tatakai

[usurpers]

Who: eren jaeger & anyone!
When: ♾!
Where: aefenglom and beyond!
What: a permanent log post for top levels and personalized starters for however long!
Warnings: attempts at man-eating (or puca eating). will continue to update as needed!


(hello! 👋 if you’d like to plot something out, hmu through a pm, liberos

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october 💥 2020

[usurpers]

@mettaton, ft. mikasa; october 31st (cw: body horror)

[usurpers]

[ perhaps he should’ve stuck closer to styx tonight, but who knew that the month’s rare and second full moon would be his first hassle in a long, long time. elliot was gone, and eren hadn’t been a stranger to holding onto a single bond for magic and supplementing with questionable drinks. it shouldn’t have been a problem.

the problem lied in consuming enough witches and maiming still living ones for their blood on the night the mirrorbound chose to protect the sleepers of dorchacht; there had been an emptiness in him since then. a hole that pleaded to be filled every time he closed his eyes. it would snatch his sleep away and keep his dreams hostage, it would leave him anxious and irritable and hungry the more the twin sisters waxed into spheres.

he crawls from his hole outside of the bright wall and closer to the wilde’s gentle spring edge for comfort. his body twists and his bones pop, some crack, he cries out to nothing as the agony felt like deafening white noise. the full moon seized his frame and made the spines on his back elongate, his tail spread, his chest expand and his neck to swell in length. his skin rips apart, and the burning beneath it forces eren to relentlessly claw his way out of it, sinking talons into his face and his sides with more desperation to be rid of what caged him, what hurt to stay stranded in.

the wyvern now standing upon the remains of a human, pieces of bloody flesh and what have you, rose from its steaming heat and shimmering black scales, pitch as the unsullied sky, to greet the full moons with a shriek that sang a famished song. and he wondered there, as he fell into a drumming silence that wanted to stretch his newly fit wings— was there anyone out there who’d like to listen to it? ]

[glitzandglamour]

[There would be a recipient to that song, the smell of an interloper on the wind. But how elusive a figure; how ghastly a presence it would be, this audience of Eren's.

Mettaton's restless. Addicted to blood but picky about its source, Monsters wouldn't do, and he preferred practicing Witches — his Bonded, really, for the most intoxicating of experiences like the finest of wines. He had a Bonded who would maintain his addiction offer up his neck whenever he pleased, but as Mettaton was unable to focus enough to return to his side, the Puca found himself distracted and wanting, trying to solicit the attention of Witches as though seduction would be the key to getting their necks between his teeth.

But when he found nobody would pay a single iota of attention to him, he got mad. Spiteful fury overcame him, violent the more the moons exerted their influence upon him. His rage was growing and his hunger for blood ever increased, his desire to pick fights and be chased or to chase growing beyond him. His legs itched and he needed an outlet that nobody would provide. How dare everyone ignore him, on such a crucial night! When no Witch would approach and no Monster would chase, he made the only "sane" decision that night, to retreat toward the Wilde where he was sure he'd be able to work the night off on his own.

Indeed, Mettaton stands nearby — in sight, in fact, but somehow out of sight. He was strangely difficult to spot, a specter-like haze obscuring his boisterous presence. The robot witnesses Eren's grisly transformation, his succumbing to the full moon and inky scales, his golden eye quite glowing under the moons. Dark black fur reaches along more of his body than before, his presence difficult to notice despite standing close enough for his ears to rise in alarm, his attention rapt as the Dragon emerged from both his hole and his very own skin.

A strange "power" blooms newly in the Puca, and that power makes him all but a ghost to those not paying careful attention. But with senses intended to taste smell, how could Eren mistaken his elusive company for anyone else? The spark of electricity and astringency of metal, somehow sweet and shocking at once. All it would take is to focus on the right spot, to track him down like a true thrill of the hunt, to find him.

Mettaton's temporarily distracted from his plight, and instead wonders with sick curiosity if he could get Eren to pay attention to him. He remembers him on their last full moon, daunting and demanding, and he wonders if he could be that way again... It serves only as a potential thrill to a thrill-seeking Puca, even as he's glued to his spot from the rattling sound of his cry. He stands under the thick branches of a greening tree which hid Mettaton even from the moons overhead — but he makes no effort to break his instinct to freeze at the startle of Eren's roar, not yet.]

