#Project timbre

[doomskii]

Finishing up the last section of Alpha Level 2. Added some embedded snotballs to teach players they can bounce on them 🐽💨🟣 🦘🦷

[bellheadband]

"Loud, layered, and alive with intent." Thanks to Deeksha Ravikumar at Project timbre for the review of BELLHEAD 'Threats’ out now all platforms.

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[kenzan-kiwami]

Can I get uhhh Wagi + 1, 2, 25

ABSOLUTELY

(this got quite long so i'm gonna shove it under a read more)

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

it's so hard for me to quantify what i like about him in broad and general terms, but it had to happen someday i guess so thank you for that LOL

at the most basic and superficial level i just find him pleasing to look at and listen to. absolutely helps that my first exposure this year was ishin kiwami and not yakuza kiwami because he slays the haori look and the little extra sideburn scruff he gets looks great on him. i can't remember what my reaction was to him when i played 0 (we'll expand on that later) but i was clinging hard to inoue well before things happened, and every game i played after the fact only solidified kashiwagi as a fave.

but every little extra thing the games say about him just makes him all the more interesting to me. i still haven't done my Y0 replay but i've gone back and watched most of the scenes he's in, and the way he 1) already tends kamuro castle in '88 2) brings up the way yakuza (don't) cope with expulsion to kiryu and nishiki is interesting to think about after Y3 tells us he's been operating the HLA for some time. how long? was it already on the books during the bubble?

also from 0, the conversation between kiryu and nishiki at the apartment where they mention how tense he was while kiryu was at dojima's office. the last time you see him do anything before this point is when he flips his lid at kiryu and knocks him into the shelf. he has this big intimidating front on as current acting patriarch of the kazama family - rightly so, considering the respect he commands even from awano - but everything about his situation, and kiryu's situation, and kazama's situation, on top of the empty lot fiasco, is stressing him to the bone. he cares so much about kiryu not dying to the point he doesn't eat until he comes back alive, which just makes me worry about how little he ate over the game's runtime. he gets relatively little screentime and development compared to certain other characters in this series (especially playable protags), but in spite of it they manage to make him feel like a person. which i guess is one of the strengths of RGG's writing

there's a lot i've left unsaid, but i don't know if i can put much of it into words without somehow being asked the right question to prompt it lmao. i guess to conclude this segment, i see a bit of myself in him as well. he's the type of man i would like to be, if a bit less temperamental

2. Favourite canon thing about this character?

i cannot for the life of me think of a better way to put this, but i guess how gap moe he is? characters like tsuruno are out here calling him scary, and there's that one story from RGGO where they call him oni kashiwa, and y'know just his whole usual demeanour and presentation. and that gnarly scar across his face. but in spite of appearances, he's... kind of a nerd. dare i say he's just a little bit goofy (especially in 7 when he allows his filter to drop a little).

we've got a man who runs an empty karaoke bar as a hobby, and hires younger women to talk to what few patrons he has for him. he taught himself ikebana and how to make chinese herbal remedies. he's got it down bad enough for his own boss that he allows himself to get beaten to a pulp for as long as it takes for the emergency services to show up after kazama gets shot at sera's funeral (RGGO). i'm not even gonna uncork the fuckin "legend malt" bottle, and i've posted about his posture and ill-fitting suits on ps2/ps3 here before.

i think one of my favourite moments from 7 is still the end of nanba's 4th drink link, where he's like HUH after ichiban says they're organising a birthday party. all of the little breaks in his composure in that game make me feel completely normal ways i promise

also, not sure if i count it as such, but inoue's reimen lines from ishin. the way he starts talking about his favourite dish from his favourite restaurant then cuts himself off because he's gushing too much and ryoma isn't interested like, noooo, keep going please i want to hear it... tell me how you got your hands on reimen 100 years early

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

like i say, it's been so long since i played Y0 that i genuinely don't remember if i had any actual thoughts on him or not beyond this relic i just dug up:

so i'll go from ishin kiwami instead i guess LOL

i'm still not sure what my first first impressions were but i was definitely latching on during chapter 5 at the latest. those cutscenes are soooo juicy, but we all knew that. every time i saw him i was like :) yay inoue is here :) until the start of chapter 10 when i was in straight up denial until they dumped his pale crusty-ass body in the middle of the sparring pit. ishin the only fucking thing delivering both his forbidden tatas and a scar backstory and we stan her for that.. the tibbies less so though because honestly it feels too lewd. seeing fanart of him with his shirt open helps me to understand what sawashiro fans felt when the infinite wealth trailer dropped

and it's all been uphill (or down, depending on how you look at it) from there. seeing him sopping wet, bleeding and pleading in the mud awoke something in me for sure. i understand why tsuruno calls him scary but i legitimately cannot see the dragon engine model that way, especially with those stupid tortoiseshell glasses. he looks like a sad dog & my male high school chemistry teachers at once. he's abashedly goofy and barely speaks above a whisper half the time.

i just know that whatever happens between him and kiryu in 8 is going to very painfully exorcise my own soul from my body.

[viragfold]

15ème JMFTA - APPEL à ARTISTE : "MAILART MUSEUM"

CALL: LINK

[hoshifighting]

idk if someone asked you this but i’m a new reader and I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS!!!

can you please make wonwoo, the nerdy president who u thought was innocent and sweet but he’s the one behind ur fave nsfw audio creator???? AND HE’S A HARDFUCKER.. not what u expected tho..

i don’t know if i make sense but please pretty please 😭☝️

Synopsis: where you discover that the nerdy class president is the one man who creates the most nasty NSFW audios that you spend long nights listening to. WC: 2.8k WARNINGS: smut, audio porn, masturbation, hard fuck, dirty talk (obviously), bad sleeping habits (because of wonwoo), fingering, spanking, dirty talk, pussy eating, penetrative sex, protected sex, wonwoo whining, a lil invasion of privacy.

you’ve been running on fumes all day, the hazy buzz of sleep deprivation clinging to your brain like static. it’s no surprise, really. your night had gone the way it always does: you got home, flopped into your chair, threw on your headphones, and let onyx_lens—your favorite nsfw asmr creator—drag you under with that stupidly deep voice of his.

it was kind of pathetic, actually. you barely remember what the script was about—something about obedience or whatever—but you do remember the sound of his voice sinking into your brain like warm honey, making you cum so hard that you blacked the fuck out right after. now here you were, bleary-eyed and trying to stay upright in literature class, the regret of last night’s poor choices catching up with you.

wonwoo, the class president who was somehow both effortlessly chill and annoyingly observant, had been glancing at you every few minutes. you could feel his eyes on you as your head dipped forward for the third time, only to snap back up like a busted bobblehead.

but, in true wonwoo fashion, he didn’t say anything. no scolding, no judgmental sighs—just quiet observation.

when class finally ended, you were ready to yeet yourself into a nap for a solid 72 hours. you were shoving your stuff into your bag when wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise.

“you good?”

you froze. his voice wasn’t the same as onyx_lens’s, obviously, but it had that same deep, smooth timbre that made your brain short-circuit for a second. it didn’t help that his question sounded so much like something out of an nsfw script. you turned to face him, hoping your face wasn’t giving away how flustered you suddenly were. “uh—yeah,” you said, shaking your head a little too quickly. “just tired.”

wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “not sleeping well?”

your brain screamed. your tired, half-horny brain screamed louder. the overlap of his voice and onyx_lens in your head was un-fucking-bearable. you managed to nod, muttering something about late nights and deadlines, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

he didn’t, but his next question wasn’t much better.

