#< more specific tag for it. for my own sanity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prettyboykatsuki · 2 months

Note

I can just imagine fujo neet reader practicing different sex position with rin to make sure she gets the proportions right.

✮ tags ; fem!reader, sexual tension, rin's pov, RIN IS KIND OF MEAN TO HER BUT HE WANTS HER SO BAD FDKJJS, reader is a fujoshi and bl mangaka, pre-relationship, they work together, part of a ficverse i haven't written yet Sorry, ONE JOKE ABOUT RIN WANTING TO OFF HIMSELF, SUPER SUGGESTIVE LOL 18+

✮ wc ; 3.5k (WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!)

✮ a/n ; i had to do this for my sanity. i promise i will write them a proper fic with them i promise.

You never text Rin.

Not really. Not first at least. It's a new... friendship. Kind of. Sort of. Most of your communication thus far has been through meetings and random in-person chance encounters. Outside of that, Rin will call you since it's faster. If you do "text", it's mostly through twitter DM's.

There's a discord server your fans run, and you pop in there often enough. He's had the invitation extended but declined unilaterally, since he'd rather not see himself fucking Isagi anymore than he already has in his short, miserable career.

It surprised him this morning, seeing your message flash across the top of his screen. Asking, specifically, for him to come over and help you with something related to the new manga you were writing. He had it in his right mind to decline, but after learning it wasn't a doujin for him, he semi-reluctantly agreed.

Rin doesn't know when exactly your relationship to him grew this...comfortable. Inviting him over to your house, begging him for favors, not wincing every time he talks to you. Rin isn't an extrovert but compared to you he's a social butterfly. And your aversion to people in general, Rin thought, would prevent you from doing anything more than squeak at him forever just like you did when he met you.

(Though nothing in his life has been normal since your arrival in it. He's not sure why you would remain unchanged when he certainly hasn't.)

He doesn't know what to feel when you ask him for a favor, and he doesn't know what force of nature compels him to go. If it's morbid curiosity or annoyance or something else even worse.

It was compelling enough to take the train all the way out to Machida - an hour long trip from his own place. His manager hounded him to take you something, so he has a bag of ginseng energy drinks and snacks with him as a gift. He took the bus with his mask on, and then walked all the way to your building.

Your apartment is tucked somewhere classically suburban - attached at the far end of a residential street and behind concrete support beams for a highway just overhead. Cherry blossom trees and other shades of white flowers grow around it in thick patches, making the entrance hard to find. Rin would've had trouble if you didn’t give him details on exactly where to go.

It's an older building, stone walls worn and grass-stained from age. At the gate are groups of old people talking amongst each other as they sort through recycling and trash. All visor hats and sunspots, they fawn over Rin for a long while before he goes in and interrogates him with questions. None of them know him, which is relieving. It quickly graduates to them asking who he's there to visit, if he has a girlfriend or not.

All of them ooh and aah when he mentions your name, say something about being relieved she's found a man so handsome and that Rin should marry you because even though you're a little strange you're a good girl. Rin does not have the time nor energy to correct them - only nods and bows his head and leaves.

On the elevator ride up to your floor, he can't help but think repeatedly that this isn't the kind of place he'd expect you to live. He thought it'd be out in the middle of nowhere, maybe in a damp and broken building.

But this is a nice place with nice people, vibrant and colorful. Totally opposite from what he considers your personality.

Suitable or not, Rin manages to make it to your floor without a hitch.

He finds you, then, as he'd expect. Down a long hall, behind an unassuming white door. When you open it, you're a mess. Your hair completely unkempt, face greasy, a wild look in your eyes and complete surprise in your expression as if you didn't invite him over. You do, however, manage to invite him in without stuttering or stumbling over your words foolishly like you did the first time you spoke to him.

Another surprise is how... clean your living room is. It's lived in but he was expecting more mess in there. Your bedroom is in a similar state, undoubtedly messy but not terrible. Your NEET tendencies finally end up showing when you drag Rin into your office where you draw your manga.

It's not dirty but it's cluttered. There's a pull out sofa on one wall, with a blanket and pillow littered about and pages upon pages of paper sheets with scrapped panels about the floor. One wall has a bunch of post-its with several notes in both English and Japanese, and another has tacked up pieces of art. Both yours and other peoples. He chooses to ignore the ones of him and Isagi, The walls themselves are cream colored and uninteresting and the wood floors are slippery. At the far end of the room is a spread of desks, a PC set-up and a professional looking tablet among various art supplies in stacked boxes.

It's this room you bring Rin into without explaining yourself at all, mumbling and muttering as you give him a place to sit and go back to your work for fifteen silent minutes.

When you're finally finished doing whatever the fuck you were doing, you turn yourself back towards Rin. Bluelight glasses fall down the bridge of your nose as you swivel around in your chair - your sweatpants half pulled up your leg with the other pulled down. You're wearing fuzzy socks with Naruto characters on them.

You stare at him, pulling your glasses off and rubbing your eyes - dark circles under them.

"Uhm," Your voice is clipped and thick with exhaustion. "You came."

Rin deadpans. "You asked me to come."

"I thought you'd say no."

He did too. He doesn't respond back. You chew your lips, already anxious and Rin resists the urge to say something about it.

"Okay. Uhm. Please don't get mad," You start with and then explain, looking away. Your hands pull your sleeves over your palms. "So. Like. For my new series, I'm finally getting to the sex scene but I've never drawn characters with an intense height difference like this. And I need... new reference photos.... and uhm," You rub your feet together on your chair where you sit "Well our height differences and size is the exact one my characters have. So."

Rin stares at you. "So?"

"SoIwaswonderingifyou'dtakereferenceimagesforsexpositionswithme,"

Rin feels his jaw lock. "Slower."

You frown and look away, tucking your chin with embarrassment. "I was uhm, like, wondering if you'd take... take the uhm, sex position reference photos with me, please."

"What?"

You clasp your hands together, immediately prostrating yourself by throwing yourself down the ground. He flinches back, wondering if you're gonna hold onto his leg next.

"Please, please help me. You're the exact height of my seme and you uhm have similar builds and he's doing the most of the legwork. The poses are a little bit hard but I want them to look good or Minami-san will eat me and I'm scared of her, please help me."

"Who is Minami-san?"

You sniffle, on the verge of tears just thinking about it. "My editor. She used to be my fan. She's scary. Please, Rin-kun, please."

"What the hell did you do before?"

You frown at him, big wet puppy-dog eyes.

"It was hard. Sometimes I'd pose with my big stuffed animals and make up the proportions. Oh and usually watched porn and stuff. Sometimes I'd get lucky with stockphotos. But I don’t get the angle exactly right unless I have good references."

Rin wonders if anything you have ever said has processed in your mind before saying it. He doubts it for some reason.

"So," Rin pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes the image of you humping your stuffed animals out of his head. "You're asking me to.. pose with you?"

You nod and chew your lip. "Please, I promise I'd never ask you for this if I wasn't s-scared of Minami-san! Please?"

"I should make you pay me for this," He sneers. You flinch back and close your eyes.

"I'm sorry." You whine wetly, but then open your eyes again anyway. "Please help me."

Rin doesn't know why he helps you. Maybe you're just too pathetic for him to ignore. Maybe he's a masochist. Maybe inhaling the same air as Bachira last week turned him stupid.

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine."

If Rin didn't believe you before when you told him you make your own references, he'd definitely believe you after you take him to your bedroom.

Your bed is in the center of your room, instead of being pushed against a wall. Large stuffed animals laid in one corner. On both sides of the room, are makeshift digital camera stands and remote-controlled lighting among another remote for said cameras. There's about 4-6 angles from what you explained to Rin, and a few adjustable lights. It's an elaborate set-up and takes the kind of dedication Rin can only imagine a hardcore fujoshi freak like yourself thinking up.

All of this to mostly draw porn of him and his rival. He tries not to think about it too hard because he thinks it's going to give him an aneurysm. Rin sits at the edge of your bed as you adjust each of the cameras individually.

"What do you do if it's not on a bed?"

You flinch like you aren't expecting him to talk. "Uhm. I either simulate as best I can o-or move my things and bed around. It's why I moved my desk to my office."

Rin stares at you. "You take it seriously."

You nod meekly. "Producing high-quality doujin is what made me money, so I have to work hard. Being poor is tough."

If Rin didn't find you so unbearable he might find that awe-inspiring in his own fucked up way.

"Okay. Everything is set-up. Now for the poses," You say, suddenly sparking back to life. Rin sits and watches. "They're having sex on a public beach so the bed and the way the seme sort of sinks into the sand will be good... I think the bridge one is the one we'll do first."

"The bridge?"

You nod, talking in short sentences. But Rin can tell this is where you're comfortable, doing things for this... hobby. Your usual constant embarrassment and shame seem to disappear when it comes to it. It's fascinating like a car crash. "Uhm. You have to stand on your knees and then, I'll lay on my back and arch my back up to meet your... y'know. It'll emphasize the height difference."

Rin stares at you agape. You take the remote control for your cameras in your hands and look at him expectantly.

Rin doesn't know whats wrong with him. Why the hell did he agree to this?

"Do you want me to take my jacket off?"

You nod, surprised. He shrugs the thing off of his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor.

Rin, per your instruction, gets into the position in the middle of the bed. He stands on his knees waiting for you. You join him a minute after, squinting at your phone screen beforehand. He isn't sure what he's expecting as a result of your ask, but he sure is shocked when he finds you placing your feet flat on the bed next to his knees and pushing yourself up for your crotch to meet his.

He knows that’s what you said but your shamelessness proves to be… shocking.

He tries not to let it show. His jaw ticks. His face feels warm but his expression remains neutral all the same. You shift and adjust and don't seem concerned at all - like it doesn't occur to you that this is in any way socially unacceptable. Or it's unfathomable Rin would take advantage of this. That this is weird, or could be interpreted in less than innocent ways. Rin knows you're so out of touch that it probably isn't. That this is, to you, just considered a favor which is partially why he even agrees.

But you're mid-brushing up against his bulge. The angle of your back forms a triangle, your arms laid flat at your sides as you squirm and push. And your expression shifts, deep in thought.

"Uhm, like, would you mind p-putting your hands on my hips? Kind of squeezing tight like it's," You flush this time, but Rin harbors doubt it's about him. "Like it feels good I guess? Like hard, and stuff so you can see the indent."

He's so astonished, he does it on autopilot. Neutral and even. He lets his hands grab your hips and holds tight just as you ask. Your long, loose sweatshirt falls down revealing the soft skin of your tummy. He can see the tops of your underwear, the thin cotton kind that come in 6-packs with a single bow in the middle in a grey color.

You don't seem to care about it. Rin shouldn't either, but his body does seem to care. His brain does. Something is happening in his gut. Anger maybe. Some cheap, frustrated desire to make fun of you.

Instead the words he's been wanting to ask since you proposed this tumble out of his mouth. He stares at you.

"Is this the first time someone's done this with you?"

You jump with a start, but remain in position. You take the pictures first, six clicks in a row before answering.

"H-huh? Why-why are you asking that?"

He doesn't know. Really. And he knows how it sounds. Rin doesn't say anything and you fold under the immense pressure of his gaze.

"S-stop staring," You say, and take a few more pictures, lowering your back just a little but still staying up right. "And no. No one tall enough or with the right physique."

There is another gnawing question, another burning curiosity. He makes his voice as even and unaffected and apathetic as he can. As mean as possible.

"Have you ever even had sex?"

Your eyes blow wide, but you seem to fall for the persona of apathy, curious boredom and cruelty. Worse, you seem a little used to it. You squirm this time and Rin holds you firmly in place. Your voice is small.

"Uhm, like, once I guess. I-it was with a guy, I didn't really date him but he seemed interested in me and I didn't think I'd ever have the opportunity again s-so I did it and I didn't uhm, it wasn't very good or anything." You reply, and he can feel your toes curl in your socks next to him and his brain feels like it'll melt from out of his ears. "Sorry, I don't-don't think you care about that, just uhm, felt like I should explain."

"Yeah," Rin feels dizzy. "Do you need another pose?"

You blink and then nod. "Yeah! Another one kind of like this, but with the legs like uhm, on your chest and my feet closer to your head. With you leaned back a little. Does that make sense? The butterfly position, I think."

Rin swallows something at the back of throat.

He nods, pulling you into position so easily he can heard you gasp. Your legs straighten against his clothed chest, and your sweatshirt falls far enough to let him see your bra. A fabric sports kind, a little worn - just the logo visible. He doesn't say anything about it, your feet resting near his neck. You make a little soft noise.

"This feels a little difficult to be in. Poor uke. Sorry if this one is kind of weird, but can you put your hands, I dunno, on my ass, I guess? I know that's probably too much but I think it'll be a good detail, so please? I'll pay you"

Rin stares at you, teeth gritting so hard he feels the back of his skull throb. "Fine."

Rin, per your request, puts his hands on your ass. It's easy enough, and he doesn't hold too tight. But it's too intimate, too stupidly fucking intimate, and he can feel you. You're hardly paying attention, caught up in your own head with whatever else. Rin is paying too much attention. Like how your sweatpants aren't thick enough to cover the outline of your frumpy cotton panties and how your soft all over. He's going to kill someone. Maybe himself.

Six more clicks and a little noise of satisfaction.

"Okay!!! I think these will turn out so great, and I can use them later too. Just one more. I have a lot of refs for this position, but uhm - I want to see if I can get the proportions correct, so if you'd please lay down," You tell him with such genuine excitement he can't find it in himself to say anything horribly cruel. "I'll be doing most of the work this time. I just-just need to see how uke will compare..."