[usurpers]

[ the polar opposites that fought inside him— lonely, he was, but enraged that such must be his fate. no, he would not be alone, as much as his heart pleaded to be, the dragon in him hungered for contact, for conversation, for a slosh down his throat, maybe . . . he scents the air before him, a pointed skull tipped back, before the massive reptile exhaled steam, euphoria, and the rasp of a voice twisted into something unlike a man. it was dangerous, but it was charming. it was as profound and dark as a trench, grating like stone being crushed together in an endless rumble. ]

Come out . . . Now. [ metal . . . ozone . . . chemical. organic fur weaved between it. eren cannot see past the darkness that blended so well with the specter that the puca was able to hide behind (intentional or not), and there the dragon strained his eyes to stare beneath the tree, wide with pupils thinned, the tips of his brilliant horns rasping against the tree’s lower branches, and then, with a crack, he effortlessly breaks it by the base of its roots to bend it out of the way. the earth quivers and hushes when the wood falls with its swayed canopy. his tongue slips out, long and thin, dances in the air that scented the strongest, and there he rumbled, low and even enticing: ] I can tasssste you, Mettaton.

[ why would he hide? to toy with him? the dragon holds his breath, their ambience going eerily silent, and where the scent and taste of the robot puca bundles in front of him, eren’s neck snakes into a curl behind him, into a positioned strike most land serpents would take . . . only waiting. oh, he wouldn’t strike. yet. he’s just very . . . very . . . curious. ]

[glitzandglamour]

[Mettaton's ears bolt up. He... could notice him? Somehow, despite the night he'd been having, Eren could taste him.

And yet he stood before him, in his line of sight. No, his new power was uncontrollable, and he was in a constant state of odd invisibility, as though on a plane of existence separate from this one. But somehow, Eren could taste him, and knew it was him.

There was something chilling about that, he decided. And yet... thrilling. There was danger in the air, but there was the tease of being seen; and if Mettaton was to fall victim to anything, it was a chance at being noticed. Eren was offering this. He was the first person all night to notice him.

His luminous gaze is locked on Eren's figure while his body remains so still that not even the sharpest of ears could pick up a sound out of him. The light of the sisters highlights his acquaintance's line-like pupils, crystalline horns felling a tree with ease as though he'd tear this place apart looking for the robot, if he had to. Mettaton doesn't move. And in not moving, he tempts fate. In not moving, he remains hidden to all other senses. Eren even rears back in a posture he knows is for a strike, and he's somehow pinpointed the robot without even seeing him.

Mettaton's lip peels back in something of a taunting snarl. With the lack of focus in Eren's gaze, he can tell: he doesn't even see him! He only tastes him, and that's where it ends! Mettaton is offended.]

And I'm a taste worth a game of chance, aren't I? [Cocky in spite of his fear, he's so scared he's not even moving. Yet he's also furious.] Because you're not even looking at me, darling. How dare you. Is this how you treat a guest?

[Unfortunately, unnoticeability was a wretched thing. There was a chance his voice could even be ignored by Eren: the only way to circumvent his present circumstance was to touch him, unless Eren got lucky and managed to overcome the boundaries of notice. And Mettaton wanted to be noticed, even at his demise. He hates feeling like a ghost, and his head wasn't making much sense, prioritizing his ego, his safety, his fear, and his temptation in cycles.

That was ego. And this, for a fleeting moment, is fear:]

What are you... doing?

[usurpers]

[ it felt like the wind. the robot's voice fell to a whisper and made the dragon's ears prick up almost as a third set of triangle horns that try to filter the noise of the tree leaves shivering and the ground thumping. where there was something, there was nothing.

his neck remains the same, a pretzel, a near figure eight close to his thorax and iridescent chest marking the cracks of light and heat from an angry fire. as it comes close to the grass, the almost-contact forces the small earthy blades to curl into dryness, to shrivel and lose the life it held to the fever of his body. in his movement, he steps right by mettaton, he turns, he searches . . . and his tail drags a circle behind where the rabbit should be, decorated with a marvelous stack of thorny, equally gem-like spines turned needles. ]

You know what the Wilde is for. [ the dragon's voice drumrolls into a begging sort of purr. oh, he was hungry . . . he was hungry and he was offended. why was the puca straying from his sights—? did he not want to spend time with him? entertain him? was he frightened? upset? was he wanting something of him that eren had yet to approve . . . or even be aware of? he assumes this ghastly voice speaks of what he does out here, or, maybe he's just being purposefully dodgy. ] But why would you hide from me—?