“think you could help me with the sci-fi project? your last lit analysis was good, and i could use the extra pair of hands.”

you blinked at him. “me?”

he nodded, adjusting his glasses. “you. unless you’re too busy with...whatever’s keeping you up.”

oh, you mean my nightly sessions with onyx_lens and my vibrator?

you swallowed hard and tried to play it cool. “nah, i can help.”

and that’s how you found yourself standing outside wonwoo’s apartment later that evening, clutching your bag. his place was exactly what you’d expect from him—minimalist, neat, and smelling faintly of coffee.

“come in,” he said, holding the door open for you. “make yourself comfortable.”

easier said than done. you perched awkwardly on his couch as he set up his laptop on the coffee table, your eyes darting around the room in an attempt to ignore how nice his voice sounded in person.

“so,” he began, sitting across from you, “any ideas for the project?”

you cleared your throat, trying to focus. “uh, maybe something about robots and humanity? like, exploring ethical dilemmas or something.”

wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your skin heat. “good idea. we could tie that into the main themes from class.”

he leaned forward slightly, scrolling through a document on his laptop, and you couldn’t help but notice how his glasses slipped down his nose. you were so not prepared for this level of proximity or his stupidly deep voice.

“you okay?” he asked again, glancing at you.

you blinked, realizing you’d been staring. “yeah, just...thinking.”

his lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “good. let me know if you need a break or...anything.”

the way he said anything sent a shiver down your spine. you weren’t sure if it was exhaustion, residual arousal from last night, or the sheer presence of wonwoo in his element, but your brain was a mess.

you were supposed to be helping him with this project, but all you could think about was the way his voice would sound whispering in your ear, saying things that would make onyx_lens blush.

you were so close to winning the “most pathetic college student of the year” award it wasn’t even funny. after much back-and-forth with wonwoo, class president of your downfall, you somehow convinced him to let you walk home alone. except the man still went all soft and paid for a taxi anyway, which, like… thanks? but also stop being so nice, what the hell.

it was nearing 11 p.m. when you got home, and as if on cue, your phone pinged with a notification: onyx_lens’s weekly live is starting.

you stared at it for a second, blinking in disbelief. today’s theme? "neon circuits and orgasm denial (a cyberpunk experience) 8d audio"

sci-fi-themed. of fucking course.

you almost laughed at the audacity of the universe for this one. was this some sort of cosmic joke? was wonwoo onyx_lens?! no way. no goddamn way. you shook off the thought as delulu nonsense and dragged yourself to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath.

by the time you flopped into your chair, headphones on, the live was already in full swing. that voice—that stupidly deep, velvety voice—flooded your ears as the chat buzzed with unhinged comments. onyx purred, and you were done for.

you couldn’t even focus on the sci-fi plot he was spinning, something about rogue androids, monster cock, neon vibrators and human experimentation. his voice wrapped around you like a silk chokehold, and you were gone—just a vibrating mess in your chair, coming undone embarrassingly fast.

fast forward to the next morning: you woke up feeling like a used dishrag. again. headphones still on, your phone dead, and the memory of last night’s live replaying in your brain like a broken record.

by the time you dragged yourself to class, you were running on fumes and vibes. your hoodie was scrunched up around your face, making you look like a cross between a gremlin and an overgrown baby.

wonwoo noticed. you could feel his eyes boring into you as you tried—and failed—to stay upright. you were so close to just giving in and laying flat on the floor. honestly, it might’ve been comfier than your chair at that point.

wonwoo, sitting two rows away, looked like he was internally debating whether to intervene or let you rot in peace. when the bell rang, you startled awake like you’d been electrocuted, nearly knocking your stuff off your desk in the process.

“you okay?” he asked, falling into step beside you as you shuffled out of the classroom like a zombie.

“i’m fine,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie. “just need food. like, now.”

you detoured to the convenience store on the way to his apartment, snagging an entire kimbap roll and tearing into it like a starving animal. wonwoo followed behind, holding your water bottle with a look that was equal parts judgment and amusement.

“you couldn’t wait?” he asked, watching as you ate half the roll in one bite.

“bro,” you said around a mouthful of rice, “if i didn’t eat this, i was gonna pass out on the cold asphalt. your problem now, mr. class president.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just handed you your water like the reluctant babysitter he was.

this was going to be a long afternoon.

you couldn’t help yourself. the suspicion had been eating away at you for weeks now, ever since you first heard his voice in class and that nagging sense of déjà vu set in. wonwoo had escaped to the bathroom, and you had the perfect opportunity to snoop.

your fingers hovered over his notebook, but then your gaze darted back to your own screen. back and forth, back and forth. his notebook. yours. the coincidences were piling up like a conspiracy wall in your head. the voice, the specific vocabulary choices, even the cadence—how did i not notice this earlier?!

“fuck it,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing his notebook and quickly pulling up the site where you normally streamed your favorite asmr creator. just to check. just to confirm your theory.

your heart pounded as the site loaded, every second dragging like molasses. the channel page opened, and at first, it seemed normal. too normal. you almost clicked away, feeling stupid for even suspecting anything.

but then you saw it: edit profile. analytics.

your breath caught, and a sharp scoff escaped you as you crossed your arms. oh, my god. the realization hit you like a freight train. it’s him. wonwoo. class president. sci-fi nerd. “how the fuck did i not notice?” you muttered, half impressed by his audacity.

you were so lost in your spiraling thoughts that you didn’t hear him return—until his voice, practically kissed your earlobe.

“what. do. you. think. you. are. doing?”

you jumped so hard your knee slammed into the underside of the desk. whipping around, you found wonwoo standing over you, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“uh—nothing?” you stammered, trying to slam your laptop shut, but his hand darted out and stopped you.

“‘nothing’ doesn’t look like you snooping through my computer,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

your cheeks burned. “okay, fine, maybe i was curious—”

“you were curious?” his tone sharpened. “curious enough to invade my privacy?”

“invade your—bro, you’re literally whispering dirty robot sex fantasies to the entire internet. how is that private?”

“that’s different!” his ears flushed a deep red, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “that’s content. this—this is personal.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “oh, please. you’re mad i figured it out. admit it.”

he leaned closer, towering over you now, his hand pressing down on the desk beside you. “what do you want, huh? blackmail? are you gonna tell everyone?”

you laughed, loud and incredulous. “tell everyone?! dude, relax. i’m not gonna expose your little side hustle. besides…” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. “you should be thanking me. clearly, i’m a fan.”

wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. 

“you’re a what?” he asks, your pulse skyrocketing as he stepped even closer, crowding you against the chair.

“did i stutter?” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth and tongue and frustration. you barely had time to process it before he was yanking you out of the chair, his hands rough as they gripped your hips and spun you around.

“you want to act like a brat,” he growled into your ear, his voice so reminiscent of his asmr persona that it made you roll your eyes back slighty, “then you’re gonna get treated like one.”

he bent you over the desk, the cold surface pressing against your chest as he yanked down your college skirt and underwear at once. his fingers slid through your folds, already slick just from being around him.

“so fucking wet,” he muttered, almost to himself. “you get off on this, don’t you? knowing it’s me.”

“shut your mouth,” you gasped, but it came out more like a moan as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them and pressing them hard on your front wall.

“make me,” he challenged, his other hand coming down sharply on your ass. the sting made you gasp, your hips jerking against his hand as you tense on the desk.

the pace of his fingers was relentless, his thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts. every part of your body was starting to be feveirsh, and you hated—hated—how easily he was unraveling you. you spent nights thinking about how it would be if onyx fucked you, and here you are. of course you would be a mess in a second.

