than two or three thousand in number, but plenty enough remaining to seek and destroy the Thing that had done this, which had put to uselessness so much work and effort.

The Thing sat there, in the cooling hole which had been their home. Not the Thing, no - this thing had been inside the other Thing, which was no longer coherent in form. This Thing, the passenger, didn't look much like any dragons that had been eaten by the hive before. It was the wrong shape and colour, more of a ball than a dragon. Some sort of food, maybe a fruit from the trees? No - it had survived what had destroyed their hive, and even swarming over it, their weapons didn't scratch its armour, though the armour was indeed that of a dragon. It felt about right, at least, even if it didn't look right.

Then the ball began to break. At first the drake-termites scattered back, partly from the force and partly from sheer instinct. Not a fruit... an egg! The food was within, a newborn dragon to eat! Even as the egg hatched, they started forward again-

Then stopped.

Something important was in it. Of course, they couldn't understand why this was, for the dragons of Phlogiston Quaternus were not intelligent, they had no conception of psychic power or synaptic connection or mental rewiring- but whatever the Thing was, it was important. More important than them. Important enough that they had to do what it wanted.

It was completion, in a way that no dragon on the planet had ever realised it was missing before.

And it was hungry. Surviving death was a lot of energy.

Hunger, they did understand; and so whilst half of the drake-termites formed a barricade around their new, their new, queen? No, it was more important than even that, and it needed a guard of over a thousand palm-sized insectile drakes, whilst the other half surged into the jungle, seeking prey to swarm, to consume...

No. To feed to their All.

By the time the child had emerged from his cocoon, the biological defense system that had kept him from harm retreating steadily into his body to leave him lying on the floor, he'd already grown used to the chittering, incoherent, non-verbal thoughts of his new protectors. They weren't like him - he picked one up in his clawed hand, turning it over to look at its ochre underbelly, and the six tiny clawed limbs that wriggled on its underside, and recognised very quickly that he didn't have nearly so many arms as that. Arms, and legs. Two arms, two legs, instead of six tiny legs. He was different. But they followed him anyway. Because he was bigger? Because he had two arms and two legs?

Neither did he have much understanding of his own psychic powers, not yet at least. That would come in time. For now, he was a babe, albeit already the size of a toddler, with claws on his fingers, and vision that extended in the four cardinal directions and was duly processed into an image far more detailed and expansive than that of any lesser being.

And... he was hungry. So, for a snack, he crushed the tiny protector, his claws backed with much strength piercing its shell and ending its life near-instantly, and then he ate it, his rows of teeth crushing the meat and exoskeleton into paste, the flavour profiles processed, catalogued, and efficiently converted into forms that were wholly edible as he swallowed the protector's meat.

He didn't eat more of them, though. They were his. They wanted to protect him. It made sense that he should also protect them, instead of eating more. That was how a pack worked... pack? Hive? Colony, army, brood, clutch, pod, shrewdness clutch chattering bed drove skulk leash crashthunderbloatcompanyaggregationpandemonium-

Lots of words he didn't quite comprehend passed through his mind. They didn't have letters to them, his thoughts for now as non-verbal as his protectors, but what they represented was all quite similar. Groups, which worked with each other. Blood, often, in this case so, but not always.

Did they have a queen? No, dead. But her youngest spawn had been fed properly, and survived, and would develop into one, and take over again. Good. Or- she would develop, and become second under him. Unusual. Acceptable.

Now the meal returned. Some of the protectors were dead. This was fine, that happened a lot. They worked to protect the queen, and now him - they did not breed themselves. They didn't matter, if it protected the hive. Food, though: a large thing similar to the protectors, but the size of himself, with the marks of extreme damage done to it. Throat opened, bleeding. No more legs - all six removed, and brought to him.

This could be eaten without remorse. So he did, his mouth opening wide to take a great bite out of its bleeding neck, its vivid violet vitality spilling down his throat in a hot wash of flavour, even whilst the flesh was chewed to ruin and swallowed down, never mind the burning that started after the first bite before steadily fading. His first true meal. Delicious flesh.

He ate half before he was finished, letting out a burp, and letting the protectors have their feed. They needed to eat too, maybe even more often, since they were so small. For now, he was sated, and wanted to digest. So as they ate, he clambered over on all fours to a nearby... tree, then clawed up its bark to the branches, pulling down the larger leaves on its branches so they fell to the ground. Then, back down, and arrange the leaves to cover himself.

He yawned, after all that, and closed his eyes. He'd be fine. The protectors would keep him safe whilst he slept, yes. And then... then he could learn more about this nice place.