You mutter something to yourself as Rin lets you down and lays himself down on your bed. You sit next to him for a long while, squinting at your phone. Rin stares at you as you. Wonders if he's gone completely insane, and tries to ignore the doom of the impending hard-on cozying itself in his pants.

Unceremoniously, you find yourself perching over Rin's lap. Not bothering to give him any pretense, it's the one thing about today that's really getting him.

"Oh, I need my hands for this," You give him the remote and stare down at him wide-eyed, over his lap. This has to be hell. "Could you take the photos this time?"

He closes his eyes and counts to ten and wonders if a concussion has made him insane. "Hm."

You brighten and Rin feels his chest go tight. "Thanks!"

Rin just nods, his mouth drying as you start to move and pose. A picture with your hands next to his head, and anothe r where you're sat up - your hands at your sides. Rin obediently takes pictures when you ask, his entire body tensing every single time you move.

"Okay, last one," You say. This time, you put your hands on his chest. Just the one. You must have something specific in your head that you're wanting to recreate. You bend down close, looking down at him as you do - your other hand clenched.

Rin looks up at you. He should not be thinking about you in any way. He's looking at the way your lips curve and plump and at your bare skin and your dark circles and your stupid licensed anime hoodie. He just gapes at you in confusion and mystique. He's around so many weirdos. It's not like there's anything special about you. You’re just another freak who makes porn of him. Plenty of people do that.

A loser and an idiot with no sense of self-preservation. There's nothing special about this, but Rin hasn’t been able to convince himself of that.

You stare down at him.

"Take a picture?"

Rin looks at you. Studies your expression. You seem like you're thinking. It's the only oppurtunity he has to pry.

"Did you want to ask something?" He says first. “You’re not hard to read.”

You startle, then nod. Your hand is on his chest. It's warm, and smaller than his.

"Oh, I-I guess I was wondering about what you asked me earlier. And uhm, like, I don't know. If you ever did anything. Your relationships aren't in the media and fans speculate but," You fall flat on your words. "I guess I was just curious."

Rin hates this question. It's why he never answers it. Why he hates being called a hearthrob, always too shallow and too personal for his taste.

"Nothing long term or serious. It was most for physical relief." Rin says, almost on autopilot. “Not that’d you know what that’s like.”

Your eyes widen. Rin feels his hands twitch, watching your expression finally grown conscious of him. Lust spreads through you like honey and Rin can see it in how you look. You squirm in his lap. He's not usually so aggressive, not usually one to care about sex in any important way. Not one to brag about something so unbelievably inane and trivial.

But it's bothering him, just how much he's fighting the urge to pin you down and fuck you. You of all people. It's not like him. Rough sex is whatever, but it's bothering him how little any of it seems to register in your head anymore like it once did. You could barely breathe the first time you met.

He doesn't know why he cares that you don’t anymore. He doesn’t give a shit about anything related to you

But the thought nothing seems to bother you anymore bothers him.

"Oh... I see. That's uhm, interesting. I b-bet you have a lot more experience than me. Maybe it'd be a good thing to keep you around for that kind of refernce too," You joke.

Rin lets his hand slip up to your hips without asking, not bothering to hide it anymore. His head feels with nothing but stupid useless thoughts. Thoughts of fucking you in your old, worn clothes and stained shirts and comfortable cotton underwear. Thoughts of your hands clutching at his shoulder all weepy with desire and need and stupidity - your big wide eyes bleary and sensitive. It's cruel how relentlessly he thinks about taking advantage of all your differences. Of how unathletic and awkward and unused to everything you are.

It's horrible just how much he's staving off his own arousal about it. Maybe you're strange habits are infecting him, making him strange too strange. All Rin can think about uselessly is how easily he could put you in your place. Fix you in some strange way. You’d be his to fix and you’d cry and weep and want to run away. Rin wouldn’t let you, keep you pinned and caged like an animal.

His throat feels tight. What is fucking wrong with him today?

Is he that pent up? He stares at you, and gets some passing feeling that there is more to it than that. He closes his eyes.

"Whatever," He says, letting go. You don't seem to notice it again, how thick his voice is getting "Are you almost done?"

You nod and smile. "Yes. Thank you."

Rin feels his heart tug and seethes. “You're welcome."

#return to sender #writing tag #fujoverse #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #bluelock x reader #THIS IS KIND OF COOKING ME TO DEATRH IM?

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the-kr8tor · 3 months

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hi hi! can you pretty please do a hobie x witchy reader? as in like the reader does small manifesting spells or he goes to their place for the first time and they have sage and a little alter? thank you!!

Hello! Thank you for requesting! I drew an inspo around that one cute meme!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, Fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie lays spread eagle on your floor, lit candles and crystals circling around his form. The smell of sage permeates around the entire room.

The darkness of your room makes him squint, taking a peek at your scrunched up face, concentrating on what's written on your book. Despite the scene looking like he's about to be sacrificed, Hobie has a lopsided smile, hand slyly reaching towards your knee, pointing finger brushing along your skin, eyes practically shaped like hearts whilst staring at your pout.

“I think I got it, Hobie.” you cut the silence, tilting your head when he doesn't respond. Moving the book away, your heart sings at his adorable expression. “You okay?”

He hums, scratching his nail gently across your skin.

“Hobie? My love?” You'd think he's under your spell but you haven't done anything yet. “I can stop if you feel uncomfortable.” you take his hand away from your knee, taking it in yours, squeezing it three times.

“‘m not. Is this spell supposed to make me fancy you more? ‘cause I think it's workin’” He jokes, slyly pulling you down towards him.

“Thought you already fancy me?” You indulge him, letting him pull you closer until you're only a breath away.

“That's why I said ‘more’, love.”

You giggle, pecking his lips once. He resists the urge to deepen the kiss. “This one is for your own protection, y’know, keep you safe while you're swinging and punching bad guys.” Sighing, you put your hand beside his head for stability, the simple act has Hobie swallowing thickly. “I worry everytime you go out. I guess this one is for my own sanity.”

Hobie chases your lips, kissing the corner softly, hand cupping the back of your neck.

“I'd let you do anythin', just don't take my spider abilities, yeah?” He jokes to lighten your mood and you chuckle. “Hit me with your best protection spell.”

“Thank you.” You say against his lips, kissing him once, leaning away then quickly giving him five kisses in quick succession.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie fluff #fanfic #hobie x reader

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xitadori · 1 year

Text

"variety is the spice of life!"

summary: your stoic coworker, kento, intimidates everyone at the office, including you. he's determined to change that, however, when your favorite coffee mug goes missing from the break room.

pairing: coworker!nanami kento x f!reader

tags: office au, coworkers to ?, budding feelings, mention of reader's mom, gojo is a menace

wc: 4k

There are a few personal rules Kento tries to abide by during the workday to keep his sanity.

Never work after hours.

Avoid Satoru Gojo whenever possible.

And last, but most importantly,

3. Coffee.

The company break room feels stale as he walks in, though it's not unusual for the cramped space. It's been untouched for the morning, the motion-activated lights flicking on with his first foot through the door. Kento revels in the quiet. There's a long day of conference calls and urgent-but-not-so-urgent email chains to scour through -- he can already feel the ache throbbing inside his skull at the thought of it all.

Sighing, Kento prepares a pot of coffee with nimble fingers. The warm brew smells heavenly as it begins to drip down into the rounded glass.

Drip, drip, drip.

Whatever benevolent spirit that cursed him into running the stupid rat race has to be smiling upon him at the moment, he's sure of it.

Gurgle, pop, drip.

"Oh, good morning, Kento," a small voice breaks the blanket surrounding the room. He knows it's you without even looking. He'll blame it on your distinct voice, but really, this is all part of a little routine he'd grown a little too reliant on over the past month or so.

Over the gurgle of the machine, Kento listens to you shelf your bag and hang your coat. "Good morning," and when he says your name, it feels a little extra soft, a little too smooth in his mouth. He clears his throat with a minuscule furrow of his brow.

You only hum in response. He's pouring the coffee into the tall silver thermos he carries like a prayer, and with his back turned to you, you allow your gaze to drift over him, a little more freely than you would any other time. Kento's broad shoulders move wonderfully under the crisp button-up. You admire the taper of his cornsilk hair, how neat every strand always sits, perfect and poised just like the man himself.

"Have a good day."

And just like that, Kento, with his sharp features, offers the tiniest smile you'd ever seen before breezing past you, that deliciously robust scent of pure black coffee following him out the door.

He left some in the pot for you, with your signature mug placed directly before the machine.

Some things were unavoidable, as unfortunate as they may be. Kento Nanami is an intelligent man, with too much on his plate and perhaps a little too much patience for his own good. But patience does not equal amusement -- especially not when it comes to a specific coworker.

"And so I said, hey, my name's not on the list, but it can be in your phone," Satoru Gojo chuckles as he tosses a crinkled ball of paper between his hands, ass wedged sturdily against Kento's desk as if it were molded there. His head of white hair stands tall and stark above the partial cubicle walls separating workers. How he never gets in trouble with their boss, Kento never knows -- it's not like he's seen Satoru do much actual work in the time they've both been with the company.

Kento sighs. "So you bothered a hostess at a restaurant you knew you didn't have a reservation at," he pauses his typing to glance at his coworker, a look of disapproval etched into his angular face, "and that's a good thing?"

Satoru rolls his eyes, blowing a raspberry casually. "I didn't bother her. It's called making a move, Nanamin. That's how you get places! You see an opening, and you go for it." He tosses the paper ball extra high and snatches it out of the air with a flourish. "You're so boring, Nanami. Can't get anywhere good if you're staying stagnant!"

"I didn't know you knew that word, Gojo."

"I know a lot of words."

Kento clenches his jaw. Idly, he grasps the thermos beside his keyboard. He stands and heads off toward the break room without another word to the lean man invading his space.

"Alright, catch ya later!" is called after him, but the words slip right off his turned back with ease.

Kento mulls over Satoru's words as his long legs guide him forward. Stagnant. Is that how one would describe him? He didn't exactly live the most exciting life at the moment. Working full time, going back home, relaxing with a book before bed, waking early, repeating it all again. It isn't glamorous by any means, but... that's just being an adult, right?

Well, maybe he could do with a little variety. His life has felt very much the same for the past handful of years, since his college days are behind him and there's less pressure to become a social creature.

Maybe Satoru was right. About this one thing. Not much else.

A couple of workers are busy chatting at a table when he enters. The room isn't what it is at 6:30 every morning -- it's more lively, with different conversations and the smells of lunches and it's all a little much to handle after listening to Satoru blabber on for twenty minutes. A few eyes fall on Kento almost immediately. His footsteps, even and direct, shout a signal even from down the hall. They all quiet themselves as he walks past toward the counters.

Your gaze lumps in with the couple already trained on his form. The air had shifted upon his arrival, falling a little more chilly, but as your eyes meet from behind his glasses, you find yourself wondering why.

Your coworkers begin to bin their meals, slowly picking up where they left off just moments before, but guiding themselves back to the call floor instead. Before long only a few stragglers, save for you and Kento, remain in the white tiled room.

The smell of coffee grounds hits you like a freight train. You sip quietly from your own steaming mug, poised in a shy manner on the far end of the counter line. It's been almost two months since your transfer to this location and you have yet to make many waves when it comes to your colleagues. It doesn't necessarily bother you -- you're not here to make friends anyways -- but the utter clique-iness of these adults does irk your somewhat delicate nerves. Maybe that's why you watch Kento, or, rather, the reaction Kento elicits, with such curiosity.

"Good afternoon," he greets you by name, clearing his throat, and you feel yourself jump the slightest bit. Had he noticed you looking at him? Were you staring?

You nod softly in his direction at your side and take another sip from your mug. "Afternoon, Kento."

He unscrews the cap for his thermos, looking rigid as he stares down into the cylinder. Boring. Stagnant. Kento allows himself to take in your form from his peripheral. You're leaned against the counter, much like Satoru against his desk earlier, but you look... withdrawn, almost lost in your own thoughts. He hasn't seen you interact much with any of your coworkers. Though, he can't decide if you're naturally more reserved, or if there's simply less animated energy when he enters a room in this building.

"How are you liking the new office?" he asks suddenly, surprising the both of you.

It takes you a moment to formulate words. This has already gone off script for your usual limited banter. Was he just being polite? Were you making him feel awkward? Below you, your feet shuffle a bit. "It's decent. Kind of quiet in my corner, which I appreciate."

A tiny smile grows on his face, though neither of you are directly looking at each other. "That's great, I'm glad to hear that." The coffee machine spits out the last few drops and he hastily refills his thermos, leaving enough for you to refill if you needed. "Take care," he says, and with that, returns to his desk before much else could take shape.

Baby steps. At least you didn't shuffle away as soon as he attempted that hackneyed bit of small talk. Kento sighs, though, running a hand over his tired face.

Maybe a little change might do some good in his life.

It seems the universe hates Kento Nanami, moreso than usual. His fingernail taps impatiently against the desk, tick, tick, tick, and it's as if every word that crawls into his ear simply falls out the other side, refusing to stick anywhere useful.

7:42.

He should be pulling into his driveway by now. He should be, by all accounts, stripping down to lounge clothes and settling in for a nice quiet meal. He should be listening to the client sneering his ear off, too, but it seems none of these things are going to happen tonight, for better or worse.