“sorry” he mocked you. “am i too much for you?”

you clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into the desk as you tried to hold back a moan. “you talk too fucking much actually wonwoo,” you hissed.

“yeah, that's what's paying me at nights” wonwoo chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers out and flipping you onto your back with his big arms. before you could protest, he was kneeling between your legs, his mouth suddenly hot and insistent against your core, better than any other vibrator you insisted on using at night.

the sounds—the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue—mixed with your whimpers as he devoured you like a man starved. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

“stop—”

“stop?” he looked up, his chin glistening. “not until you admit i’m your favorite.”

you glared down at him, breathless and defiant. “you’re such an asshole.”

“and yet…” he smirked, diving back in and flicking his tongue against your clit until your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

it didn’t take long before you were coming undone, your body shaking as his mouth pulled your clit. wonwoo didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, dragging out your orgasm until you were a trembling, incoherent chaos beneath him.

wonwoo doesn’t waste a second after pulling back, his hands flipping you over again so you’re bent over the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool surface as he grinds against you. the thick outline of his cock rubs against your dripping folds, still covered by the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants. you gasp, your hips jerking back involuntarily, and his pearly-white smile flashes above you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost smug, as a dark spot begins to spread on his sweatpants from your slick. “you’re soaking me through.”

the way he emphasizes the word makes your back contort in shivers, but you’re too far gone to care. your fingers claw at the desk as he keeps humping against you, his pace quickening. when he finally pulls back, you hear the shuffle of fabric as he yanks down his sweatpants and briefs. the soft clink of a drawer opening catches your attention, and you crane your neck to see him sliding on a condom.

“you’re still melting all over my desk,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your ass. “can’t even wait for me, huh?”

before you can respond, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp. he doesn’t stop, spanking you again and again until your skin is flushed and burning.

“you look so pretty like this,” he says, his hand smoothing over the heated skin before gripping your waist and lining himself up. “all messy and desperate for me.”

when he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch until you’re full and breathless, pussy trying to clench at his big grith to adjust. wonwoo groans, his head falling forward as he sinks in to the hilt.

your walls flutter around him, and he moans at the feeling, the sound so real and raw that it sends a jolt straight to your core.

“talk to me,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled against the desk.

he chuckles, his pace picking up as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “you want me to talk dirty? you want me to tell you how tight you are? how good you’re taking me?”

you moan in response, your hips bucking back against him as his words send you curling.

“yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he continues, his voice thick with lust. your moans grow louder, and he suddenly remembers the videos you must’ve listened to—the whining, the moaning. the thought makes his stomach flip, and he decides to give you exactly what you want.

he starts letting out soft whimpers, his voice breaking with each thrust, the sounds spilling out almost involuntarily. “fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum—”

the genuine desperation in his voice drives you wild, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper. he groans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave marks, but you don’t care.

“please,” he moans, his voice high and strained. “let me cum for you. let me—fuck—”

you push back against him, meeting his thrusts as your own climax builds, your breaths coming in short, broken gasps. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies moving together, and the tension snaps all at once.

you come hard, your body shaking as you cry out, and wonwoo isn’t far behind. his hips stutter, a guttural moan escaping him as he spills into the condom, his body trembling with the force of it.

he collapses over you, his chest heaving against your back as you both try to catch your breath. after a moment, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his voice still hoarse as he murmurs, “guess i’m a little better live, hm?”

you just let out a defeated moan, the coldness of the table soothing your hot cheeks.

“keep quiet about this, and i'll keep giving you more.” well, it's just an excuse that wonwoo said to fuck you over again.

[elexaria]

dating simon riley wasn’t always easy. “i’m a bloody nutcase, eh?” he’d joke when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, taking deep breaths as his calloused thumb rasps against the soft cotton bedsheets, grounding him back to reality. “puts all my efforts to shame when i wake up like this. fuck’s sake.”

therapy is mandatory, especially given his role as lieutenant. the traumas of childhood, the torture. he thinks he’s good at dealing with his problems, thinks therapy is a waste of time. “what, it’s just a bloke sat there starin’ at me? hell, get me a piece of paper with some made up degree on it and even i could be a therapist.” he grumbles after you point out that, in fact, he’s not as good as coping with his trauma as he thinks he is.

“you need to actually give this a go, si. it’s..” you pause, biting the inside of your lip as you make breakfast. his hair is disheveled, wry strands of grey sticking up against the grain. his dark circles only exemplify just how tired he is, especially when he has his night terrors. you shake your head, sighing as you crack another egg into the frying pan. “how can i expect you to stay safe out there when you’re barely able to look after yourself when you’re home?” you sigh out as he grunts, taking a seat at the small dining table, his eyes skimming through the morning paper.

god, he’s such a stubborn bastard. it takes months to get him to at least consider finding a new therapist, to get him to actually care about his mental health. christ, if he can’t do it for himself, can’t he at least try for your sake?

and then, it’s like he has a lightbulb moment. you come home after a long day at work, only to find him sat at the dining table, writing scruffy notes in a ring bound notebook. “mission notes?” you ask curiously, keeping your eye on him as you make yourself a cup of tea. he grunts, shaking his head as he continues to write.

“it’s a diary. supposed to help with your mental health or summet.” he replies, settling his pen down to meet your gaze. you must have had a look of confusion on your face, and it makes the corners of his lips twitch up into a half-smile. “yeah, i know. a bloke like me with a diary, like i’m a bloody teenage girl.” he quips, now grinning as his fingers toy with the corners of the notebook. “writin’ about all the boys i fancy on the field.” he shoots a wink, before continuing to write some more in his notebook.

it’s actually surprising, a smile on your lips as you watch him in his own little world, actually making an effort in his mental health recovery. you come over, settling a warm cup of tea by him before pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, still smiling as you make your way upstairs to give him some privacy. he comes upstairs after half an hour, chucking the diary into his bedside table drawer before sprawling out onto the bed obnoxiously with a deafening groan. you whine and complain when he purposely stretches on you, gently crushing you with his bolder-esque shoulders with a massive grin on his face.

there were still bad days, though. days where he’d hide himself in the garage to work on some of his projects. but you’re both trying, he feels his heart break when you gently knock on the door, holding a plate of snacks and a cup of tea for him, and fuck, it makes his bad day slightly better.

that evening, he curls up besides you silently on the couch, his journal and pen in hand as he clears his throat. you curiously peer down as he begins to flick through the pages of chicken scratch, gently tapping the page as he looks up at you. he clears his throat, and begins to read out the sweetest paragraph, one that makes your eyes well up with tears.

“no idea where i would be without you, love. you make the darkest days of my life brighter than ever. you make life worth it.” he ends his speech , the timbre of his voice cracking with emotion as he looks at you. and right there, you know that through all the trials and tribulations you two will go through, you’re the love of simon riley’s life and he would never let you forget that.

[obsessedwhyyes]

The Learned Observer

Fic Request: Voyeurism

Summary: On a sleepless night, Gale notices the distinct sound of hushed voices outside his tent. It couldn't be you and Astarion… could it? When he decides to take a peek - to satisfy his scholarly curiosity, of course - he gets more than he bargained for.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2623 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader, implied Astarion x Gale x Fem!Reader Content: Gale's POV (first person), voyeurism, dry humping, handjob, public sex, male masturbation, a little bit of jealousy.

A/N: Gale, in my humble opinion, would not use the word, “cock.” I cannot express how hard it was to not use the word, "cock" in a smut fic. I frigging love that word. Anyways, writing entirely in Gale’s voice was honestly the most fun mini challenge I’ve set myself so far, and I would gladly do first person BG3 companion POVs again. Thank you, dear anon, for the request!