[ maybe it wasn't even mettaton at all. maybe it was an illusionary pest. a nightmare moth. d̷̨i̵n̵̕͜n͠er̨ . . . ]

november 💥 2020

[usurpers]

@viren, masquerade

[usurpers]

[ it's eren's second masquerade here, and he shows for the possibility of easing nerves that always seem tense somehow. his clothes are a sleeveless inspiration to what could comfortably fit on a dragon that's always moving, so everything he wears it at a descent mix of party-appropriate and free. yes. free. there's no mask to hide his identity, just one impaled through its empty into one of his horns as a decoration.

he takes a break from drinking, for the most part, and ends up gravitating toward the empty pool tables. he's never seen these before and stalks around the frame, runs his hands across felt and studies every corner from the nets to the balls. and the stick. hm. he can get an idea on how to play this. get the balls into the net. sounds simple enough.

eren jaeger takes the stick by its thinnest end and prepares to swing the thicker end onto a yellow ball, being aimed at a blue one. it won't go well, mind. ]

1/2

[bloodwit]

[ and viren hadn't been quite so preoccupied by the pool tables, but lingering about a circle of people chatting, listening and mostly disagreeing with so many of the opinions (as he's wont to do), when he hears the smack of wood against resin, and a little too close for comfort, at that; he just barely finds himself missed by a flying one. it collides against the ground, unpleasantly. ]

Who—

[ he rounds on where the noise originated, prepared to chide (it's been an exhausting night already, frankly, in that respect)- ]

[bloodwit]

[ ah. ]

[ culprit spotted, viren deflates, just a bit. ]

Eren.

[ a puff of a sigh. ]

You're wielding that like a club.

[usurpers]

[ damn . . . a miss. a miss that nearly takes someone’s skull out, he thinks, and very carefully, eren turns . . . away . . . and faces the most adjacent wall, proceeding to inspect his stick and aim a swing at the next one. a slower swing, a tap, maybe? so he won’t hit anyone. he’s caught anyway. ]

How else are you supposed to hit it?

[ like baseball. come on. (he doesn’t know a thing about baseball beyond it involving a ball, a bat and a glove). eren’s wording is straightforward and brash, but he doesn’t mean to sound arrogant. he simply really doesn’t know what other way was meant for this empty bar game. ]

[bloodwit]

[ viren stoops to fetch the misguided ball, then pulling himself nearer to eren's side to roll it back onto the table. he takes a spare pool cue. an eyebrow arcs, and with a pointed nod as he (hopefully) has garnered the other's attention fully - ]

[ he ducks nearer to the table, end of the stick lifted, and emulates a jabbing motion with it. ]

Like so.

december 💥 2020

[usurpers]

@maria

[usurpers]

[ it was strangely discomforting to be stripped from his own magical quirks, but it hadn't put a pause on any of his strengths and weakness, behavior or draconic habits. the hunger still rumbled in his belly when something angered him, but the winter chill had dampened his will to truly bother. eren was still affected by the cold, and now, without even the heat of his breath sack devoid of fire, he's left trying his best to use enchanted layers of clothes, blankets over his shoulders, everything that made him a walking lump of something that looked as if it should be sleeping rather than out here. what was he doing?

manual labor. this part of town still had ways to go even when he'd been working on it for nearly three weeks, every day. he would've finished much, much sooner if he could handle it: peculiar, the passerbys that know eren, that they'd find him picking up average bulks of broken wood, actually using tools rather than his bare hands to take mangled house frames apart and into planks. the planks, he'd carry four to five at most, and even struggle with his balance until the middle of them were each on his shoulder.

he's making an effort, he's tiring out— he's not using his dragon strength, all thanks to the cuff of binding magic strapped to his ankle. ]

[whomthebelltolls]

[She'd... seen some of the destruction, of course. It didn't run through too many of the areas she frequented, but it was difficult to miss. Besides, she could hear the murmurs - nothing specific, but something about brute dragons and destructive tendencies, and she feels that old energy in the back of her mind that sets her hunter instincts on edge.

The same one that led her to threaten all the Monsters in this world. The kind that nearly saw her in a fight with Mhairi on her first arrival. She'd since made a tenuous peace with the Monsters, and the fact most of them retained their faculties, but in the face of this kind of destruction...

Well, all that happens in the back of her mind is a niggling little voice that says I told you so and reaffirms that maybe her Hunter mindset is right. Maybe some day all that's going to happen is the Monsters will turn on them all, and show themselves to be no better than Beasts.

Eren is difficult to miss, even when she's just walking about town, doing some shopping for the upcoming holidays, and there's a bustle in the streets. What is odd is how he looks - she knows him to become sluggish during the colder months, she discovered this the past winter, but he's worse than usual. And he seems to be struggling with things he should be otherwise capable of.