Eventually, the client falls off track and loses steam, bidding Kento goodbye and leaving him alone with a shrill dial tone and a pretty screensaver to stare at while his brain catches up.

What a waste of time. What a horrible way to break one of his cardinal office rules.

Kento sighs, gathering his things. The call floor is completely dead. Computers lay blank, chairs lay empty, and the only sounds surrounding him are that of his own shuffling and, presumably, the janitorial staff starting down the hall. He just wants to get home. The next two days off are almost taunting him as he glides toward the elevator, irritation bouncing him from foot to foot.

"Oh, fuck it all."

He stops.

"This is so ridiculous."

He listens.

"I can't believe... just... c'mon!"

He sighs. He knows that voice, drifting into the slightly darker hall, from a very bright break room. Suddenly, the call of his couch seems a little less important than it had a few moments ago. Kento peeks his head through the open door.

You're sitting on the tile, head in your hands and shoulders slumped in defeat. Every single cabinet lays wide open, their contents pulled out and piled onto countertops and tables and even the floor, surrounding you in a sea of sugar packets and disposable cutlery. If he didn't know better, he'd say a cafe style bomb had gone off.

When he says your name, it drips with cautious concern.

"Oh!" You jump, throwing a frazzled look over your shoulder. Everything feels thick and staticky the instant your gazes lock together. A warm rush of embarrassment pools under your skin, replacing the icy drip of anxiety from just seconds prior. The juxtaposition leaves you feeling prickly.

Kento is quiet for a moment. His eyes scan over the scene behind his glasses. "Is everything alright?" he asks.

No, you want to admit, but instead, you smile and shuffle to your feet as gracefully as you can manage. "Yeah, I'm just-- just looking for something." Your hands shake just the tiniest bit as you work to put everything back in its rightful place. Containers click against each other as they're hastily stacked and shelved. In the blur of embarrassment, you don't notice the man come closer until his shoulder bag is placed on the table, next to his thermos.

"Did you misplace something? I can help you look." His presence behind you feels strong, some stoic aura hard against your back, despite how kind his words come out.

"It's silly. Don't worry about it, Kento." You sigh. "I'll clean this up, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make a mess."

Large, veiny hands are already working to put everything away at your side, starting with the higher cupboards above your heads. He doesn't say much else until you're both finished and the disaster of a room goes back to the boring, stagnant state you meet in every morning. By the end, the tremble has died down, but there's still a strange sense of humiliation melded with a little self-pity heavy in your chest. "Thank you. You didn't have to help, you're already here late," you thread your arms through coat sleeves and watch him duck his head under his bag strap.

"It was no issue, you seemed upset. I'm sorry you've lost something. Maybe it'll turn up soon."

This is the most you've heard his voice in one day. It's smooth, like marble, working against the jagged edges of your mood.

"Yeah, maybe." you reply softly.

Kento glances at the dark hallway while you finish gathering your things. He hopes he's not coming off as impatient. Truthfully, finding you like this was a surprise, but some part of him felt... useful, to assist you like that, even if he didn't know what in the hell you were searching so hard for. Something told him not to press it. "Can I walk you to your car?" he asks suddenly. Gripping your bag, you blink up at him. Of course, you've seen him, you know what he looks like -- yet somehow, now, he seems different. There's a softness around his eyes, around his mouth as he speaks. "It's gotten dark. I'd feel much better knowing you got to your car safely."

"That's very kind. Thank you, Kento."

"Of course. Whenever you're ready."

True to his word, the parking lot is caked in darkness when you both wander outside of the officeplex. Tall overhead lights spit out cones of harsh light over the pavement. It's a strange familiarity to the early mornings he arrives, when the sky is still dim and the birds are still waking themselves. Kento scans the lot for whichever vehicle might belong to you out of the very few that remain.

"It's this one, there," you say quietly, leading him off to the side and several lanes away.

He dutifully follows and stops just before the sidewalk dips down into the inky blacktop. Suddenly, something strikes him, a memory breaking into his thoughts like a desperate raccoon. "What is it that was lost?" Kento asks, his voice a tad louder than he intended with the both of you so isolated. Your hand pauses it's grip on the door handle and you're caught staring up at him like a deer in headlights.

"My mug." you admit. "My mom gave it to me."

He closes his mouth into a thin line. It must mean a lot to you, with the way you were acting. He hums and nods once stiffly. "Drive safely. Have a good weekend," Kento says, somewhat awkwardly, before turning to head to his own car a row behind yours.

Even in the darkness, you watch him go. "Thanks again, Kento. Goodnight."

He looks at you once more, paused at his driver's side door. "Goodnight."

So, maybe bending his own rules is okay, on occasion. Sure, he's at work even earlier than normal, and on a Monday no less, but he's not actually working, so it doesn't really count.

Kento walks briskly down the flat, dotted carpet of the call floor. He scans over desks as he passes, noting only anecdotally how messy some of his coworkers are, and sighs to himself. What is he doing? Looking for a silly little homemade mug at 5 am?

Maybe Satoru infected him with something, being so close the week before.

Light begins to pool across the floor, bleeding in from long windows spanning the far wall. He's already searched their particular hall a few times to no avail. Kento doesn't necessarily want to dig through people's work stations without proper suspicion, but at this point, even he's become a little bothered by the utter disappearance. It's not special to him like it seems to be to you -- but it couldn't simply have gotten up and walked away. What if someone broke it and threw it away without saying anything? You'd be devastated, if your stressed expression had anything to say last Friday.

Kento grumbles to himself at the end of the final pass. No white mug with scribbled little hearts.

On the way to the break room, he considers buying you a replacement. Would that be strange? Would you appreciate the idea, or think him dismissive for it?

The blonde is too caught in his thoughts to notice someone tailing him.

"Hey-- Hey! Damn, you walk fast."

Kento's blood runs cold as soon as a hand grasps onto his forearm. A cheshire grin greets him as soon as he whips himself around and claims his arm as his own again. Satoru, looking like the cat that caught the canary, beams a pearly smile, ever unaffected by Kento's disinterest in him. The confidence radiating from this man is irritating so early in the morning.

"Why are you here so early?" Kento asks flatly, not stopping his stride. Satoru jogs just a little to match his pace.

"I could ask you the same thing! You should use this time more wisely, like hitting the gym or something, not stalking around looking through people's stuff!" The sly man tips a brow. "Never took you as the nosy one between us, Nanamin."

Kento clenches his jaw and turns a corner. "I'm not being nosy. I'm looking for something that's been lost."

At this, Satoru makes a sound similar to a raowing cat, strangely amused. Kento internally groans. He's up to something.

"Did she ask you to look, or are you looking on your own?"

He stops. Satoru stops a few steps ahead.

"What?"

The white haired man smiles, mischief alight in his eerily blue eyes. He says your name so casually, as if you're a daily topic of discussion, before continuing, "you don't talk to anybody else here, besides her and I. I'll never catch you dead at a nightclub or anywhere else fun, so, hey! I gave you an opening."

Anger bubbles up in Kento's throat. If he had seen how close to tears you were a few nights ago, he wouldn't be smiling so smugly right now. And if Kento didn't want to deal with the nightmare that would be HR, he would throttle his little frenemy, looking all too pleased with himself. Instead of saying what he really wanted, Kento grumbles stiffly instead.

"Where is it?"

"In my bag--"

"Give it to me."

"Woah now, eager, aren't we? So I was right? You do like her!"

Kento pinches his bridge. How juvenile. How... strange, someone as self-centered as Satoru noticed the minuscule interactions between you both. "It was wrong of you to take it, especially for such a stupid reason. She was really upset about it. Give it to me before you break it."

Satoru mumbles something about being right under his breath before producing the ceramic like a delicate crown in his hands.

Kento takes it and continues his trek, his throat feeling a little tighter than before. He runs his gaze over the mug. It could do with a thorough cleaning after being in Satoru's possession for a few days. Down the hall where he left him, Satoru yelps out, "variety is the spice of life!" as if he's supposed to know what he means by it.

That morning, you don't join him in the break room. Kento stares into his thermos. Your bag isn't where it usually sits, and your designated hook on the wall lays empty. Did you even come in today? He feels his chest squeeze. Maybe this meant more to you than he could realize. Next to the gurgling machine, your mug lays in shining condition, the messy cursive now legible after he spent so long running nimble fingers over the glazed surface. Your name, with a hasty little good luck! tacked on underneath, surrounded by hearts.

Kento leaves the break room with both of his hands full.

A fireworks display stares at you in the form of a generic screensaver. You've been on the clock for a good while, yet, your keyboard sits cold. How silly, being so upset over something like this, at your age. Moving away to the big city, taking a leap with your career, but leaving your family behind... it's just part of being an adult, right? An uncomfortable itchy lump catches in your throat that you try to swallow away. You need some water. You need something.

"Good morning," at the sound of your name, the first thought is that you're being scolded for simply sitting on the clock -- but then it hits you, who exactly that voice belongs to. Over your shoulder, you turn to see familiar blonde hair, and those broad shoulders from before. Kento stands straight as a board. He's looking down at your bag, propped against the desk leg. He clears his throat.

"I wasn't sure how you take your coffee, so I put a little cream and sugar. I hope it tastes alright."

You find yourself gaping, a fish out of water. A hurricane lets loose in your stomach at the sight of his outstretched arm, offering you a shining gem. Steam rises easily out of the white ceramic. The smell is heavenly and you're not sure if it's from the coffee alone anymore.

"How did you..." you start, but shut yourself off before your voice can waver any more. You take the mug with care and caution and stare into the creamy tan liquid like a kid on Christmas. Kento watches your face morph from apathy to wonder as you take in the situation. You don't even take a sip, but place it on your desk and stare at it for a moment in silence.

"If you don't like it, I can make more." he says, the usual smooth tone escaping him in favor of something akin to nervousness. Maybe what he thought would be a kind favor came across as something... creepy? His jaw works against itself as he considers an exit route.

"Kento, this is... thank you so much." The chair beneath you creaks with how fast you stand and tuck yourself into his torso -- your arms wrap around him, your face smooshes unceremoniously against his firm chest. The force of your hug is enough to make you both loose footing in surprise.

Kento's body completely ignites at once. From head to toe, he's burning up, an unfamiliar swirl and flutter dancing under every inch of skin. "I know it seems silly, but... this means a lot to me. Thank you so much. You're so kind." you mutter into his shirt.

Slow to the catch, Kento lays his unoccupied hand over your back. By the way you fist the cotton between you both, he can tell you needed this -- at least, something like this, some sort of emotional relief. The turmoil wreaking havoc in his stomach pushes him to rub small circles where he dares to hold you further against him. "Of course," he clears his throat and dares to glance around, wondering if anyone had noticed, "I didn't like how upset you were. I... found it, this morning."

You peel yourself away, only partially, to look up at his face that now has a healthy glow to it. "Sorry," and you break yourself away, despite how warm he feels in your personal bubble, "that was kind of uncalled for."

"It's alright, I don't mind."

He smiles. More than the microexpressions you've previously been gifted with under the guise of general manners, his smile feels purposeful and genuine as it stretches across his angular face. And you smile back.

"Would you mind walking me to my car again tonight?"

Kento clears his throat in an attempt to kill these strange insects tickling his chest.

"It would be my pleasure."

Against the quiet monotony of the call floor, a pair of ocean eyes watches you with far too much interest. The owner leans himself against one of the cubicle walls, resting his cheek against folded hands, and utters an almost dreamy sigh. "They grow up so fast." Satoru fake sniffles.

#kento;#nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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foodsies4me · 2 months

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April Malec fic rec!

Thanking @just-add-butter and @ariella9melody for this month's theme which is a double combo of "Outsider's POV" and "Let Alec have friends!" The same rules apply as always, one fic per author, even though all of these authors have other brilliant fics you should be reading and if you want to add your own recs in the comments, tags, or reblogs please feel free to do so! 😊

Also, I have tagged the authors whose Tumblr account I know, but if you'd prefer I not tag you, please tell me! I don't want these to be annoying for the authors.

One-shots:

Enthrallment by @smilebackwards: Magnus' magic being possessive and warlocks reacting to Magnus' magic being possessive, what more could you want? OC POV!

Summary:

It does look a little bad, Parmela thinks, looking at it from outside. As more specialists had been called in for consultation, they’d decamped to one of the larger conference rooms—eschewing attendance at A, B, AB, & O: The Impact of Blood Type on Non Subject Specific Blood Magic, because this was vastly more interesting and potentially important—and there are a round dozen high-level warlocks clustered around Alec, poking at him with magic. Or: Alec attends the Magical Inventions and Advances convention in hopes of recruiting warlocks for another Downworld Cabinet. The warlocks, however, are more interested—and concerned—by the blue magical aura following Alec around.

And I am breaking my own rules by rec-ing a second fic by smilebackwards: Portable Magic

Summary:

Magnus may go slightly overboard helping Alec set up for the book club gathering. Technically, perhaps, he didn’t need to create a signature cocktail or barter a favor to Raphael for O neg blood for the vampires or source the biscotti directly from Italy. But hospitality is important and these are Alec’s friends. He wants to make a good impression. Or: Alec is in a Downworld book club and Magnus finds this unaccountably fascinating.

I'll die on this (Under)hill by @clottedcreamfudge: like all of the fics written by clottedcreamfudge, this fic is downright hilarious. That said, poor Underhill. Underhill POV!

Summary:

The point is, Magnus Bane and Alec Lightwood clearly have an intimate knowledge of each other, and it has never once impacted on their work. What it is beginning to impact on, however, is Andrew’s sanity. Because apparently he really is the only one to have noticed it.