Another sleepless night.

The orb pulses beneath my skin, each throb a reminder of my predicament.

I implore my mind to wander to the events of our journey, to the challenges that lie ahead, in pursuit of a worthwhile distraction. But the orb’s hunger grows stronger, like a raging maelstrom, each tribute to its insistent pull a mere ripple against the tide of its endless consumption. Perhaps I should consult the others about–

… Voices drift from outside my tent before I can finish my thoughts. Curious.

Hushed laughter and whispered words. Astarion's distinctive timbre and… you.

The sound is soft, subtle - a quiet exchange. Yet, here I am, catching fragments of something private, something perhaps not intended for outside ears.

I shift, the faintest spark of curiosity pulling me from my solitude. It's innocent, surely - a late-night conversation, perhaps a shared joke. And yet, as the moments pass, I can't ignore the intimacy in your laughter, the way Astarion's voice drops to that silken murmur he reserves for his attempts at enticement.

Just a glance, I tell myself. Merely to understand what could be so amusing at this hour.

Slowly, carefully, I draw back a sliver of canvas, just enough to peek through.

My breath catches as my eyes adjust to the firelight outside. There, on the other side of the campfire, resting against a fallen log, you sit beside him, close - very close - your faces inches apart.

Your legs are entwined, and there’s an intensity in the way you look at each other. I’m taken aback by the hunger in the kiss that follows - one neither timid nor restrained. Your hands begin to explore each other with what I can only call fervour - the kind of urgency I hadn't known either of you possessed, let alone with each other. 

The way you move together speaks of raw desire rather than tender affection - this is clearly a new physical relationship.

When did this start? How did I miss the signs? Though perhaps I was too caught up in my own concerns to notice the lingering glances, the way you always seemed to find reasons to be near each other…

I tell myself it’s simple curiosity that keeps me here, observing. A certain academic interest, if you will. After all, Astarion has always been something of a hedonist - a man who indulges in his desires with a recklessness I sometimes envy, though rarely approve. But to see him like this - in action, as it were - offers a unique perspective on his character.

You murmur something I cannot make out, a teasing lilt in your voice, and Astarion laughs in that rakish, honeyed tone of his, as though thrilled to have you so wholly entranced. His hands grip your waist, and with a practised grace, he pulls you into his lap, the hem of your skirt spilling around you both. As his hands settle on your hips, you grind against what I can only assume to be a prominent hardness in his trousers, judging by the satisfied smirk on his face. 

You seem eager, pliant under his touch, responding in ways I confess I hadn’t thought you capable of - no, not like this. Not with him.

My heart hammers in my chest, a tension spreading through me that’s… increasingly difficult to ignore. And yet, I remind myself, this is mere observation, nothing more. A clinical exercise in understanding the intricacies of interpersonal attractions between a vampire and a mortal; the undercurrent of danger that befalls such an arrangement.

He holds you with a blend of confidence and entitlement that borders on decadent, his mouth at your neck, lips brushing against your skin with a maddening leisure that’s somehow indulgent and teasing all at once. His fangs linger there and, for a moment, my heart stops - surely he wouldn’t… Ah, no. No, he’s not feeding. He merely kisses your neck, fangs scraping lightly against your throat - close enough to tempt and tantalise. I see the goosebumps flare on your skin.

He whispers something low and unintelligible, and you let out a soft giggle, yielding in a way that speaks of trust - trust that’s he’s earned, somehow, despite his nature.

And then your hand drifts between you both, touching him through his trousers.

Gosh. I hadn’t thought you so bold.

Astarion’s body arches into your touch, his gaze darkening as he watches you with a hunger that’s both terrifying and… strangely beautiful. I find myself entranced, my breath shallow as I observe the way your fingers trace over him, the way he leans into you. The noise he makes when your fingers flex, squeezing him gently over the fabric… Gracious. 

There’s a strange, reluctant curiosity building within me. I should look away. I should grant you both the privacy you likely assume you have. And yet, my gaze remains fixed, drawn to the details of your encounter: the way his hands tighten on your waist, the way your breaths synchronise, the way he murmurs softly into your ear…

I am aware - painfully so - of the ache low in my body that has built with each passing moment, each glance, each touch. I am no stranger to restraint - I have spent years tempering my desires, sacrificing comforts in the pursuit of knowledge, of power. Yet, here, now, I feel that restraint begin to falter; to dissolve like ink in water, dispersing until it is all but unrecognisable. It has been so long, after all. So, so long.

When your hands move to the waistband of his trousers, my breath catches. Gods above, surely you won't, not out in the open... but yes. Yes, it seems you will.

When you pull him free, well - I’ve always wondered about vampire physiology, purely academically, of course. But the sight of him prompts rather less scholarly thoughts. He’s impressively endowed - perhaps it is wishful thinking to believe that this is but another gift of his condition. It’s fascinating how vampiric transformation affects every part of the body - he’s almost luminescent in the firelight, every inch of him perfect and unmarred. I notice the veins that trace along his length, faintly visible beneath his skin. He is, even now, a study in confidence, exuding a subtle power that one can only achieve when utterly comfortable in one’s own skin.

Your hand wraps around him, sliding up and down his length at a teasing pace, drawing forth a sound I have never heard our pale companion make - a soft, broken gasp, caught somewhere between a moan and a sigh. It sounds almost reluctant, as though he hadn’t meant for such a sound to slip past his lips. He twitches under your ministrations, and his grip on your hips tightens enough that there will surely be bruises tomorrow.

My fingers rest at my thigh, trembling ever so slightly. A small part of me - a remnant of reason, perhaps - tells me to pull back, to look away, to let this moment pass without surrendering to the need that has taken root within me. But my body, the traitorous thing it is, does not heed such commands. Instead, I find my hand drifting lower.

My fingers trace over the fabric of my trousers, over the aching hardness beneath. A gentle palming, barely enough to ease the tension that coils tighter with each passing moment as I watch the scene unfold.

Your hands elicit quiet murmurs from Astarion that grow deeper and more insistent with each passing moment. For a moment, the two of you share a look - one of conspiratorial mischief, perhaps - and then a soft, shared giggle, the sound mingling with the crackling of the fire. 

You're so utterly engrossed in him; so utterly unselfconscious.

You shift, a question in your eyes, and as he nods, giving his assent, you rise just enough to shift, positioning yourself over him. Your skirts drape around you both, providing a veneer of modesty, though there's no mistaking what follows when you sink yourself down on to him. The way your lips part in a gasp as he enters you, the way his head falls back with a victorious grin - it makes the tightness, the great ache between my legs, almost unbearable.

I find my hand slipping beneath my waistband.

Just a little relief, I tell myself. Just enough to ease this maddening tension.

There is a certain poetry to it, I suppose - this surrender to the pleasures of the flesh. I allow myself to imagine, as my hand finds the throbbing heat of my arousal, what it might feel to be in your place, to have someone look at me with that same confidence, to experience touch imbued with the certainty of one who knows precisely how to elicit pleasure - a knowledge gleaned from centuries, no doubt, of indulgence and conquest.

It’s enough to leave me aching for more than mere observation.

The fervour with which you move against him… it’s hypnotic, each roll of your hips drawing forth increasingly wanton sounds from you both. Astarion's carefully crafted demeanour gives way to something more roguish, a playful daring that glints in his eyes as you rise and fall and rise and fall on his length.