She misses the anklet at first, because she's more watching the way he seems overburdened by a few wooden planks, and it's just as she sees one about to tilt down and probably fall that she finally steps in, lifting the back end of them up to rebalance them.] ... Is the cold really this bad for you?

[usurpers]

[ just when he could feel weight begin to slip back, his hold tightens, he throws his body forward and his tail arches just some moments too late— some, and then many, would be toppling to the ground again had it not been for the safety catch of the witch’s aid behind him. shoulders slouch but immediately work to fixing the imbalance before it happened again, and once he was sure of the equilibrium, let his head hang until it dipped sideways to regard maria. he knew the smell and taste of hot magic before his eyes could focus, but even his tongue was positively sluggish. ]

It’s worse this season, [ but that’s all on him and soren. yes, the both of them. this is one thing he knew he wasn’t solely to blame for. awkwardly, it feels as if he cuts himself from continuing with his first thought, something that had to do with it but instead . . . maybe what’s truly warranted instead: ] thanks.

[whomthebelltolls]

[She regards him again. She's seen him in a state similar to this several times before, of course. With as worn as he's acting, the fact he's not in his small dragon form is curious. Once she's sure the planks are balanced again, she looks him over again.

There's a thick bracelet on one leg she doesn't remember being there before; it's tinged in a sort of choking, constricting magic she can sense from where she's standing, and it just raises more questions.]

Do you need your heat spells recharged again?

[She eyes his arm-wings, his back, his tail; some of them will be covered, but given his lack of coverage in general, she should be able to feel a few of them. Still curiously, it feels like that anklet would... suck the magic right out of them.

She looks back down.] And what is that thing on your ankle? It looks like a shackle. Feels like one, as well.

@mikasa

[usurpers]

[ another day another . . . (internal groaning). another cold day hauling broken planks of wood to the farmlands for better chopping. eren doesn’t a complain a hair to the community service he must do on the pocket of town he’s destroyed. it wasn’t about being powerless, either. for once, the cold is what wins out on making eren look like he’s better off under the covers than working. still, he says nothing, and simply does what he must. the dragon has rope tied to the bundle of planks and hauls them outside the bright wall and into the farm’s territory of summer heat warming his limbs.

the best part of the day, he’d say. fatigued and spent, both to drag around an oddly mild amount of wood compared to his usual count, eren stops during his journey to sit on top of the pile, breathe— and lay there to soak up the sun like a desperate sponge. ]

[stopfen]

[Meanwhile Mikasa was... bored. Bored and a little cold as the winter days were drawn out. She'd done all the work she could do, there was only so much sewing and crafts she could do. Even if it was for a good cause.

The fae huffed. She'd tried running but it was too cold to do that for long. Her normal workout session wasn't cutting it. None of her normal training partners were responding, the messages weren't even getting through to their watches.

Until she comes across his name. Hmm... He'd never beaten her in hand to hand before, but he was stronger here... A challenge. Something to wear out her energy on. So she's just sending a message before thinking.]

Do you want to spar?

[usurpers]

[ this reads more as “do you want to get your ass kicked?” coming from mikasa. not going to lie. in truth he’s tired and just wants to sleep, his muscles were wearing in a way that it’s been a long time since he’s felt. his brand new battle scars are somewhat fresh on his frame and, to get a bit of a kick for this . . . he opens up his canteen of ardric’s warmth and drinks. ]

Might not be what you’re expecting.

[stopfen]

I know you never won before. But you were one of the better ones.

[Unintentionally the most backhanded compliment she could have given there. Testy. She grump as she paced around the makeshift training room she'd put together in her time here. Just a section of the basement. Not that she had anything like a sandbag, for now it was just a cleared space. Enough to move around without having to leave.

But she's taking that as a yes.

Because it hadn't been a now.]

I'm at the cottage, unless you know a better place?

[Though if the dragon did go to the fae's territory. He'd find a bit of resistance and the boundary that marked her garden. Only for a second before the fae let him pass the ring she'd set up. He'd gotten passage, this time.]