Be careful with my best friends heart by TheLostLightwood: A fic in Cat's perspective, who I maintain is one of the best characters in the series and we needed more of her! Cat POV!

Summary:

Catarina Loss had known Magnus for a long time, she had seen him cry, laugh, mourn, get injured and fall in love many times before. But she had never seen him more in love or more broken than she had in this moment. Cat's POV, as Alec is seriously injured in a fight against demons. And Magnus well he...

Alec's Little Ducklings by @to-the-stars-writing (this will be one of two recs for to the stars because I am being very bad at keeping to my rules this time around). Alec gets hurt and all of his friends appear to take care of him!

Summary:

After Alec's hurt coming home from the Hunter's Moon, he's left laid up in bed when the drug they gave him prevents his injuries from being healed by angelic or magical powers. Magnus is fully prepared to do take care of his stubborn boyfriend, only to find out that there are a few other people who are more than willing to offer their help.

the right thing by @cuubism: As the summary says, Alec's first speech as the Inquisitor doesn't go exactly as planned. Izzy POV!

Summary:

Alec's first speech as Inquisitor doesn't go exactly as planned.

nock. draw. release by chaidrivenwhore: A non human POV, but a weapon POV! Alec's bow to be specific!

the bow and arrows had tempted many, but this specific one, with its curved limbs engraved with angelic runes and sharp arrows, straight and unbending, had called out to a nine year old alexander lightwood like no other had.

Multi-chapter fics or series:

Families of Choice by MonPetitTresor, a recommendation made by @ariella9melody that I can only agree with because this fic is wonderful (as are all fics my MonPetitTresor).

Summary:

Life at the Institute takes a turn for the worse for Alec. When he's alone with nowhere else to turn, his siblings step up and help him find his feet once more with help from a few new friends along the way. Between them, Alec finally gets a chance to realize that the world doesn't begin and end with being a Shadowhunter, and there's more out there for him, so long as he's got the courage to reach out and grab it.

ask the always impossible of me by @faejilly: Some very nice Aline and Alec friendship!

Summary:

Just for one night, a magical ball where anyone can meet, when anything is possible... And that's just the beginning.

Running from the Night by @to-the-stars-writing: I love how Stars depicts Alec's struggles with his mental health and there are a lot of friends for Alec in this one!

Summary:

For a long time, Alec had felt like his life was held together by strings tied on him by the Clave, his parents, his siblings. Strings that pulled and tugged him in every which direction, heedless of the bruises and blood left behind. As much as they hurt, some days they’d been the only thing to hold him together. That is, up until the moment Alec stood on the shores of Lake Lyn and faced the death of the one person who held a piece of his soul, and the lies that followed his mysterious resurrection. There, on the shores of Lake Lyn, those strings finally pulled too hard, and Alec broke. With the permission of the Inquisitor, and the help of the warlock who Alec had wanted so desperately to allow himself to fall for (and had been terrified to do more than smile at his flirting) Alec walked away from everything and everyone. He left New York behind and made himself a home in the small town of Prayer – a joke Magnus found particularly funny. But, two years after that fateful night, Alec’s old life comes knocking, and those strings he thought he’d finally cut are tugging him home. Back to the place he never wanted to have to see again. At least this time, he’s not facing it alone.

#fic rec #these ended up mainly being one shots #and outsider POV's #because most of the Alec friendship fics involve Alec being best friends with Clary #and I just don't like her as a character #so I generally skip those #and by generally I mean by nearly always #the Alec's ducklings being an exception #just for the other characters involved #my life would be so much easier if my brain didn't go NOPE each time a Clary & Alec friendship got mentioned tbh

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bhaalbabebardlock · 2 months

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Writing Masterpost

I have a lot of ~feelings~ about having to shift my pinned post from my long fic after almost three months. I'm shocked that I've started writing other things, but here we are. 🫣✨

The OCs of My Stories

~If it isn't a one shot, it has its own masterpost in addition to being listed here~

Daisies | Wasteland

Nature's Gifts | Hand That Feeds

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Messages | AO3

Writer's Discord | Dead Dove Discord

All BG3 related writing, summaries, and links below the cut!

Longfics

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Daisies On My Nightstand (AO3)

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(I stopped regularly updating chapters here since the fic has gotten so long, but there's background information/pictures of Ilara and some chapters were posted here originally!)

This is my longfic! It is so long. It is my baby. It is now longer than return of the king somehow. It has too many tropes, it has a slow burn romance, it has dark romance. There is Raphael and Gortash and Astarion and Shadowheart and. A lot. I mean a lot. I update chapters daily on a semi regular/consistent schedule. Please please be mindful of tags and chapter notes!

Summary:

The story of a Bhaal-Spawn who only ever wanted to be free.

Ilara would do anything for the people she loves, having never been freely allowed to do so before- including killing her past, denouncing her God, and damning 7,000 souls. Can she save herself, let alone anyone else?

--story has finished first half, see below for second half--

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The Wasteland Crown (AO3)

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Ilara started out wanting her own freedom, and continuously sacrificed it to save the people she cares for- somehow always fumbling everything in the process.

Was it worth it?

Can she save any of them still?

Can she even save herself?

-- the second and final half of the story about a Bhaal-spawn who is only trying to figure out what freedom, choices, power, and love even mean.--

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Nature's Gifts on AO3

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Self indulgent filthy smut that was supposed to be a one shot and now isn't. Tadpole smut and something going on with both Astarion and Gale and the weird little druid they're hanging out with. 😌

Unlike my other long fic, this is unlikely to be updated DAILY but will be updated often.

Major tags (others on AO3): m/f, m/f/m, inappropriate use of tadpoles, smut that grew feelings and plot

Summary:

If you're all stuck with these tadpoles anyway, is there really any harm in seeing what they can do?

She let her mind wander, finding herself aggravated more than anything when those thoughts turned to Astarion, to the way his lips had brushed against her ear. She let out an agitated breath as she thought of how he felt laying on top of her, his mouth against her pulse a few nights ago. The way she felt him trying to still his hips against hers, it was just a taste after all. It was just one bite. It's not like any clothes came off. And it certainly hasn't happened again.

But what if it did?

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Tandem on AO3

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A series of one shots told in no specific order about my evil durge, Lili(th) and her sole companion, Astarion. Some will be fluff, some will be smut, some will just be unhinged probably. This won't update often but they'll be around 💕

Major tags (more to be added): blood drinking, canon typical violence, eventually there will be more.

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The Hand That Feeds

Summary: After throwing the Karsus Crown into the Chionthar at the risk of losing her sanity, Lili has only Astarion to keep her grounded. Until she's kidnapped by someone that she held hands with, once, months ago.

Important tags: toxic Gale, creepy/yandere gale, god!Gale, asc!astarion, kidnapping, non-con, forced love

AO3 Link | Masterpost

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✨One Shots✨ (all nsfw)

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Ruin

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Full story on AO3

One shot, single chapter; 3,859 Words. Reader x Astarion;

Important tags: major character death warning, sad smut, explicit, F/M

Summary:

Five years after walking away from The Vampire Ascendant and everything he offered to you, you've returned to stop him from wreaking havoc on Baldur's Gate. That turns out to be harder than you think.

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The End

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Full Story on AO3

One shot, single chapter; 3,118 words

Tags: major character death warning, smut, F/F

Summary:

Second person Shadowheart POV.

After taking her place as Bhaal's chosen, your lover decided at the last moment to destroy the crown and give up her claim. You have one last night together.

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Weakness

One shot (so far, I might add more eventually); 1,286 words. Was done for a prompt, the prompt is revealed at the end.

Summary:

Astarion POV, first person.

Tav has come to find you in Baldur's Gate after disappearing years ago. Why?

"That would be showing a weakness, a vulnerability that I can longer afford. If it was ever something I could have afforded to begin with. Arguably, it hadn't been. She wormed her way between the cracks of my defenses, not even realizing what she was doing until it was too late. Until I was too far gone to stop her. "

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#fanfic #bg3 fanfic #masterpost #fanfic masterpost #my writing #bg3 fic #astarion smut #durgetash #gortash #astarion #bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 longfic #baldurs gate fic #baldurs gate 3

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nicoleanell · 10 months

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By POPULAR DEMAND (a couple of people said "hey Nicole I care about your Renfield 2023 meta")

Ever since I made this gif set of something that's grown to be one of my favorite moments in the movie, I was a little wary of responses to it? Not just whether the source or my highlighting of it would be interpreted as victim-blamey, but that some might actually use it as a jumping-off point to say something more insensitive and victim-blamey themselves in the comments/tags. (Which thankfully hasn't happened! But the first thing is a take I've seen from a couple of people.)

Now, I feel pretty strongly like "victim-blaming" or being anything but 100% on the side of the abused is the LAST thing Renfield (2023) is trying to do, considering [GESTURES AT THE ENTIRE MOVIE]. But I do think it needs to be unpacked a little bit.

This idea of having partially gotten yourself into a situation and that means you can get out and get better… that's not going to relate to EVERYONE'S experience. (Certainly not, for example, a person whose abuse started in childhood.) It's not a universal truth and I don't think it's meant to be. See that tumblr post going around about how fiction that's harmful (or just lightly off-putting) for some people can be healing for others, and vice versa.

But for this character it IS really important that he's not a perfect innocent victim but not an irredeemably bad person either. And it's also important that any Redemption he's capable of is not through shame and punishment, something he's had quite enough of already, but being alive and happy as the person he wants to be.

They have him acknowledge before the end of the movie - in a way that is framed as correct and honest - that he bears responsibility for where he ended up, on a very literal in-canon level. Although Dracula is manipulative and he's implied to have some degree of hypnotic power to influence/charm people, what did not happen (contrary to some versions of the story) was Renfield having his sanity and/or free will magicked away entirely. He made CHOICES. He continued making them!

But… there's something about the fact that he gets to own that without hating himself. He has to own it without hating himself. A not insignificant thing for him is to be able to say that he made mistakes and bad choices, and he takes responsibility for that, but that doesn't mean he deserves to suffer for those choices forever. He's allowed to move forward and be happy.

It's such a huge and weirdly nuanced take for this movie's version of Renfield to be fully accountable for his actions AND extremely sympathetic AND go basically unpunished.

Relatedly, I love the fact they acknowledge shame as a motivating influence on him, which is so fucking dark and sad and complicated coming from this movie?!?!?! A lot of people took that line to be specifically a queerness/attraction thing, and I think that's there and valid. But I also just took it to be like over time the primary way Drac manipulated him was through his shame over what he'd done & become.

Which is such a heartbreaking thing to throw in there, because everything else on that list (dreams etc) is a positive reinforcement -- the devil on your shoulder appealing to the things you want -- but then it crashes into this understanding that he didn't want to want some of those things, and that was also a button to push. There is something equally powerful to Dracula knowing what shames him and the exact ways he hates himself, maybe to take it away, maybe to just keep pressing it until he agrees he's worthless and deserves to suffer. That is MOST of the dynamic we actually see between them in the timeline of the movie, regardless of what their earlier relationship was like.

So the answer to that is not to say he's totally good and has done nothing shame-worthy, but it's also not to say he should be more ashamed actually, it's just… knowing all this and still believing he deserves to be alive and free.

IRL it's not uncommon for there to be a self-blaming factor within abusive relationships and some guilt and shame that goes along with that. It's not always incorrect to realize like: some of this was in my control, I gave a lot of power to this person willingly. I emotionally relied on them, I let my identity get wrapped up in them, I should've known better or stood up for myself or put up stronger boundaries earlier, and the fact I didn't just reinforced how hopeless I felt. It hits the same way for anybody struggling with addictive or self-destructive behavior. The flip side of all that can be understanding and forgiving that version of yourself and reclaiming that power rather than feeling ashamed and trapped by it.

And again! That's not necessarily the story or mindset that resonates with everyone, and it could be perceived badly if one feels it's speaking for all survivors. But if it resonates, it really does.

Last note: The movie also says very firmly that it is NOT as easy for everyone as simply "loving yourself, standing up for yourself, accepting responsibility etc." Like, I actualy think they made a pretty loud point that when your abuser is violent and vengeful and threatning to hurt you and others, you actually fucking CAN'T get out so easily and the self-help affirmations are kinda bullshit. HE NEEDED ALLIES AND SUPPORT IN A VERY REAL AND TANGIBLE WAY. Without Rebecca and also Tumblr he would've been fucked several times over. :) But the bullshit affirmations were still something that mattered to him emotionally, and something he drew strength from, to even get the belief it could get better into his own head.

#renfield #renfield 2023 #robert montague renfield

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petewentzisblack1312 · 6 months

Note

I was gonna ask you this anyway actually bc you know a lot of artists but I just kept forgetting bc adhd is kicking my ass rn but since you wanted asks: do you know of any cool online stores or artists selling stickers? im trying to decorate my new laptop and I bought a few on etsy but I wanna get more

made in a lab to answer this question bc all i do is look for artists that skew cool. i will also give artists that skew cute. some artists are in between these categories, that is, they have a cute artstyle with subject matter that at least at times skews cool. my metric for whats cool and whats cute is pretty much 'based on aesthetics if this were being sold at a basement show in the 90s to 00s would someone get called gay'. if the answer is yes, its cute. if the answer is no, its cool. i dont know if this makes sense but im gonna use this categorizing anyway. i will tag the artists who are on tumblr but otherwise im naming everyone by their instagram handle because thats where i look at art and im on my phone and cant link everyone without losing my sanity

coming back after writing this list i have GOT to put this under a cut

@cursedluver: cute/cool, mostly cool to me, very bright and colourful and his starpions are really fun

ummmheather: cute/cool, mostly cute but shes got some stuff thats silly in a more cool way if that makes sense.

strikegentlyco: cool, they only recently started making stickers so the selection is a bit limited but they do have lots of enamel pins

sheselle: i would say firmly on the cute side of things in aesthetics but i think her sense of humor can be interesting. new to me though. i think you will really love some of her stuff and not really be into others.