I find my hand instinctively matching your rhythm, every shift and motion, as though I, too, am bound to the undulating tempo that you and Astarion have created.

Gods… what must it be like to be him? To have someone so openly, eagerly drawn to you, meeting every touch with matching fervour? To hold someone close and feel their raw desire, the thrill of each laugh, each gasp, offered without hesitation? I wonder what it must be like to inspire such a response, to be desired so freely, without need for pretence or restraint?

With Mystra, I was ever the pursuer, striving tirelessly to earn even the barest hint of her approval, each moment together feeling like an examination I desperately hoped to pass. But Astarion… well. He needn't chase or convince. Despite his vampiric nature - or perhaps, in part, because of it - he is simply desired, freely given all that I once had to beg for. The inequity of it all would be rather poetic, if it weren't so personally vexing.

“A-ah!”

Your gasp cuts through my ruminations, pulling me back into the scene.

Astarion’s hand has slipped between you, guiding you to that final crescendo with a practised touch. The sight of it is utterly spellbinding: his fingers moving with a precision that speaks to centuries of experience, knowing just where to press, where to linger. The control he exercises over you is enviable, each movement of his hand coaxing you closer to that peak, his attention wholly focused on your reaction, even as your hips rock back and forth on his length with an increasingly frantic, unrestrained urgency.

The way your eyes roll back... Gosh.

The expression on your face, one of pure, unfiltered abandon, is a sight to behold.

Your body trembles as you reach your peak, and a sound - a cry, too loud in the stillness of the night - escapes your lips. Astarion’s palm clamps over your mouth, a futile attempt to muffle you in the throes of your climax. Though he hushes you, his expression suggests that he is not in the least bit concerned. In fact, he seems rather pleased - more than pleased, really. 

There’s a thrill in such a public display for him too, no doubt.

I swallow, the sound almost too loud, my heart pounding against my ribs as though it seeks to betray me. Astarion's head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to the shadows, and for one heart-stopping moment, I think he has sensed me, that his attention has shifted from you to this invisible interloper, the scholar caught red-handed in his quiet act of voyeurism.

Could he... sense me here, lingering on the fringe of his private moment? Could he smell the stir of my own arousal, feel the faint tremor of my breath as I fight for composure? For several heartbeats, my hand freezes. I dare not even breathe.

But then his attentions return to you, and I breathe a sigh of relief. 

He brings his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he drives himself upwards into you, deeper, with mounting desperation. It seems he seeks to chase his own release, content with the pleasure he has wrought you.

You respond eagerly, pressing closer, your own sounds growing louder, heedless of who might hear, and I can see that thrill in his face - the satisfaction of knowing he’s eliciting every reaction from you, drawing out each gasp, each shudder.

My hand glides hastily across my arousal, my own breathing growing ragged as I watch his control begin to slip. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his head tips back in pure abandon.

In the final throes, he presses himself against you, buried firmly to the hilt. It’s almost animalistic, all thoughts, all calculated movements, making way for one singular goal: to empty himself into you, filling you with all he has to offer with breaths rugged and low. All composure is stripped, replaced with instinct and pure need.

I find my own movements quickening to match his pace, as though some invisible thread binds us all to this moment. My hand tightens as I lose myself in the same tempo, every sound from you both spurring me closer. The sight of his final shudder, the look of utter satisfaction crossing his face as he reaches that height, is enough to tip me over the edge.

For a heartbeat, the night seems to hold us all in perfect suspension - your quiet gasps, his satisfied murmurs, my own silent echo of shared pleasure - all woven together in this clandestine tableau.

Only then, as the euphoria begins to fade, does a most uncomfortable awareness creep in.

Gods above, what have I... A scholar of worldly acclaim, reduced to voyeur, caught up in base desires like some common... No. Best not to dwell on such things. Though I suspect sleep will prove rather elusive tonight, haunted by questions of propriety and... other matters.

With a groan, I roll onto my back, the orb’s steady throb now a minor annoyance compared to the tangled thoughts that flood my mind. Perhaps I can chalk this entire… incident up to fatigue, a wandering mind, even a fevered dream. Yes, that must be it. The product of a restless night and, possibly, a touch of indigestion. After all, who could believe that I, Gale of Waterdeep, would be brought so low as to... well, that.

As morning light spills across camp, I attempt a façade of normalcy, willing my cheeks to cool and my mind to settle. Just as I convince myself the night’s events were nothing more than a peculiar dream, Astarion sidles up, his expression one of leisurely amusement.

"Restless night, Gale?” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. His gaze is as sharp as his tone, a knowing glint in his eyes that makes my stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way. "I thought I heard a... stirring from your tent."

The corner of his mouth quirks up in that infuriatingly smug way of his, and I nearly choke on my response. 

He knew. 

Astarion knew. 

I force a cough, pretending to inspect the morning sky.

"A dream," I reply a bit too quickly. "Perhaps the cheese at dinner was... overly ripe."

But Astarion merely chuckles, a wicked sound, before strolling away with a satisfied air. And as I watch him saunter off, I’m left to question just how much of the night was a dream - and how much, mortifyingly, was very, very real.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy @asterordinary

[lxvvie]

Do you think Graves would be open to teaching his s/o about how to kiss and make out properly if they had little experience ..? Totally not me projecting my own lack of experience with men😭😭😭

Idk the idea for some reason is really endearing but also really sexy. Something about the patience that theyre having with their partner and guiding them, validating them...I have issues omfg

Now, darlin', don't you fret. There's nothing wrong with being a little inexperienced, not by a long shot, and he's a patient fella. A very... hands-on teacher, too. If you know what I mean, sweetheart. 😏

Graves is the one who has you straddling him, hands resting dangerously low on your hips (if they're not cupping that cute ass of yours already). He's talking you through it, smooth timbre telling you to open that pretty mouth of yours for his tongue, soft crooning helping you come down whenever you get lightheaded from all the making out you're doing—"Breathe, baby."

And when you've made progress, Graves ain't above praising you, kissing the tip of your nose, kissing your forehead, and gently going,

"Good darlin'."

[heirofnight]

save the day (please)

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: reader has had a terrible day, and azriel (her mate) is right there to pick up her pieces (and kiss her bruises).

a/n: yeah i had a bad day and i needed this so i wrote it lmao. enjoy <3

your knee throbbed as soon as it made contact with the corner of the bed frame, immediate pain registering in the form of sharp waves.

"fuck," you cursed under your breath, wincing as you hunched over to inspect the section of skin - that was absolutely going to leave a bruise.

today had been horrible. truly, undoubtedly terrible - one of those days where it felt like every single thing that could go wrong, had gone awry. like the odds were stacked against you.

and because of this, your mood was absolutely foul. as every slight inconvenience began to accumulate and pile on, you felt the crease between your eyebrows wind tighter and tighter. you were sure it was now a permanent fixture on your features.

you'd had half a mind to just crawl back into bed, bring the covers up to your chin, and fall asleep once more - a do-over, a restart. you were convinced that this day was unsalvageable.

you trudged downstairs to the dining hall in the house of wind, hoping to find reprieve in the form of a refreshing lunch. rounding the corner, you became aware of the deep timbre of several different voices, one of which belonging to azriel. your mate.

you'd reinforced your mental shields once your mood had completely gone south earlier today. you didn't want him to feel the tidal waves of unrestrained anger and frustration that you were sure would end up projected down his side of the bond. he had more important things to worry about - you didn't want to derail his mood, too.

you knew him - knew that he would have cancelled every single thing on his agenda today, no matter the importance. his main goal would have become taking care of you and your bad mood. he was a precious, precious male. but honestly, keeping him from his work for the day would have only made your mood worsen due to the guilt it would've caused.

you took a deep breath before stepping into the threshold of the dining hall. you transformed your expression into one that depicted calmness, happiness. you were so sure it was convincing. and to anyone that wasn't your mate, it probably would have been.

you took one step towards the large table that took up the center of the room, a forced smiling stretching across your lips. azriel, cassian, and rhys all met your gaze in tandem, the latter two males nodding politely.

you glanced over at azriel, not missing the way his eyes raked across your body. his stare became hardened for just a moment as he studied you.