Kaoru's entrance into the auditorium was relatively quiet, rather secluded one might say. He didn't see a reason to interact with the other students right now. Why should he, when they ranged from the lunatic jumping off of buildings, to fish people who'd probably never worked a day in their life to make their Quirks work for them? Not to mention the quiet ones. Of course, he'd have to speak to most of them at some point, but for now, he was entirely content in his factual superiority over them.

He was. Frankly, whilst he stood out as pretty tall compared to most of the others, what really set him apart was how much work he'd put in to get here. Maybe if he'd gotten into UA, there'd be matches for his prowess... but whatever. Ishin was still the number two Hero Academy in Japan. He knew he'd succeed here. Get his license. And then show the world his ability - and maybe teach a few youngsters how to get to where he stood in a decade or two. Well, he'd be a bit above that by then, but it was a good start for those kids.

These ones, on the other hand, well... he supposed it was never too late for people to learn from their betters, though how much potential his teachings could extract from them might be limited now. Heck, he had more to learn too. That was why he was here: how could he become a high-ranking Hero if he didn't constantly improve himself, too? Self-improvement had made him a student; further self-improvement would make him a Hero. Maybe even the #1 Hero in all of Japan, if he was good enough. Heh... that'd be great.


Physical Description
For his age, Kaoru is fairly tall. At 174 cm, he sticks out as looking almost like an older student, matched by a shock of pale blue hair grown out into luscious locks below his shoulders, and a fairly lean and well-built figure. Contrariwise, his casual outfits tend to be nondescript - simple dark tees and trousers, albeit accented with a bomber jacket in colder climates. Lastly, his eyes have a habit of flipping between purple and amber seemingly based on his body temperature, with lower temperatures leading to yellower eyes; this is purely a holdover from an ancestor's Quirk, with no effect on his current Quirk so far as he can tell.

Personal History
A great deal of Kaoru's life has been spent training.

This was not necessarily intentional, mind you. As most children do, he idolised the Pro Heroes of the world, making a certain number of friends based on mutual appreciation of heroes like Big Booster and Hawks. Naturally, when at last Kaoru's own bubble-making Quirk arose (a holdover of his father's air-blowing Quirk and his mother's skin film Quirk), he was delighted! Not so much, however, as he quickly realised that aside from maybe getting soap in somebody's eyes, it was kind of useless for actually being a hero.

Thus began an extremely unusual way of thinking for a child his age. A hyperfocus on what he could do, and what he could do to make it be more useful. To that end, he asked his mother Karin if he could take up martial arts! Surely that'd let him pull it off, and maybe even become a Pro Hero!

"Oh... I'm sorry, honey, but I don't think your Quirk will be very good for being a hero..."

Not that that stopped him from trying his five year old heart out. More friends were made at his new jujutsu and aikido classes, and after a special request was made, he also received extra training from a private tutor in karate, who went even further as to teach him more about his Quirk through internalising the lessons of kokoro, rei, and aiki - contextually attitude, courtesy, and will, and more specifically the will to combine one's energy with an opponent's not to ensure a mutual kill, but to overcome and redirect their energy to guarantee victory without injury.

Each victory in this respect was subtly denigrated. An effort to keep him humble - but in practice, moulding him unerringly toward the way of will rather than truly benefiting from a positive attitude. He started to grow snide, proceeding in his education moreso for his physical betterment than anything else. He began driving away his friends as he started to put himself above them. In private, he even made the claim to his mother that he'd be a Pro Hero with or without a Quirk!

"That's quite enough, dear! You need to stop pressing toward this nonsense; how do you expect to save people with your power when you can't even keep yourself safe with it?"

Again she put him down by trying to keep his ideals realistic. And as for his father, Kuuya?

"Son, sometimes there are things people just can't do- and that's okay. You can't judge a turtle for not leaping up a waterfall and turning into a dragon, after all."

To hell with his defeatist parents, then! If he had to leap up a waterfall and become a dragon to become a hero, he'd damn well do it! But that necessitated being able to make that leap to begin with - and they were right: bubbles alone did not a Hero make.

Another bout of highly unusual behaviour spawned from this. To solve a seemingly-intractable problem, he had to think around the problem's individual components. He could make bubbles. They had air in them, of course, but that seemed kind of incidental. So what about the bubble itself, the "film" part of the Quirk? How could he weaponise that? What could he do to make what was basically just soap into a weapon?

Eventually, at the age of eleven, that notion clicked in his mind. It wasn't just soap - it was soaps.