@sweatermuppet: cool, lots of queer political stuff

luluvanhoagland: cool but with a soft artstyle so it feels cute.

@sofftpunk: cute/cool, lots of lgbt stuff

thegraveyardrave: mostly cool, they do have a tumblr blog but its specifically for clownposting so i will not tag him

leestrawberrryshop: cute with a cool tilt, mostly white and pink with just lineart but its an interesting scribble/doodle style. memey at times

prettybadco: cool but lately this guys been doing so much i think you should leave fan merch and its not bad but i dont watch i think you should leave and its not what i followed for. the original stuff is pretty neat though

catcoven: medieval. giving this one its own category on the grounds that thats pretty self explanatory and more precise than cool/cute

interrupted by finding a bee in my bedroom while drinking slightly warm tea (house is closed and the windows in my room (also closed) have mosquito nets)

@verdant-succubus: cool but there is body horror and guts and stuff so tread lightly if youre sensitive to that sort of thing.

radhia rahman (knivesmeow): cute but i feel cool when i look at her art

abprallenuk: cool but the colour palletes are strictly pastel

svv.art: very cool

smdefelice: cool. mostly does screenprinting but i am pretty sure they do stickers also. however the shop is currently closed for con prep do i cannot confirm

lilboatboutique: cute/cool has a homesick at space camp sticker which is currently on my water bottle and which i own in 2 variants as an enamel pin.

kerin cunningham: cool. emo. the goat. what else is there to say.

@darbydraws: cool. quite like her stickers although her bread and butter is t shirts. also emo

xraeart: cool. alt streetwear brand so. yknow.

skullingway: cool. theyre one of my favourite artists hands down. not a lot of stickers tho

jordandebney: cool. this guy makes the coolest stickers but most of it is for his subscription box which is fine. theres 2 stickers not behind a paywall

elrosabel: cool stuff, cute style. she kinda like. soft closed. to do polymer clay sculptures. but she might have reopened? i know shes selling stuff under this project again

piratesarrrt: cool but in a soft style. similar subject matter to luluvanhoagland. which is to say weird girl heads.

seankeetonart: cool.

@moonlume: cute. the concepts are cool though

jimibiscuits: cool. this is one of my favourite artists i have. so many of his pins. he doesnt have a ton of stickers though iirc

@8pxl: i am going to invent a category called 'pretty'. i love pixel art and this is my favourite pixel artist ever.

i gotta fuckin stop

go forth and get some stickers

#dils declares

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wixed · 3 months

Text

Temptations of Circuits and Sin

CW for this chapter specifically: Elements of Noncon, Murder Kink, Noncon Knifeplay, Durge Murders People, Ritualistic Sacrifice, Possessive Language, Possessive Sex, Rough Oral, Face-fucking, Choking, Hair Pulling, Dom/Sub

DEAD DOVE Do not eat: Please mind the tags, step away if you need to. Mental health and safety ALWAYS come first.

Pairing: OC!Durge x Gortash

Words: 5130 Ao3 Link Part 1 Part 3

Summary : Durge experiences a troubling fascination with anatomy in a way that Bhaal disapproves of. This doesn't stop them from pursuing understanding in- what they believe- is secret. After attempting to manipulate the means of death in vile ways, they experience a break of sanity that a certain Tyrant witnesses. Their expertise in the natural sciences compels Gortash to ask Durge for aid in his own creations. Thus begins their tumultuous and whirlwind relationship.

Part 2

◤──•~✧Enver Gortash✧~•──◥

A loud clang of metal hitting stone echoed through the foundry workshop as the Steel Watcher crumpled to a heap. Enver closed his eyes in frustration at the failed attempt. He wished he could say he lost count, but he knew the exact measure of failure.

He gripped the head of his cane tightly as he walked over to the motionless Steel Watcher. He poked the useless metal with his cane, the body within peeking through the gaps in the armor.

“Is this your problem?” The bhaalspawn’s voice broke the air of frustration like the crack of a whip. Enver turned to the door they stood at and smiled.

“I was wondering when you’d stop by. It seems you have excellent timing.” He motioned to the desks flanked by the teaching boards. “Most of the details are either on the boards or in notebooks.” They stepped with a deliberate pace to quietly examine the boards. They studied the schematics, eyes scattering over the swath of information before them. Enver waited in silence, anticipating them to ask for clarification, or inquire about what it was he’d created. They moved to a notebook on the desk and flipped to a page to compare something to a sketch on the board. Their focus found a jar with a brain inside on the desk. It held their attention for quite a while. He eyed them quizzically, surely they couldn’t be running through the issue already.

“Your Steel Watchers are nothing more than a metal shell for a decaying body. The brain isn’t communicating with the host body within.” They turned to face him. He couldn’t help a look of impressed shock cascading over his usually controlled features.

“Am I correct?” They prodded him. He chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

“You, indeed, are correct. I am impressed that you managed to conclude all that from just a momentary glance at-”

They pointed to the notebook. “It says here. You logged it yesterday.” They smirked at him, having caught him in their snare. Instead of indignation or shame, he felt a lightheartedness in his chest. So, the spawn could make a joke.

“Touché.” He walked up beside them, directing his attention to the board. “Now, do you know how to go about solving the issue?”

They inhaled a breath, controlled and steady. Then their gaze landed on the brain jars once again. It traveled to the Steel Watcher on the floor, then traveled back to the board.

“I will need some time. Alone.” The attempt to command Enver within his own workshop was a commendable show of bravery.

“This is my workshop, Assassin. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with my presence, but I assure you, mine will be the only one plaguing you while you work.”

He heard a soft growl leave the bhaalspawn. They gripped their fists and then relaxed after a few more controlled breaths.

They said nothing more as they started to pore through the piled notes and schematics, decidedly not looking at him.

◤──•~ ҉ The Dark Urge ҉ ~•──◥

The Tyrant’s workshop was full of noise putting the bhaalspawn on edge. Hissing vents, whirring gears, dripping pipes. The building was close enough to the water that the squawk of a gull occasionally joined the cacophony. The only salve for the noise was the cool tones of Gortash’s voice. It made them nauseous to both realize and admit.

The Urge inside them was quietly starting to rustle awake. Overwhelming mixes of noise always made them twitch like an irritated animal. It scraped and dug at the inside of their brain. The only thing that quieted the itching discomfort was making a body spill blood for their Father’s purpose, that is until they met the Tyrant. His commanding voice, the lilt of his words, his dark steady eyes - he stilled the swirling mess of stimulus that seemed to drive them wild.

The irritating pounding in their head might have ceased, but now the rolling sickness in their belly threatened their focus.

They knew why the Steel Watchers were failing. They knew it the moment they saw the greying brain in the jar on his desk. Balthazar was a skilled necromancer, but prideful, and relied too much on the magic he commanded rather than truly understanding the bodies he brought back from the grip of death. They needed to check the makeup of the liquid the brain was suspended in to be sure, but the problem was mostly self-inflicted.

They could tell Gortash the issue right this instant, give recommendations of fixes, and be on their way. So why were they wasting time pretending to look through his notes? Why did they force themselves in this room for longer than strictly necessary? A flash of last night flittered into their mind. The Tyrant holding their neck with his gauntleted hand, lips pressed together, his thigh pressed between their legs.

Heat flooded their cheeks and they gripped a book tightly, a forceful swallow ringing through their ears like a church bell. This was a mistake. They should leave.

“I… I need some time to mull this over. I will return tomorrow.” They abruptly shut the notebook they had neglected to read. They moved quickly to the door of the workshop and glanced back, though not looking directly at Gortash. They wanted to say more but the words caught in their throat so they simply nodded and left, barely hearing his response.

“Till then.”

—

The Chosen of Bhaal paced the platform in the temple like a hungry animal. They needed to clear their head. The Tyrant was invading their thoughts and they needed to put a stop to it.

Muffled screams became louder as a bound sacrifice writhed against the two bhaalists shepherding the lamb to its slaughter. They felt their Urge spring to attention, lips twitching as their fingers wrapped around the hilt of their blade.

The sacrifice was placed on the stone altar. They bound the wrists and ankles and removed the black cloth sack that was over the head. Wild eyes widened in fear as the pupils adjusted to the room. Their own eyes stilled in momentary shock as they took in the form laid before them. Dark shaggy hair wet with sweat stuck to the face, which was framed by a strong square jawline. The eyes were dark and almond-shaped and the wide-set nose had been broken, possibly from the abduction. In the dim lighting of the temple, all the features were enough to remind them of him.

They stood over the sacrifice made bare as it fruitlessly writhed against the bindings, screams still muffled by the cloth gag tied tightly against the mouth. Even in their temple, the Tyrant wouldn’t leave them be. As they glowered at the pathetic thing, two attendants came to take the robe loosely draped over the Chosen. They shrugged it off, revealing their naked form. The remaining cultists took position around the platform, beginning a slow and rhythmic chant.

Bhaal’s vitality within them ached for the spill of crimson, ached for carnage. The chanting was like a siren’s song to their blood. Like the beat of a drum before battle, guiding them to the task, it kept their mind in step with the march of duty. They closed their eyes, whispering a prayer to themself, punctuated with a deep inhale. When they opened their eyes, a glowing red consumed their irises. A smile formed at the corners of their lips as they took their holy dagger in hand and pressed the tip to the heart of the sacrifice.

The look-alike squirmed and cried against the blade. The Chosen bent over to whisper in their ear, so none but the sacrifice would hear.

“The gods gave you to me, knowing my plight. This is a test, one I shall pass. Thank you.” They licked up the shell of the ear. More cries came from the man, tears streaming down the side of his face, pooling in and around his ears. They wanted to savor this, do it correctly, and make each cut divine.

They circled the altar, blade in hand. They remembered the scratches their nails dug into the Tyrant’s chest. They wondered if he had healed them or if they remained there for the meeting in the workshop. With a lurch, they quickly drew their blade down the chest of the man on the table in the same pattern as the marks left on Gortash. They were small cuts compared to the depths their blade could have plunged. They didn’t want to kill this man yet.

The continued chanting nearly drowned out the man’s muffled wailing. They admired their work and a flash of Gortash groaning under their cuts filled their mind. They felt a moan threaten to escape at the memory. They diverted their attention to the man, adjusting the tip of their blade to his throat. They barely applied pressure, making a thin nick that started to trickle blood slowly from under the ear to the clavicle. They adorned the other side of his neck with the same slow, near-sensuous cut.

His body quivered under their touch. It was an intoxicating feeling. Usually, they would have driven their dagger deep into the heart by now. All of that would come soon enough. They turned their attention to his legs, remembering the thigh that teased them so easily. They again made their blades dance across his skin, carving an ode to the memory. The man was nearly completely covered in his blood now, a blanket of ruby velvet adorning his form. They felt a swell of longing bloom.

They climbed onto the altar, knees on either side of the man’s torso. They folded over to have their face aligned close with his - so close that they could hear the erratic beat of his rabbit heart. They lightly pressed their lips to his strained ones. A frantic look of confusion mixed with the terror. They cut the gag free, the cloth was soaked from his pathetic saliva-filled cries. He went to scream for help and they immediately silenced his cries with a kiss, pushing their tongue inside his mouth, threatening to choke him. They bit down on his tongue, drawing blood, the liquid spilling into their mouth through the frenetic kiss. He whined in pain into their mouth, causing them to moan in return, remembering a very similar kiss shared between the Tyrant and bhaalspawn not twenty-four hours before. They growled as the memory threatened to take over their senses, merging with reality.

‘Say you don’t want this, and I won’t give it.’

His words echoed through the crimson haze of the ritual, eventually drowning out the sounds of the temple, the chanting and screams a thousand miles away.

Why didn’t they stop him? Why did they succumb to such debased desires? Why couldn’t they refuse him? Why… Why… Why… Why…

With their mouth still pressed to the mundane doppelganger under them, their dagger moved with the speed of lightning, stabbing precisely into the man’s heart. His body tensed in response, eyes wide with the realization of his oncoming death. He choked violently through restrained spasms, finally forcing the Chosen to part from his lips. They savored the taste of the blood, though it didn’t taste as sweet as the Tyrant’s. They laid their head against the chest of the man, listening to his heart slow, the last gusts of air rushing through his lungs, they closed their eyes as they held the knife steady in his chest. They slowed their breathing to match his dying pulse, meditating out of the moment. They went to a place free from compulsion, free from amnesiac episodes, a place of true freedom.

The red glow in their eyes faded, the murderous Urge satisfied for now. They stayed atop the man until his body went still and his eyes dulled. They removed themself from the altar and pulled their knife from his chest. They didn’t bother cleaning the blade and instead walked to their private chambers, blade and body still covered in his blood.

◤──•~✧Enver Gortash✧~•──◥

The next day came quickly for Enver. The duties of a Lord in Baldur’s Gate piled higher and higher, all while his designs remained at a standstill. He put on a good face for the patriar meeting, ever charming, ever the socialite. He found his patience wearing thin, however. His focus kept shifting to the bhaalspawn.