"what's wrong?," he asked, voice tense. he clocked it immediately. no mask was opaque enough to hide your true feelings from him.

you faltered for a moment, standing in place - fidgeting with your fingers. he tracked that movement too, huffing out a breath through his nose knowingly. you cleared your throat, taking a seat at the table next to him as you always did.

he stiffened in his seat, shifting his body to face yours just slightly.

"nothing, az," you said brightly, beginning to serve your plate from the generous spread that sat in the center of the table.

az stayed silent for a moment, watching you closely. he combed over your features, waiting for one of your tells. he'd come to know you so well, knew what every minute movement, twitch, or glance meant.

and sure enough, you'd scrunched your nose - just slightly - but azriel knew immediately: something was off.

he placed a large hand on your shoulder without another word, and before you could react, the both of you had been teleported back to your rooms swathed in shadows and night.

you made a quiet noise of surprise - you were not a newly mated couple, but you'd still failed to wholly get used to azriel's teleportation. especially when you were just about to lift a bite of food to your lips. and now, here you both stood, in your dimly lit rooms - no food in sight.

"az," you chastised, knowing that your mate wouldn't drop the subject until you confessed your feelings to him - feelings you'd rather just ignore.

"no, y/n," he replied calmly, leading you over to your shared bed.

"sit," he gently commanded, pulling you down to sit on the edge of the mattress alongside him, "what's going on, my love?"

his voice was so deep, so calm, so loving. it took all of your restraint to not launch yourself into his lap. his question dripped with sincerity, care, love. it made your chest ache.

especially considering you'd planned to hide this part of yourself away from him today.

you sighed, meeting his tender gaze hesitantly. he moved to grab your legs from where they dangled over the bed, opting to drape them over his own lap instead. he gently massaged and rubbed your muscles, urging you to speak whenever you felt ready.

"i'm just having an awful day," you spoke quietly, feeling a bit silly whenever the words left your mouth.

he hummed in understanding, his scarred hands working knots from your calves.

"tell me what happened," his voice like a warm hug. you watched as his hazel eyes searched your face with concern.

you pursed your lips, thinking for a moment. letting out a deep breath, you spoke.

"i woke up late this morning, and it was raining, so i couldn't go down to the rainbow to shop like i'd planned. i spilled my morning tea all over the sheets - which is my fault, i shouldn't have been drinking tea in the bed to begin with, but i was cold, and-...," you trailed off, sighing in exasperation, "i ripped my favorite dress by accidentally stepping on it when i tried to put it on, and," you paused, moving the hem of your gown up a bit higher to show off the budding bruise forming on your kneecap, "i hit my knee on the bed frame and honestly, i think that was the final straw," you finished, glancing up at az's face.

he was smirking at you in adoration, and he dropped his head for a moment to hide the grin that was causing his dimples to make a welcome appearance. he huffed out a small laugh, and you reached over to lightly slap his bicep.

"don't laugh," you fussed, fighting to hold back your own smile.

"my sweet girl," he chuckled out, his voice full of love, "you're just precious, i can't help it," he reached out, cupping your cheek in his large hand.

you sighed again, this time in mock frustration, "you aren't taking me seriously," you remarked, placing your hands in your lap.

"no, no, no," he replied, nearly cooing, "i am, i promise. i'm sorry you've had such a frustrating day," he tsked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"we'll go to the rainbow tomorrow," he amended, "and we'll purchase a brand new dress for you while we're there," he lifted one of your hands, pressing his lips to your knuckles.

"and," he continued, diverting his attention to the angry skin on your knee, "i'll take care of this," his voice lowered, reaching down to press slow, gentle kisses across the area.

he nudged his nose against your thigh as his lips continued to travel. he pressed several more kisses to your tender knee, taking his time.

then, his mouth began to move upward, his fingers digging into the plush skin of your thigh. he placed open mouth kisses as his lavishing continued north, his tongue darting out to taste you as he went.

his hands pushed the hem of your gown up higher, both of your upper legs completely bare to him.

your breath hitched, and you leaned back on your elbows against the mattress. "az," you whispered out, voice heady.

"shh, darling," he hushed, moving himself to bracket his body across your lower half.

his mouth continued its journey up, up, up.

until the sensation of his tongue, his lips, his mouth landed right where you needed it the most.

and suddenly, you couldn't remember why you'd been so upset in the first place.

a/n: my reasoning for writing this was completely indulgent because i, myself, have had an awful fucking day. this was out of complete selfishness, because i need this right now lmfao. i hope you enjoyed & maybe this can bring you comfort, too <3 let me know what you think!

[diamonddaze01]

Could you do 81 “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” with Woozi please?

to you

pairing: jihoon x reader | wc: 1.1k prompt: "you weren't supposed to hear that." a/n: 10 points to anyone who can guess my fav svt song lol

A faint melody drifted down the hallway, tender and unguarded. It wasn’t unusual for Jihoon to work late in his studio, but tonight felt different—like the music itself was reaching out, calling you closer, a thread pulling gently at your chest.

The door was slightly ajar, spilling a sliver of golden light onto the hardwood floor. You paused outside, your fingertips brushing the frame as if crossing that threshold might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment. Jihoon rarely sang aloud when he was writing—his process was usually silent, deliberate, private. This felt like stumbling into something sacred.

Peering inside, you saw him perched at his desk, completely immersed. The faint hum of his keyboard filled the air, a soft counterpoint to the rich timbre of his voice. His headphones hung around his neck, one hand resting lightly on the keys while the other scribbled furiously in his notebook, the paper already riddled with lines and corrections.

“Today I'll go to your arms too, I'm grateful to you, who greets me whenever I open the door…”

Each word carried a quiet intimacy, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You stood frozen in the doorway, heart catching in your throat. His voice wasn’t as polished as it was during performances; it was raw, vulnerable, like he was singing just for himself—or maybe, you realized with a quiet ache, for you.

Jihoon leaned closer to the keys, his lips moving faintly as he sang, his hair falling forward to shadow his face. The golden light softened the angles of his features, making him look impossibly gentle, almost unrecognizable from the focused, sharp-edged Jihoon you were used to seeing when he worked.

The creak of the floorboard betrayed you.

His fingers stilled mid-chord, his head snapping up. Wide eyes met yours, and you saw the flush rise immediately, creeping up his neck and settling high on his cheekbones. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he blurted, the notebook snapping shut under his hand as if to shield its contents from view.

You stepped inside slowly, your heart twisting at how flustered he looked. His shoulders were stiff, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk like he was bracing himself for impact. “Why not?” you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jihoon, that was beautiful.”

“It’s not done,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze flicked anywhere but to you, darting from the keys to the notebook to the wall behind you.

“Done or not, it’s incredible.” You took a careful step closer, your eyes searching his face. “Is it for a new project?”

Jihoon hesitated, his jaw tightening. His fingers drummed against the closed notebook before he let out a quiet sigh. “No,” he admitted, his voice low. “It’s for you.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was blink. “For me?”