@styx

[usurpers]

[ it’s winter, a lovely time of the month for many, and an icky one for others. eren falls right into others as the city grows colder and dampens both his mood and metabolism. it wasn’t to say he was irritable, perhaps he was too sluggish to feel anything too passionate in emotion. he’s just making his way through his den, down a tunnel and up a hole that leads to the house he’s many months ago led styx to stay in.

he used to visit here with frequency too, and now, that frequency returns once they’ve bonded. but maybe styx had yet to see how eren gets to his new home all the time without needing to knock: behold.

he’s literally crawling out of a hole beneath the floorboards, bundled in about five layers of knitted poncho and still looking like he could use a nap as much as company. ]

[tothemetal]

[in all honesty, it's really something that he should have noticed by now. forget the fact that ninety percent of the time Eren is simply there whenever he decides to swing by - the hole's right underneath his fucking bed. shouldn't the constant draft have alerted him to something!?

but Styx's mind is endearingly empty on the inside, and even in a place like this the number of his possessions are impressively low. with nothing he'd ever really needed to shove under there for storage he'd simply...never bothered to so much as move the bed to a different position, let alone peer beneath. any chills he might feel as the months turned colder was easily remedied by piling on more blankets for a cozy atmosphere.

he's making use of those same cozy blankets when his bonded chooses to visit now, as a matter of fact. today was a beautiful day, bright and clear with air so crisp you felt as if it might snap right before you - perfect for outdoor decorating. he'd spent a painstaking amount of time modifying the holiday things he'd bought to add a little cheer to his favorite dragon's, uh...entry hole, and at last it seemed like the perfect time to set them up. as soon as he finished drum practice for the day he'd head over!!

...except he'd gone maybe a little too hard in his session today, spurred on by the excitement of a special activity in the near future. even after toweling off the big guy had been unable to shake the waves of fatigue rolling off him, to the point that as he'd packed up the box of festivity his bed had become irresistibly attractive.

it had been an exceptionally nice nap, all things considered, until his bedframe started gently shaking. the witch was a deep sleeper but this was enough to prompt even him to roll over onto his side, bleary eyes scraping open to try and find the source of this localized earthquake. his vision is still smeared by drowsiness, but he manages to spot the culprit easily enough thanks to its proximity: a massive pile of knitwear crawling its way out from under his bed.

ah, his sleepy brain remarked, that made sense. he must have put those clothes down there sometime earlier and now they were sticking out too far.

(Styx has never owned a poncho in his life)

with a contented hum, happy to have arrived at such a simple conclusion, one of his massive hands slid from the mattress to drop down onto Eren's head. it pats the bits of the dragon's hair that it can find between yarn and horn, affectionate, before attempting to push him back under the bed. he'll fold those later, when he gets up for real.]

[usurpers]

[ getting pushed back down ended him so badly eren was left staring through a void space and dropping down with any force handed to him. this is it. maybe his one true destination was always going to be back in his stupid hole. maybe this is where he belongs—

not today. it’s cold today. it’s cold and he can’t even shrink to help with holding in the heat. the lump of sentient laundry is pushed down back into the trench it came from, but only moments after . . . the bed shakes, something hitting it from underneath. eren’s horns rake against the frame until he’s defying the hand that pet him, and pushed through the spaces like a horror movie entity slowly pooling onto the floor in a weird, weird crawl. call an exorcist, maybe? there’s only a curtain of hair over the dragon’s face, it’s more likely styx will see black. ]

i'm really sorry

[tothemetal]

[the laundry was back where it belonged, patiently waiting for another hour or so to pass when it could be properly set away into a dresser or something instead of crumpled under the bed. Styx is satisfied and about to roll over when -

when a fucking earthquake hits!?!!? the big guy has no fucking clue what's going on, only that his bed is vibrating like someone set it on the spin cycle. all the clothes are oozing back out from below, there's the sound of scraping wood, he thinks the roof is coming down? it's all happening way too fast for someone who isn't technically conscious right now, and it shows in how belatedly his noise of confusion comes.

he needs...he needs to sit up like, yesterday. but that task is difficult to achieve under pressure, especially when your resting place is trembling and the hand you're pushing down on to brace yourself is shored up against the open air - thanks for moving your fucking melon head so damn fast, Eren. with a startled cry the witch falls right off the bed, just barely missing braining himself on the framework as it flashes past.

his lower half lands squarely atop the dragon's back, while the rest is caught up in the trailing ponchos. it's uncomfortable, but more importantly...it means that he's very gently being dragged along on this strange journey his clothes have decided to undertake. all he can do is stare up at the ceiling in a daze, eyes snapping back to the view instantly when he dares to glance over and spies what is possibly the world's largest hairball in existence at the head of this mobile pile. w-what the hell, it hasn't been that long since he swept down there!

where the hell did his clothes need to be right now anyway? they were clean...at least, he thought they were clean. were they taking him away to sacrifice him in the basement? had he angered them somehow? ...should he apologize???

his hand slaps kind of uselessly at the floor, trying in vain to slow their already sluggish pace to a halt. it just makes an ungodly squeaking noise as it too is dragged along. nice.]