Enver wasn’t sure what to make of the interaction yesterday. They seemed in decent enough spirits at the start, but then as the silence drew on they became more hostile, more wild. They hid it well, but he could tell when they were unsteady and on edge. He wanted to take credit for the change in attitude, but he knew it was deeper than merely his presence bothering them. He thought about the odd behavior concerning his Steel Watchers, turning over the events in his mind.

‘I… I need some time to mull this over. I will return tomorrow.’

After they had left, Enver went to the notebook they had been hovering over for the last handful of minutes. He made a curious hum as he turned it right-side up.

‘Till then.’

They asked for more time but obviously hadn't read or studied the material provided. Perhaps it was sabotage, perhaps they had no intention of helping him. As tempting as the thought was, he quickly pushed it from his mind. They were smarter than that. He looked out the window and saw the sun nearly disappearing under the horizon.

“My Lord?” one of the patriars interrupted his thoughts.

“Apologies, We shall have to finish this at a later date. I have another matter to see to. You may leave any closing remarks with my attendants.” he motioned his cane to a few armored men.

As he made his way to the workshop he found his head spinning in riddles once more. He didn’t like the feeling of uncertainty. With any luck the bhaalspawn will return with the solutions he craved.

He spent some time rereading the notes and designs he had shown them yesterday, trying to discern what they might have seen or discovered. He sat in a chair staring at the brain suspended in a jar, the same one that captured their attention for so long. What did they know?

He rapped his cane against the floor with anxious impatience. He decided to be productive if was stuck waiting for an unknown amount of time. The pieces of armor still lay in a heap on the floor. He used different levies and pulleys to move them back to the stand that kept the hulking useless thing upright. He removed his overcoat, the physical activity causing him to sweat. He rolled up his sleeves as he set to studying the notes Balthazar left for him.

The necromancy should have been the solution to his brilliant design. Using a tadpoled brain to control the body within the armor seemed simple enough at first glance, but something was wrong. A piece was missing, and neither he nor the necromancer could solve it. Balthazar was all too ready to blame Enver’s designs, insisting the arcane parts of the equation were flawless. Unfortunately, Enver couldn’t argue. He was no arcanist, but he had the equations double-checked by an outside source, confirming Balthazar’s confidence.

The infuriating thought that Enver was wrong crossed his mind. That his designs were indeed flawed, somehow. He gripped the head of the cane tightly. He needed the bhaalspawn to help him. He knew they had the answers.

As if on cue, there was a gentle knock at the door. He turned to see The Chosen waiting there.

“Ah, my friend, please come in, come in.” He smiled as he waved them in.

Their expression made no change as they stepped to him. A forced air of casual disdain radiated from them. He couldn’t help the twinge of a smirk.

“I hope you come with good news.” He cleaned the charcoal from his hands, sleeves still rolled up to the elbows. He saw their gaze focus on his hands. He relished in how much he drew their attention. They must have felt his satisfaction, as they made a low snarl before they finally spoke.

“I need to review some things, but I will have your answers.” Their response was short and snippy. Enver hummed in consideration.

“The resources here are yours to peruse. I will continue working while you look through what you need.” He turned from them, picked up a charcoal pencil, and continued his design work. He watched them from the corner of his vision. They made a greater attempt at feigning research this time around.

After nearly an hour they spoke again. “I have discovered your problem.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting. Please, the floor is yours.” He faced them, putting the pencil down.

They remained still, glancing at the jars again. Enver noticed the glance and quirked an eyebrow, but he waited for them to answer his invitation before he pressed further.

“The brains. They’re dormant. Whatever solution they’re in is preventing rot but at the cost of brain activity.”

Enver studied the cerebral containers on his desk. “Balthazar said that-”

“Balthazar is an arrogant fool who would scream at a rock till his vocal cords tore apart if he convinced himself he could command the thing.” Contempt dripped from their words, with a hint of pride in their assessment. Enver couldn’t help but chuckle at the insult.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but I had the calculations for the spells double, even triple-checked. They are flawless.”

“It is not the arcane that is faulty. I said the solution was the issue. The spells are taking hold, but the impulses are powerless. Here.” They went to the jar, flipping open a nozzle at the top and pouring some of the liquid into an empty vile. They smelled the vile, then dipped their tongue to it barely getting a taste.

“As I suspected. This solution is merely a preservative. It keeps your brains alive, but they are akin to a sleeping person. The connection between the brain and the body is nonexistent. Balthazar is an expert necromancer, but his form of necromancy cannot control a brain. That’s why all his creations are mindless ghouls and zombies. He’s capable enough of animating a body but ignorant about cerebral processes.” They opened the lid of the jar, grabbing the brain inside. They gently held it in the palm of their hand. Enver listened to their explanation with rapt attention.

“The brain is where the soul lives in a mortal. Many like to say it’s the heart, but that is poetic drivel. The brain is where thoughts become real. It controls the rest of the body, sending signals through the nervous system.” They gestured with their free hand to the body in the armor.

“Balthazar assured me the remote elements of this design were achievable.” Enver could feel his annoyance growing, but not with the spawn, but rather with Balthazar. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted a necromancer.

“He was correct. It is possible. From what I can tell the arcane bindings serve as the nervous system, extending through space, connecting the two. The problem is that your brain isn’t sending signals. It needs a more conducive environment to the increased telepathic capabilities. The brain can hardly send the electrical impulses from one end of the jar to another, let alone traverse a remote distance to its body.”

Enver noticed the light in their eyes as they spoke. The way the stiff and stale attitude melted away as they talked about the brain. He was enraptured by their brilliance. He knew they could help him. There was just one last thing gnawing at him. The bhaalspawn continued in his silence.

“I should have a better replacement for the fluid tomorrow. Something capable of carrying telepathic impulses.” They went to put the brain back in the jar. As they shut the vessel Enver closed the distance between them. He noticed the tension reenter their body with his proximity.

“Truly remarkable. I knew you’d work it out. There’s just one thing I still don’t quite understand.” They turned to look at him, weary but still shrouded in their earlier confidence.

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this yesterday?” He saw their chest quickly expand with a sharp inhale, the mark of a liar about to spill more lies.

“I…I don’t know what you mean.” He tutted at their attempt to feign ignorance.

“Oh, but you do. I thought you were playing some coy joke yesterday, and perhaps you were, but not the one I first thought. As soon as you saw that jar, you knew exactly what was wrong.” He used his cane to point at the brain.

“And I would bet all the gold in my vault that you know exactly how to fix it now. So why prolong this?” He stepped closer, setting his cane on the table beside them. Their eyes narrowed with resentment, but he saw them struggling to swallow, saw the flick of their fingers that signaled the betrayal of their body.

'Ah, so that was it.'

“If you wanted to see me again, Assassin, you didn’t need to fabricate excuses.” He risked bringing his hand to their cheek. They backed up a step from him, practically hissing.

“You grow too candid, Tyrant.” They slapped his hand away. The action filled Enver with an immediate desire to force them to their knees, which was at odds with his desire to keep them at his level. He responded instead with another question.

“Are we just going to pretend the other night didn’t happen?” He filled the space their earlier retreat created. Their body tensed once again. They averted their eyes, choosing silence to his inquiry. He grew tired of their games.

He grabbed under their chin with a dominant forceful hand and turned their head to look at him.

“Or are you so opposed to tenderness that you prefer I touch you like this?” He squeezed the sides of their throat slightly at the end of his words. He felt their body battling the urge to fight back. He gazed into their eyes and found them struggling to retain the ire previously consuming them. They didn’t shy away from him, though.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against theirs as he spoke. “Tell me. Tell me what you wanted.” He used his other hand to grab at the back of their head, fisting a handful of hair. He hadn’t pulled on it yet, but just the threat of it made them release a breathy whimper.

“Tell me, Assassin.”

They became so pliant in his hands. The power to tame such a dangerous creature caused enough excitement to make him half-hard already. They moved to close the gap between their lips, but he pulled back on their hair. They mewled at the tug.

“You need to tell me. Then I’ll give you what you came here for.” He gave another small pull on their hair. They snarled in frustration but acquiesced.

“I …want you.” He could feel the shame taking them from him. He squeezed the hand around their throat before that could happen. He gave a grin.

“Very good.” Enver relented in denying them any further. His lips crashed into theirs. He felt the reverberation of their lewd and wanting moans as he pushed his tongue against their lips, forcing them to part for him. Just like the rest of them, their tongue wanted to fight for dominance in the kiss, but one firm yank on their hair had their jaw slack with a whine. He parted from their needy mouth.

“You’ve caused a problem for me, Assassin. Fix it.” He let go of their neck and used the hand to undo the ties on his trousers and pushed the underclothes aside, freeing his erection from its clothed confines. His other hand moved to the top of their head, grasping the hair still, applying enough pressure to guide them down to their knees.

Seeing them on their knees for him made his cock throb and leak. He felt a pulse of earnest desire before he pushed their head closer to where he so desperately wanted them.

“Do you want it?” He asked, voice low and full of wanton anticipation. They looked up at him and responded by licking up the underside of his cock, from base to tip. He shuddered and rolled his head back, eyes closing with a deep groan of pleasure. He gripped their hair tighter as they teased the tip with their tongue. They licked over and under the sensitive head. His hips jerked, wanting more.

“You’ve not earned tenderness today, remember?” He spoke between deep, controlled breaths. They had a brief look of confusion before he thrust his cock deep into their mouth, causing their nose to meet his pelvis. They gagged at the sudden movement, and he pulled their mouth from him by the fistful of hair in his grip. The reprieve was temporary as he directed their head back into position.

“Be ready this time.” He demanded as he pushed into their mouth again. This time they were relaxed enough to fully take him without gagging - well, without gagging much. The indelicate sounds of him claiming their face filled the room as their cheeks hallowed out to receive him. It was lighting every sensation with a raging fire deep inside. He felt his tip hit the back of their throat and he moaned at the feeling. He pistoned in and out of the warm, wet hole made loose for him. Tears welled at the corners of their eyes with each forceful thrust. Drool gathered around their mouth, messily traveling down their chin and neck. He felt their hands travel up his thighs, gripping him for stability. He eased on the depths to which he pumped, giving them time to catch their breath.

Enver looked down at the Murder Lord’s Chosen made supplicant at his feet. They fed his pleasure in a way he hadn’t felt before. He experienced the usual euphoria of dominion, but something else crept in he couldn’t place. He enjoyed this game, this domination over them, but he wanted to do more, be more with them. He took his free hand and wiped away the tears from under one eye as they open-mouth panted, struggling for air. They quickly narrowed their eyes at the sudden softness of his touch.

They used one hand to grip around the base of him, and the other to grope at his balls as they dove back down. The abrupt movement pulled a hiss from his lips. Their tongue wildly swirled and rubbed against the underside of his aching cock. He could feel precum leak into their mouth with every suck. He met their enthusiasm with his own. He slammed into their mouth with such vigor he was sure the back of their throat would be bruised. The thought alone almost pushed him over the edge. The spawn used their fingers to tease and squeeze his balls, while their other hand joined with their mouth to work up and down his shaft. They went back and forth between growls and mewls.

'Still warring with themself about which way they should finish me off.'

Enver decided he wouldn’t give them the time to ponder the choice further. He threaded his fingers more securely in their hair.

“Are you ready for me, Assassin?” he asked through his now heavy breathing. With the pull of their hair, they nodded and gave a whimper he’d come to adore so much. He smiled and shoved their head down till he bottomed out against their throat. He grunted as he repeated the movement a few more times, each instance pulling him closer to the edge. They were taking him so easily now. He started to praise them between each thrust as the peak of his ecstasy quickly encroached.

“That’s it - good - what a good - little thing you are - gods!” with one last greedy push into them he felt his orgasm spill into their mouth. He tightly fisted their hair, keeping their head in place as his cock pulsed and finished pumping the last of his spend down their throat. His body twitched with every swallow they took of him.

Enver slowly pulled out from their mouth, cum and saliva dripping from his cock and their lips. He tucked himself back into his pants with a sloppy attempt at retying his trousers. He reached down to pull them up, lightly wrapping his hand around where he had been choking them before. They lifted themself at his wordless command, thankfully still lost in the euphoria of the moment. Their half-lidded gaze found his. He moved his hand to cup their cheek, half waiting for them to pull from his touch. Instead, they softly kept his gaze held in theirs. He felt a swell stir from his stomach into his heart.

He leaned in and kissed them. He could still taste himself on their lips, taste his possessive and greedy claim. A small moan left him as he deepened the kiss. They moaned in return. This was no submissive mewl, not a feral growl, it was simply a pleasure-fueled moan, one of longing and desire.

The moment didn’t last as it seemed they came to their senses. They retreated from his touch and their connection. Wild tension once again filled their body. It was like watching someone coil a spring too tightly, winding it beyond what it could manage. He gave a small sigh.

They used a cloth lying on the desk to wipe their mouth and face, back turned to him in silence. They bent over the table, writing something in one of his notebooks. They left it open to the page as they went to leave. He went to inspect what they had written. It was a list of different chemicals and ingredients.

“It’s the recipe for your new solution. It mimics the brine of the tadpooling centers.” They tried to slip out quickly, but he called out to them.

“I’ve never been much of an alchemist… perhaps an expert should check my work. Tomorrow?”

Enver managed to catch the faint hint of a smile from the Assassin as they wordlessly took their exit. It was all the confirmation he needed to know he would see them the next day.