He groaned, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “Yes, for you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled. “I was… I was going to use it to propose.”

The admission stole the breath from your lungs. You stepped closer, the edges of his words still sinking in. “Propose?”

Jihoon nodded, lowering his hands just enough to peek at you, his ears burning red. “I wanted to finish it first,” he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I wanted it to be perfect, and then I’d play it for you. But you just—” He gestured vaguely toward you with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “You ruined the surprise.”

Your heart swelled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Jihoon,” you whispered, stepping into his space until you were standing between his legs. Your hands found his shoulders, feeling the tension still coiled in them. “You could’ve sung me the alphabet, and I’d still cry. This? This is everything.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his head dropping forward. His bangs brushed your collarbone, and for a moment, he stayed there, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

You smiled, your hands sliding up to cup his face, coaxing him to look at you again. His cheeks were still pink, his eyes wide and uncertain. “Sing me the rest,” you said softly, your thumbs brushing against the sharp curve of his jaw.

He hesitated, his lips parting as if to protest, but the words never came. Instead, he let out a resigned sigh, his hands resting lightly on your waist as he steadied himself. His voice was quieter now, but still full of that same tenderness that had stopped you in your tracks.

“You've given me a piece of happiness, You've placed all of the smiles in the world in my hands.”

His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t stop.

“In a swirling wind, If there's an eternal love, Then you're that person.”

Tears blurred your vision by the time he finished. Without thinking, you slid into his lap, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Jihoon,” you murmured, your voice trembling against his skin. “I already know the answer. You didn’t need a song to convince me.”

His breath hitched as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms locking around your waist like he was afraid to let go. “I wanted to say it the way I know best,” he whispered, his voice raw and thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your hands cradling his cheeks. “Say it, then,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears. “No music, no lyrics. Just you.”

Jihoon swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, every detail sharpening—the warmth of his hands on your waist, the golden light framing his face, the faint hum of the keyboard beneath you.

“Marry me,” he said at last, the words tumbling from his lips like a confession, raw and unfiltered.

Your heart swelled, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you leaned your forehead against his. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Yes, a million times yes.”

Relief washed over his features, and he let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Good,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around you. “Because I don’t think I could rewrite those lyrics again.”

You laughed too, brushing your lips against his. “Don’t change a single word,” you said, your voice thick with love. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[chion3spid3r]

dating prowler miles

pairings : e42!miles x fem!reader

warning : possessiveness, suggestive, suggestive talks, competitiveness, emotional talks

summary : what’s like to be the girlfriend of Miles

wc : 2.2k

a/n : if I did e1610!miles, I need to do e42!miles obviously.

bf!miles who would who will intimidate any man who approaches you with just a glance—a skill honed from years of being street-smart and cautious. One evening, your boyfriend Miles is hanging out with you when a guy you knew said hi. Without hesitation, he shoot the guy a quick, icy stare. Miles, always protective, make the guy run far from the two of you,

"Miles, damn he's my cousin!" Miles looks sheepish for a moment, then can't help but chuckle nervously at the misunderstanding. "My bad, babe. You know I gotta keep you safe though," he says, half-jokingly, knowing your ability to handle yourself but still wanting to look out for you.

bf!miles who would whisper to you spanish sweet nothings. Though Miles projects a tough guy image on the streets, he has an incredibly gentle side that only you get to see. Every night as you lay cuddled up in his arms, he murmurs tender Spanish endearments and flirty phrases in your ear. His voice is deep and soothing, the cadences and lilts of the Spanish words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the rumbling timbre of his voice lull you into a state of complete security and peace.

bf!miles who would bring you to arcade dates. Miles can be incredibly competitive, especially when it comes to video games. He loves taking you to the local arcade for dates and showing off his gaming prowess. He gets an adorable swell of pride on his face when he's dominating the high scores on his favorite games. One evening, however, you ended up beating not just his high score but his skills overall on the arcade's most popular game. Miles' jaw dropped and he tried to play it cool, insisting he'd never really practiced that game before. But you could see the look of shocked impressed behind his eyes,

bf!miles who would give you late night visits. After his nightly patrols, Miles often finds himself tapping at your bedroom window in the early hours of the morning. He'll slip inside, wearing prowler suit and looking exhausted. For Miles, these quiet, intimate moments are a sanctuary where he can be vulnerable and find comfort and solace after a difficult patrol.

"Sorry for waking you up, ma" he'll murmur contritely, running a hand through his messy braids. But you don't mind at all - in fact, you live for these late night visits. You guide him over to the bed and gently massage the tension from his shoulders and back as he recounts the events of his night.

bf!miles who would let you doing his hair braiding ritual. Miles takes great pride in his thick, braided hair and sees it as part of his identity. However, he only allows you and his mama to touch and style it - a sign of his deep trust.

Some evenings you'll sit on the bed behind him, carefully parting and braiding his hair, though your braiding skills admittedly still need some work. Miles will playfully wince and tease "Damn ma, you tryna rip my whole head off?" when you tug a little too hard on a section. But he remains patient, gently guiding your hands and giving you tips, until eventually the braid is neatly completed.

bf!miles who would never leave you with only a peck, for him, you directly make out. When Miles is feeling that fire for you, he doesn't hold back. His kisses start off soft and sweet but quickly deepen into something passionate and hungry.His intensity and desire for you is palpable and intoxicating.

When you look especially hot to him, he won't let you out. If you try to pull away, breathless, he growls "Stay right there, ma. Can't let you get away when you look that hot." He pulls you flush against his body, roaming hands leaving a trail of heat over your skin.

bf!miles who would discover secret places and bring you to them after he foud hem. In his nightly prowls around the city as the Prowler, Miles has discovered countless hidden gems - tucked away rooftops, winding alleyways, secret urban gardens and more. Whenever you've had a particularly stressful day, he'll surprise you by taking you on an impromptu exploration of these secret spots. Seeing the wonder and forgotten beauty of these places through Miles' perspective reminds you that even in the darkest of times, there's always light and enchantment to be found if you know where to look.

bf!miles who would buy you matching jordans. Both of you love to stunt, especially when it comes to your fresh kicks. One day Miles surprises you with a pair of brand new limited edition Jordans - except there's two pairs, one for each of you. He loves any opportunity to show the world that you're his girl. Rocking those matching kicks together is like a subtle claim staking your status as a couple.

bf!miles who wouldalways be a flirtatious teaser. Miles, before you two became a couple, loved to tease and get a riled reaction out of you. Whether it's mocking your Spanish accent (despite the fact that he has one too) or sneaking up behind you to grip your hips and press himself against you, he's constantly pushing your buttons in that flirtatious way of his. Part admiration, part purely carnal desire, Miles never lets too much time pass without reminding you just how much he wants you.

"You know how Latinas turn me on, ma. And you ain't no exception," he'll murmur in your ear, his voice dropping into that deep, rumbly register that makes you shiver.

bf!miles who would let you makeup him despite his boredom. Miles projects a tough, macho image, so you're surprised when he begrudgingly agrees to let you experiment with makeup on him one day.

As you start applying foundation, he's already fidgeting and groaning. "Ma, you really gotta do that shit?" he protests, flinching when you get too close to his eyes with the brushes.

You laugh at his reaction. "Hold still, tough guy. Don't be such a baby about it."

Miles grumbles under his breath but remains on the bedr, letting out exaggerated sighs and complaints like "This makeup shit is for real uncomfortable" and "How do y'all deal with this every day?"

When you finally get to the false lashes, Miles outright balks. "Oh hell no, there's no way you're putting those spidery things anywhere near my eyes!"