Once that realisation had come, developing his powers became a hell of a lot easier. He had something to work with; soaps to research, ways to produce soap that wasn't bubbles, and eventually the production of other fluids to clean with: shampoo! Lye! Bleach!

"Oh my God! Kaoru, what happened to your hands?!"

As it turns out, both lye and bleach are rather corrosive substances, and his first try at making them demanded rather serious medical attention to keep the skin of his hands from completely dissolving. Best to avoid them unless he couldn't help it, then.

All this time, he'd been steadily degrading in other areas. By the time he got out of hospital after that incident, he'd grown to realise his last "friend" really didn't see fit to associate with him anymore, and whilst he'd attained black belts in his martial arts, the group teachers eventually saw fit to bar him from further education, on the basis that he was upsetting his fellows and, in the end, didn't really understand what they were teaching him. Then bah; they could rot for all he cared. He'd spent all this time making his Quirk into something he could use, ensuring his martial arts and physique were finely tuned, then so what if they didn't want the same for him or themselves? He'd join an academy, show off his skills, and then he'd meet people who agreed with the way he saw things, and perhaps even educate some of them on what they needed to do to become as great as him. It'd be tough, sure, but if he could turn bubbles into a useful ability, what couldn't he do?

Character Arc
Kaoru's character development will likely be similar to that of Mirio's from canon - or rather, his power development will likely follow a similar pattern. Initially, his Quirk was ineffective in a fight, and whilst he has made progress toward its improvement, it still has a very long way to go to reach its maximum potential.
Furthermore, Kaoru himself is rather the embodiment of an arrogant kung fu guy: whilst not trained in kung fu, he has received education in various other Japanese martial arts, and he's very well aware of how far he's come from when he first started, all hidden by a veneer of civility that may make it hard to see the smugness beneath it. Most likely, he'll wind up receiving lessons on notions such as "being kind to one's peers instead of nice", "not thinking oneself the most capable person around even in areas one has no experience in", and "no, you cannot beat anybody and everybody with skill alone, there genuinely are people who are better than you in every way, and by a wide margin at that". Though depending on how the plot progresses, these lessons may take some time to internalise... to that end, genuine friendships not based on his being subtly pushy about how they act and how they use their Quirk will probably help him a great deal.

Quirk Description
Once upon a time, Kaoru's Quirk might have been easily mistaken as merely the generation of bubbles. But with time, practice, and a great deal of consideration, Super Soaper proves to be far more effective than just this: its nature is the generation out of his skin of soaps, shampoos, and other such cleaning products, a disproportionately-broad spectrum of substances with the general properties of being slippery and germ-washing-away assisted largely by a strong knowledge of the associated materials and chemicals present.
In practice, the actual versatility comes with how he uses it: one of the most obvious uses is to cover an opponent in soap and reduce their friction, making it much harder for them to move around. He is not nearly so hindered by this issue thanks to a great deal of practice, allowing him to slide around on his own soap trail with immense speed compared to the average person. Additionally, one would be surprised how hard it is to concentrate or, well, see clearly with soap in one's eyes, not to mention the effects it can have on sensitive equipment such as firearms or electronics. At its most extreme, he can even produce rather more dangerous substances to inflict direct damage - lye or bleach come to mind, though as he lacks direct resistance to their effects, even producing them could cause him just as much harm as his target. More subtly, he could also damage his skin or hair follicles over time by producing too much of the wrong type of soap or shampoo; to wit, the stuff he uses to wash his hair every morning is a particular formulation designed to avoid precisely this.
Whilst lack of specific resistance is merely a limitation, his true weakness comes with the fact that all of his substances work best at a rather specific moisture level: if it is too dry, say due to an extreme rise or fall of temperature, his soap will film up and stop being slippery or pop any bubbles he makes before they can perform their function properly; and whilst some additional wetness could make the soap even more slippery, too much extra liquidity will dilute it beyond usefulness, if it isn't simply washed away outright.
Good to know RE psyoniks. Also, ELMA + Cytokine + Psy Overclocker = Carnage, I assume. I will ask again, however: I assume we can't have any stats at or below 0, and/or that those represent Bad Times if those wind up that way?
I might lean hard into the psykic side of things. Make a psyonik who's got all the most psykic stuff. Because they're psykic. Only problem there that I'm noticing is some pretty serious reliability issues if I try to go down that route... anything I can do to balance the two points out? (Also, to wit, I assume having a stat at or below 0 is mechanically inviable and/or in-universe Bad.)
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