Thanks for reading, and as always, comments and feedback always welcome and appreciated.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #enver gortash #durge #durge x gortash #durgetash #dark urge x gortash #dead dove fic #cw: noncon #cw: blood #cw: religious themes

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lefaystrent · 3 months

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Primal Urges

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: hints of Prinxiety

Warnings: prospective cannabilism, temporary character death

Summary: Virgil specifically remembers dying, and yet he still lives. Now with a hankering for people meat.

__________________________________________

Virgil didnt crave human flesh before he died.

He craved lots of things in life: pasta, oreos, midnight reruns of Friends, mental stability. Ya know, healthy normal things.

Then again, taste buds do change every seven years. And people, canonically, do taste like beef. So what's more irrisitible than the American Dream?

Burgers. The American dream is burgers.

Big juicy burgers just begging to be ripped into with teeth. Burgers that would splatter bloody goodness. Rare burgers that would slide down his throat in a warm heady rush. Something raw to fill the emptiness within his gut that growled its demands to be sated.

Yes, normal healthy cravings.

That's why Virgil found himself sitting there downing a bottle of bourbon. He tried in vain to push away memories of his recent death experience while waiting for the intense urge of NOM NOM to subside.

"How long does this usually take?" Virgil asked, looking inside the empty bottle as if he might find more.

The bartender looked askance at the other two empty bottles sitting beside Virgil. "The alcohol poisoning you mean? Just how long have you been here?"

Virgil blinked at the handsome man before him decked out from head to toe in black. That was his kind of man. "Oh, maybe it did work. I don't remember seeing you back there."

"My shift just started," said the man, and 'Roman' said the name tag on his pristine black polo shirt. He had that face on his face like he was trying to smile, just how the relentless years of customer service taught you, but was failing completely. The farthest he got was moderately bewildered mixed with borderline awe.

"Hm, nice," Virgil said, because really there was nothing else to say. Especially when all Virgil's brain could scream at him for the moment was, Look at that arm! Bite it, rawr!

Virgil shook his head. Damn primal needs.

"Maybe I should switch to tequila," he grumbled.

"Maybe you wanna slow down," Roman advised. "You've had enough to down an elephant. Look, you've even spilt some on yourself."

Virgil looked down obligingly and couldn't help but laugh at the stain on his own shirt. "Oh that. Yeah that's not my drink, it's blood."

Roman's stance didnt change but his eyes were definitely more focused. Virgil wondered if he imagined the sound of a heartbeat speeding up.

Primal brain said, Fresh meat fears us. Fresh meat shall be tasty. *insert evil laugh here*

To clarify, Virgil raised a hand to stop the bartender from calling for help. "Don't worry, it's my blood."

Virgil did not think the clarification helped much. He should try again.

"Listen," Virgil lowered his voice a little, as much as you can in a bar and still be heard. He leaned forward a bit but the bartender most certainly did not. "I died this morning. It's been a really weird day."

"Ah," Roman nodded slowly, and at least his heartbeat slowed marginally. He even chanced a curve of the lips. "Far be it from me to question coping mechanisms. Normally I might ask if you're sure you don't need medical assistance, but you appear abnormally...fine, all things considered."

"You look pretty tasty yourself," Virgil purred and promptly slapped a hand over his mouth.

Did all of his self control die as well? Sheesh. Someone end him properly, please.

It's not like you weren't thinking it, Primal Brain supplied helpfully.

Luckily for all of Virgil's sanity, Roman took the compliment in stride. He laughed, "Well, clean clothes do go a long way."

"I meant to get changed before, I swear, I just..."

"Weird day," Roman finished for him. He nodded politely and smiled in a way that made Virgil want to eat his face off. Literally.

"You should probably go help other customers," Virgil word-vomited. "Or get me more bourbon. Or tequila. Or hell, wine if it'll do anything for me. Maybe everclear."

Roman chuckled again, "I'll make my rounds, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut you off dear. Even if you seem sober enough, the evidence suggests otherwise."

Adding insult to injury, Roman slipped him a glass of water before he left. Virgil watched the liquid settle to stillness in the clear cup and felt absolutely no desire to drink it.

We want blood. Blood! Primal Brain roared inside him.

Virgil put his head in his hands and wondered how he got into this mess.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #cannibalism #death #temporary character death #primal urges #writing #fanfiction #think i might write more on this #disclaimer i dont know if bartenders have nametags #i can count on one hand the amount of bars ive been too #and i never talked to the bartender

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thecardinalsims · 2 months

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A Fool’s Journey in Self-Taught Modding / Pt 1

Coming up on a thousand posts between MTS and NRaas in the space of a year, I sometimes figure my lack of uploads weighs negatively upon whether it seems like I know what I’m talking about.

So, it's time to start a devlog. If you were tagged, don't feel obliged to read it- just wanted to credit the names and faces behind this rabbithole I've gone down.

Tiny blips of my work are floating about out there- I made the geostates for @twinsimming's default replacement tree, cracked some of the mysteries of decrypting TS3 Store worlds, and I’ve shot a number of small CC items and tuning packages from the hip as needed for individuals in both forums.

Over a couple of days, I learned geostates from scratch to make the sprout and sapling.

I’ve also ended up with the shiny orange username at MTS thanks to contributing a few tutorials, which did wonders for my confidence. Said tutorials are quickly decaying as I outgrow my own methods, but I promise to revisit them when time and health allows.

Making GIF examples was a highlight of working on the tutorials, so far.

In truth, I’m always working on bigger things. Much bigger things. Half of the answers I give are ones I work out on the spot for the purpose of answering- and then I squirrel away what I learned into my growing reference pile. I’m happy to chip away at a hundred little problems, because I come away with a hundred little skills.

I’m just too stubborn to let my first public release be one of those small successes. It simply has to be the most ambitious project on my plate- the one made of months of work and half a dozen restarts from scratch.

What started as a simple 'find hairs to use as default replacements' project has turned into a 'repurpose mesh pieces into new hairs from scratch' project.

The truth about learning to mod any game is that a fair bit of it will (or rather, should) have nothing to do with the game itself. Being competent with Blender and XML in general- and familiarising myself with S3PE so thoroughly I could manually do anything that usually is automated by other tools- was the greatest favour I could have done for myself.

I started wanting to write a devlog- or whatever is appropriate to call this when it won’t involve programming for quite some time- to try and encourage this sentiment in others. Learning to make a specific creation vs learning to create is very similar to the proverb of being given a fish vs being taught to fish. The sooner you unlearn relying on for-purpose knowledge and dive into all-purpose knowledge, the better.

If you want to be a prolific creator of hair CC, I wouldn’t even recommend starting with my tutorials on making them for TS3. I’d encourage you to learn to create and edit meshes, work with morphs and bone assignments, so on- all concepts that neither The Sims nor EA invented, but if you are introduced to them for the first time through modding you may fall into the trap of believing a modder is the best person to teach you. The remaining jump to then get that work into the game is smaller than you think.

Manual bone assignments are the most recent trick I've put up my sleeve, and one of the reasons for another soft-restart of my project.

EA didn’t provide a single modding resource outside of CaW for The Sims 3, so I empathise with the DIY nature of the tutorials that exist. The familiar names of the 2009-2010 modding scene pulled the game apart themselves, wrote their own programs, and carried the community on their back with the effort of sharing what they learned.

Over a decade later, creators are less often programmers, computer engineers, and 3D artists and more often hobbyists following in their footsteps with no prior knowledge of these fields. You will lose sanity if you have big CC plans and try to learn all of it from a video tutorial recorded on an overheating laptop that didn’t edit out any of the times TSRW crashed or the person making the tutorial coughed directly into their mic- I can tell you that much.

The first thing I made was actually a skill for TS4, which I crunched through with Sims4Studio and a lot of squinting at @icemunmun-spicy-scalpel's Candle Making skill, and is where I first spat out the name CardinalSims for the sake of filling in the creator name box. Which, for the record, is supposed to be a pun on Cardinal Sins and not that I consider myself the cardinal of sims.

I'll come back around to release this one day if someone doesn't beat me to it, hopefully with compatibility for BrazenLotus' mods.

For that reason, a lot of TS4 creators are my largest inspiration even if I see myself focusing on TS3. Icemunmun and @brazenlotus are my meshing and modding role models- custom food is my passion despite my current workload, so when I finally get some of these projects out that is where I’d like to settle most. Preferably churning out hundreds of recipes and harvestables for the rest of my days.

After messing around with hair recolours, eye textures, and asymmetrical dog ears, I flipped back to TS3 (the far more intimidating of the two to work with) and haven’t stopped piling projects onto that plate ever since. Hair became the somewhat dominant topic of my expertise, but believe it or not it all started with a plate of scrambled eggs.

3D scrambled eggs, intended as a replacer for @echoweaver's recipe. All it's missing is a half-eaten state, but I got a tiny bit distracted: read, it has been ten months.

It’s not really a devlog until I go over what I’m working on, though, is it?

No matter how many things I try to juggle, I can promise that the first release will be a large something called BGHR. Which involves somewhere in the range of 45 hairs, give or take.

The first 'BGH' Redux I made + the most recent one- have fun puzzling over that acronym until release. I blame it on the fact I modded Skyrim for a long time before this.

Which is not including the dozens of variants and age/gender conversions I end up with along the way, which I export to a mesh dump that I’ll come back to later:

Once that floodgate is open, I will be prioritising releasing the smaller projects quite quickly- likely the 3D scrambled eggs and the default harvestable plant + vine to match the tree that have been sitting 99% complete in my project folder.

Thank you for reading, if you made it this far. I'm out of breath and I didn't even have to say all of this outloud.

Next devlog should be more focused on a singular topic.

#did i write a devlog or a journalistic article on the nature of modding itself #who can tell #ts3 #ts3cc #a fools journey devlog #the tarot references will only get worse from here on #simblr #the sims 3

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dirtytransmasc · 1 year

Note

"How did you get these?"

Miles had all but stormed into the half-destroyed interrogation room that Rhea had been thrown in. The door and two-way mirror had withstood her anger, but the same could not be said for the rest of the room.

The chair was destroyed, and the walls and table were both dented to hell and back.

"Specificity would be appreciated."

Her jaded tone irked Miles; no fifteen-year-old should sound so apathetic and cynical. Still, his agitation was at the forefront, so her tone did nothing but further it.

He tossed a pair of worn dog tags at her feet.

'Topaz Socorro' was stamped at the top.

"I think you already know where I got these but long story short, I was left unattended most of the time and had a habit of climbing through the battlefield wreckage. I grabbed them for Spider."

"You stole them."

"Technically it would be grave robbing."

There's a moment of silence.

"Would it help if I told you she was mostly skeletal when I took them?"

No, Quaritch thinks, it wouldn't help, not when the way Rhea says it implies that she wasn't being completely honest.

Later after lights out, Miles can't help but think of the girl crawling through the wreckage of the battle like it was a playground.

How many bodies has this girl seen?

Miles doesn't like the answer he gets one day when the topic of Rhea's childhood activities were brought up.

"More than you'd like but not as many as you'd expect."

oh my sweet rhea.

I need her to tell Quaritch she's seen his body too, want to see him squirm at the implication. I want him to question how she still even attempts to fake her own sanity and then realize she isn't, she's just so scared and has been for so long, that this, this apathetic, seemingly cruel and cold girl, is just who she is.

I want to see him be so put off by this girl, but the dad in him that longs to adopt all the strange and fucked up kiddo's out in the world is like "but what if?"

give this man yet another weird kid.

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #recoms #quaritch #miles quaritch

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 10 months

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If you delete the original post, your notifications will stop.

I made a complain-y post about writing (specifically an argument about dialogue tags with my editor) that was never supposed to breach containment or get reblogged at all (I'm an author with a creative writing degree, I was venting) a few years ago and someone decided to use it as a platform to launch a full 'never-use-anything-but-said' tutorial and mock me in the process for daring to ever use any other word and everyday someone would reblog it with tags like 'sage advice' 'reblogging for the good advice + NOT op' and finally I just had to delete it for my own sanity.

I mean i turned off reblogs which should work but holy crap I am so sorry

Why must tumblr be like this. Like. It’s not elitist to ask people to respect that some folks make their living off of something and thus know more about it.

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basilone · 4 months

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I was tagged by @onehelluvamarine, ty! 💚

A band you don’t like that many others do:

Coldplay. I am absolutely mesmerized by how popular they are, because every single song of theirs I’ve ever heard gets on my last nerve.

A childhood memory that you remember vividly:

I used to do ballet and got to perform in a huge theatre once. I remember hanging out backstage, watching the older dancers, getting to see what the lighting crew was doing… It was a brilliant time, though the hassle to get hair and make-up done had a lot of people yelling and losing the plot. (I learned how to do stage make-up myself when I was a lil older, partially because that’s how you roll in drama classes but also because of that experience hahaha!)

Least favorite animal and why:

Listen. Listen to me. We do not need lightbulb fish. We do not need them. We do not require their presence in our waters.

Hot fandom take:

Do you know how many hot takes can fit in me? It’s a lot. I’m going to go with two hot takes because it’s my party and y’all have never ever seen me post one to this blog before.

Numero uno: readerfic is not OC fic, OC fic is not readerfic. If you name your character, it’s an OC. Even if you write them in first or second person POV. If you write Y/N, it’s readerfic no matter how much backstory you try to chuck at it. Learn to tag it properly. A fic cannot have both the canon character/OC and canon character/reader tags. Please do my last remaining pieces of sanity a favor and don’t make me read Y/N with my own two eyeballs just because you mistagged your fic.

Numero two: smut belongs under the cut. I don’t make the rules. If you start your fic with smut of any kind, put it under a readmore. Especially do this if that smut contains highly specific kinks. Aside from the fact that there are minors on this website who’ve got no business being subjected to that, people should be given the choice whether they want to see that level of smut on their daily newspaper dashboard scrollthrough first thing in the morning.

Do you wear any jewelry, if so, what’s your favorite piece:

I do, though not all the time. One of my fave pieces is a small ring with an eight-pointed star that I wear on my pinky finger.

A movie others liked but you didn’t:

Titanic. I know it’s got many many many fans, but I was cheering that iceberg on.

Three things you love about yourself:

My creativity, my ability to switch gears and learn on the fly, and my hair that does whatever I want it to do.

A place you hope to visit in the future and why:

Dude, have you seen the state of the world lately? I think I’m just gonna hope to visit my bed later on today, much safer.

An actor that gets on your nerves and why:

I have Tom Cruise blacklisted on this hellsite for good reason. The good reason being that I think he’s batshit and that people should stop entertaining his presence in anything. I’m not drinking that cult juice, thanks.

Things you’re excited for in the nearby future?

My birthday’s coming up on Feb 9!

Least favorite ship in a fandom you’re in:

At the risk of getting utterly disowned by a good number of folks that follow me: Webgott. I have gone for an outing or two in this ship, if memory serves me correctly, and I think I understand why people like it. I love banter in a ship as much as the next person, and the push-pull of opposites can be fun. But I also think Lieb deserves a lot more than someone who’s fundamentally at odds with his life and his POV. I think that the discussion they have in that final ep is indicative of something so major that it is a dealbreaker in that ship. (Plus, Web is just… not my fave character. Putting this mildly.)

What’s the most toxic fandom you’ve been in?

Vikings. Hands down, no contest. Absolute toxic cesspool of lies, backstabbing, and badmouthing. There are a few very good reasons why I’m no longer on speaking terms with people I used to call friends (at least one of whom was also in our lovely little war fandom back in the day) and why I’ve all but given up on doing any new gifsets or writing in that fandom for the foreseeable future.

List three things you find beautiful about life:

I’m gonna all caps this like a particularly obnoxious internet citizen because !! important !!

HAVE YOU SEEN OUR UNIVERSE DO YOU HAVE TIME TO TALK ABOUT THE STARS

MUSIC

THAT MOMENT WHEN YOU’RE LAUGHING WITH PEOPLE YOU LOVE AND YOU REALIZE THERE’S NOWHERE IN THE WORLD YOU’D RATHER BE THAN IN THAT EXACT MOMENT

Any dreams for the future?

I just want to live a life that’s good. I don’t really do future plans or dreams, it’s all vibes. I will know the move I need to make in the moment it needs making. Everything else is confetti.

How are you really feeling today?

Tired! (She says while about to embark on a screencap-to-gif journey. You might note the tiredness by the fact that I have completely lost my filter somewhere down the line of answering these questions, lol.)

Tags:

lmao I feel like half this fandom got tagged already and I’m very shit at remembering usernames and who likes tagging games sooooo. uhm. ain’t tagging anybody today.

#tagging game

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simandy · 2 years

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[Sigh]

So since i rebloged that abuse post I have been notified with your tags when you also reblog the post (from me) and even though im not talking about any specific one bc im not stupid, I've noticed a scary pattern: Psychological Abuse.

I don't see people talking a lot about this in the way i want to talk, maybe it's because I don't look for it but i don't naturally see it.

The psychological abuse you had to go through is as much of an abuse as physical abuse is. Human beings tent to value more the things they can see, things they can physically FEEL or TOUCH. Just because you're abuser didn't leave a physical giantic bruise or scar on your skin it doesn't mean it didn't leave it inside your brain. I'm not saying physical abuse is less valuable oh my God please strike me a lightning if i ever do that, but the bruise, the scar inside your brain HURTS as much as the scar outside (and don't ever forget physical abuse leaves the mental scar too). Psychological abuse change, corrupt the way your brain thinks, it changes your chemicals, it makes you think in a way no healthy un-abused human being would ever think.

Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.

I have severe cases of derealization now, I don't remember having them before the abuse, but now im totally capable of loosing all my senses if you tell me a full lie. If you point at a red circle and tell me: "this is a blue square", im totally able to question my own sanity. I will question if im seeing it right, i won't trust my own mind.

This is a psychological scar, this happens. Because they have lied to me in a way (gaslighting) to corrupt the way i see the world around me, questioning my memories and I even REMEMBER ONE DAY I CAUGHT THEM LYING! And they still got away with it! This is completely real and a sign that you have been psychological abused and it FUCKING HURTS. And it might hurt FOREVER.

I could really go on forever about the scars there were left in my brain, but this is not about me, this is about you. Please, even though you can't see your brain, treat it as if it was part of your skin. It is scarred, scared and changed, but it can be reversed, it can be treated.

You are not alone. You are not invisible, and I believe in you. I believe it happened. Stay safe. Love you.

#tw abuse #tw physical abuse #physical abuse tw #tw psychological abuse #psychological abuse tw #abuse tw #abuse #psychological abuse #physical abuse #im sorry for the many tags i know this is triggering and i dont want to hurt no one even more #nonsims #non sims

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ghostlycoyote0 · 1 month

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Two fandom blorbos and two oc blorbos. Still holding that gun.

Oh, easy. Spoilers for the end of Skulduggery Pleasant book 3, and much vaguer spoilers for book 7 (just scroll until you see the Drow in the green cloak to skip them)

Fandom first. Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain, the main duo of my absolute favourite book series, Skulduggery Pleasant. I’ll assume you know nothing about them because that lets me ramble even more

At the start of the series, Valkyrie is 12 and her uncle just got murdered as part of a plot to bring back ancient eldritch gods (of course, they don’t know that from the get-go). She meets Skulduggery when a nameless henchman (who I later found out from the wiki is called Vindick Leather) breaks into her uncle’s house while she’s staying there for the night and attacks her; Skulduggery then uses air magic to blast the front door off of its hinges, sets the guy on fire, shoots him in the shoulder, and loses his disguise in the fight therefore revealing that he’s a skeleton

Long story short, she takes his hat hostage and threatens to trample it if he doesn’t let her tag along, and now she’s his partner in crime

Sorcerers choose their own names by the way, so Skulduggery literally named himself Trickery, and this happened before he became a skeleton and it also became a pun. Valkyrie named herself partway through their first case

Great, context and exposition out of the way! I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC SO SO MUCH!! They shaped pretty much my entire sense of humour, I love them, I’ve loved them since I was 9 or so and I wanted to be like Valkyrie when I grew up. The way they bounce off of each other, the way they’re perfectly in sync, the little codes and recurring phrases they have that only have meaning to them (“the sparrow flies south for winter”, “doors are for people with no imagination”, and “until the end”). I just love them both so much

The fact that Valkyrie was willing to open the portal to the home world of ancient eldritch gods who despise humanity, just on the very slim chance he would be alive and have even the smallest shred of sanity left, after having been dragged there a year prior. The fact that Skulduggery was willing to go into complete and total isolation for eternity to protect her in the magic equivalent of cryogenic sleep if it came down to that. They would do literally anything for each other. I think I’m running out of ways to put how much I adore their dynamic into words, so I’ll sum it up as the ideal example of platonic soulmates. They’re very, very special to me

I mostly just talked about the serious side of their dynamic because I have no clue how to put the more lighthearted side into words without rattling off quotes. Rest assured, they are also hilarious

Skulduggery is also very quotable, too

Right, OC time. I have a limited selection; most OCs I made have been lost to time, either because they got attached to bad memories (like Kai Zoku, who I am only mentioning because I still think his name is great; it’s literally just the Japanese word for pirate and he was the Ultimate Pirate Captain. It’s an Ace Attorney level name pun, I love it), or because the D&D campaign they were made specifically for crashed and burned and I never found somewhere else for them to fit (looking at you, Myra.. at least I could recycle her name into my GW2 character)

Anyway! This is Kyrae, my Drow Warlock. Her campaign has been on a cliffhanger for two years and is officially coming back next month! This is a picrew, but I edited all of the colours myself. It’s not 100% accurate, but it’s the best I can do

Kyrae (no last name) is from the jungle region of Xen’drik, a continent where dinosaurs still roam and everything is shrouded in disorienting, cursed mist. Her campaign is in Eberron, a lesser-used official setting, and Eberron Drow are split into three main cultures; the Sulatar, the Umbragen, and the Vulkoori

Kyrae is Vulkoori, a culture of many tribes - some more nomadic than others - who all worship the scorpion god Vulkoor, all in different ways. In Kyrae’s tribe, he has the epithets Vulkoor the Hunter and Vulkoor the Wrathful. They honour him via skilled hunting, and when given a reason to, being so ruthless and brutal that they’ve gained a reputation as bloodthirsty. That reputation came from their enemies, but they’ve never corrected it. They’re mostly isolated, with a few good allies to trade with

Her cloak was a gift from her best friend, Ryzul, who was stung by a scorpion while they were out hunting together. He was dead before they got home. Kyrae overheard a discussion about what to do; this was clearly a sign that Vulkoor was angry with the tribe, so maybe a sacrifice would appease him. And who better, than the victim’s closest friend, who was with him at the time? It’s been implied that there was another reason for that decision, but that was said out of character, so she has no idea

She ran when she heard that, and didn’t stop until she bumped into a shadowy figure wearing a smooth, white mask, with nothing but three black crescents in the shape of a smiling face. An Archfey. He seemed surprised that she could see him, and they struck a deal. She clearly needed help, and he was incredibly bored, so he would provide that help and she would provide a good story to watch. He helped her find the only port, and she boarded a ship to Korvaire, the continent the campaign takes place on

Fast forward maybe 20 minutes after stepping off of the boat. Kyrae caught a goblin child pickpocketing her, which lead to a guard attempting to throw the goblin off of a ledge, which of course lead to combat. Kyrae wasn’t having that, no harm had actually been done. For her first turn in the first combat in her first hour of being on this continent, she had her familiar, Vanguard (a winged mongoose who was summoned on the boat ride, more on him later), barrel into the guard and send him hurtling off the ledge. The rest of the party saw the fight break out, helped her, and she just kind of started following them because no one objected. They’re her tribe now, and her entire sense of identity, morality, and purpose is based on them, what she thinks they would or would not approve of, etc

So, Vanguard. A winged mongoose. The wings don’t have much significance, I had a choice between a familiar that can fly or a familiar that can swim really fast. They’re feathered, but I was so indecisive about what they actually look like that I ended up deciding they’re from a different bird every time he’s summoned. Now, the other half of his description is way more important, and I spent SO LONG deciding on it. I didn’t concern myself with specific species because then I would have never settled on one and he’s technically a Fey anyway, but. A mongoose is not only an animal Kyrae could have reasonably seen before, but they’re known for resisting venom and fighting venomous animals. Kyrae just turned her back on a scorpion god. It’s simple, but I think I’m clever. This art is, as always, by @prince-frederic

LOOK AT HIM. I LOVE HIM. MY SON

I could also talk about everything Kyrae is now dealing with and the trauma that’s happened, but I think that’s enough paragraphs about her for now /lh

I’ve already explained Sigurd’s full backstory once or twice here, so I think I’ll pick Vivian for my next OC

This is Vivian Harker, a Bloodborne OC! The token is a picrew that I did the colours for again, and the art is once again by Milo

I’ll pull back the curtain a bit here; she was inspired by Hammerlock! More specifically, it went like this:

Hammerlock would be really fun to have in Bloodborne, but I obviously can’t just take an existing character and use him in this TTRPG. It boils down to someone having the time of their life fighting the horrible monstrosities and maybe writing things down about them - can’t take cool trophies when you need to stay mobile. How do I justify that in such a dark setting? Maybe their dad was a hunter and they’ve grown up hearing stories about it, but they have no idea what they’re actually getting themselves into!

The end result is Vivian, who’s thrilled to be playing out the stories she’s grown up with now, and is filling out a sketchbook (with suspiciously red ink) along the way. She became a 16 year old white girl because she was made for a TTRPG campaign, and I can’t change my voice very much. She has no idea that when her father told those stories, he left out the traumatic parts

Daniel Harker was a fairly accomplished hunter. I say was, because this time, he refused to leave home to hunt. That was the first sign that something wasn’t right. The rest were little things, like teeth that are slightly sharper than before, eyes that reflect light like a cat’s. Little things, that indicated some kind of transformation was coming

Vivian could tell. She knew that the monsters used to be people, that hunters get affected the worst of all. She couldn’t get answers, though. So she took his equipment - the clothes a little too big for her - and left only a note to explain where she had gone

She’s thrilled to be here, to actually be fighting these creatures she’s been told about so many times, to be slowly filling her book with sketches and notes, but time is limited. She just doesn’t know how limited

The other, crucial thing she doesn’t know, is that there are no happy endings to be had in Yharnam

AND THEN THE DM GHOSTED ME SO SHE NEVER HAD A CHANCE TO DEVELOP OR ACTUALLY EXIST. SHE WAS OLDER THAN ME WHEN I MADE HER. THAT’S HOW LONG SHE’S BEEN IN STASIS

Anyway. Two fandom blorbos and two OCs!

#skulduggery pleasant #valkyrie cain #oc: kyrae #oc: vivian harker

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