You pout at him until he reluctantly gives in with an eye roll. "Aiight, aiight, just get it over with quick."

As you meticulously apply the faux lashes, Miles stays uncharacteristically still and tense, grousing things like "This better not leave me with no lashes after" and "Not a damn word about this to the guys, a'ight?"

Once it's all done, he examines his made-up look in the mirror, trying to play it cool even as you catch him giving a subtle smile.

Ⓡ chion3spid3r all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

[sunsetvisitor]

The 1000xRESIST 1st Anniversary Fanzine is OUT NOW

blue communion, the 1000xRESIST 1st Anniversary Fanzine is OUT NOW.

This fan-led collection features over 100 pages made by 24 contributors (and 4 mods).

Within these pages, you'll find:

foreword by Remy Siu, the creative director of 1000xRESIST!

fan illustrations and cosplay

fan fiction, poetry, and essays

micro-TTRPG and personality quiz

food and drink recipes

music transcription and diy craft project (standalone printable assets offered with the zine download)

Get the Fanzine here!

We are so stunned by the talent and effort on display. Below is a copy of the forward, written for the fanzine. Hopefully it captures how we're feeling here at sunset visitor about this amazing display of love. This is truly next level.

Fanzine Forward

I can’t believe it’s been a year. While working on 1000xRESIST, it felt like development would never end. There was always something left to do, some sound, animation, or piece of music. A missing voice line here, a missing texture there. A bug persisting somewhere. I’m told this is a normal feeling in game development – and certainly we had similar experiences in the arts world – but this particular timbre of endlessness was new to me. And I think, new to many of us on the team. But... upon release, we continued to experience new things. We saw the first reviews go up. We saw players resonating with the story. We saw the first bits of fan art posted online. The first forum posts in ResetEra advocating for the game. The first messages and emails sent through our contact forms. We got to experience 1000xRESIST being discovered. Discovered by fellow devs and industry workers, discovered by the wonderful community gathering in our Discord, discovered by the amazing fans and artists online, and yes, by all the fantastic people here featured in this fanzine. Performing arts can be lonely. Even though you perform to people in-person and in real-time, after the performance is over, you rarely see the audience again. Their engagement with the work lives inside them, in memory, and one cannot really access that. This is what I’m used to. Getting the post-performance blues. To see fans continue to engage with 1000xRESIST, to get familiar with usernames and avatars, to answer questions on the Discord, and to witness this fanzine come together – to witness it even existing – has been remarkable. Thank you to all the contributors and organizers for making this possible. There’s so much talent and passion collected here. We are so grateful to have this community around the game, continuing to bring new people in and spreading the word. We say that a lot. We’ll keep saying it. 1000xRESIST was by no means a guaranteed success. There was a lot of risk. A lot of challenges. After all is said and done, we still exist because of the fans. It means the world to us that they’re making these characters – this story – their own. We get to discover a whole chorus of diverse artistic voices and perspectives, and all of a sudden, it’s not so lonely anymore. It starts to feel more like a collaboration. So, enough from me. Time to step aside and let these amazing folks take center stage! Six to one and HEKKI GRACE. – Remy Siu (Creative Director of 1000xRESIST) April 30th, 2025

FanZine Credits

MODS

manager & co-editor: 0x0ada

editor & co-manager & social media & promo artist:mynn

layout designer: eira

art moderator & cover artist: SpilledTe

CONTRIBUTIONS BY

0x0ada

Irutzencre

smanki

419 MHz

Issu the Res

Snazz

Amygdala Suzanna

Jupiter

Some-Creep

cadmean

Paprika

SpilledTe

Captain Turnip

Rashika (litchilovers)

thunder0star

deadfinches

ravenzeys

tj_ayyee

goblincat

Revenger210

Umbring

inksoot

sangkalibutan

WolvZephyr

[aventurineswife]

(For some reason I always imagine aven having twin boy and girl)

Can I request aven's baby twins playing with his boss form? Like they somehow saw it and begged their papa to play with his other form 😤😤

Through Their Eyes, a Hero

Summary: Aventurine takes a rare break from his gambles when his children burst into his study, full of energy and excitement. They show him a holographic image of his dramatic, superhero-like attire, and after some playful persuasion, he indulges them for a fun game of theatrics and mock battles. Aventurine finds solace in the joy of his children, allowing himself to embrace a rare vulnerability amidst the chaos of his life.

Tags: Aventurine and his twin kids, Fatherhood, Playful, Vulnerability, Family Moments, Humor, Tenderness, Heartwarming, Parenthood.

Warnings: Mild language (teasing), lighthearted humor.

Aventurine sighed deeply, reclining in the high-backed chair of his study. Warm light spilled over the cluttered table, highlighting scattered papers—contracts, market reports, and etc. Another day of high-stakes gambles, moving lives and fortunes like pieces on a game board. For now, the "Aventurine of Stratagems" had come out ahead, but his victories felt as fleeting as the silence that enveloped him.

Then came the sound—a cascade of giggles ringing down the hallway, light and infectious. Aventurine froze, his pen pausing mid-stroke. The patter of small feet grew louder until, with all the subtlety of a crashing chandelier, the door burst open.

“Papa!” cried two golden-haired whirlwinds, their energy charging into the room.

The first child darted toward him, eyes sparkling with mischief, while the other lagged behind, clutching an object Aventurine couldn’t immediately identify—a holographic image projector.

“Papa, look!” the first one chirped, scaling his lap like a conqueror before Aventurine could protest.

The second child held up the projector triumphantly, their grin nearly splitting their face. With a flick of small fingers, the device hummed to life, projecting an image above the desk. Aventurine’s (boss fight) attire shimmered into view—a dramatic ensemble of black, cyan, and gold, complete with a fur-lined coat and luminous accents. The children’s awed expressions mirrored their admiration.

“You look like a superhero!” the second exclaimed, their pupils wide with excitement.

Aventurine chuckled, his usual enigmatic smile softening into genuine affection. “A superhero, you say? I thought I was more of a villain.” he teased, ruffling the first child’s hair.

“No way!” the first retorted, tugging at his sleeve. “You’re way cooler than a villain. Papa, can you wear it? Pleeease?” They clasped their hands in a dramatic plea, their determination impossible to ignore.

Aventurine leaned back, his fingers brushing absently over the choker around his neck. He let out an exaggerated sigh. “You think the grand Aventurine dons such an outfit on a whim? Surely, you jest.”

“Yes!” they chorused in unison, their resolve unshaken.

The first crossed their arms, pouting for effect. The second joined in, their bottom lip quivering as if preparing for an epic tantrum. Aventurine stared at the two tiny tyrants, their golden hair and stubborn gazes reminding him of someone long gone. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk.

“Very well,” he relented, standing with a flourish. “But know this—once I assume the attire of power, there is no going back.”

The children cheered, bouncing on their heels as Aventurine strode toward a sleek wardrobe tucked against the far wall. His movements were deliberate, each step exuding the flair of a gambler about to deal the winning hand. He opened the wardrobe, and disappeared inside.

“Behold!” he declared, his voice a commanding timbre as he spread his arms. The tails of his coat flared behind him like wings. “The Aventurine of Stratagems, master of fate, fortune, and… playtime!”

The children erupted into cheers, clapping and squealing with delight.

“You’re a superhero, Papa!” the youngest exclaimed, their admiration radiating like sunlight.

Aventurine swept into a low bow, his hat dipping dramatically before he straightened with a sly grin. “Then I hope you’re prepared, my little challengers. No hero—or villain—lets their opponents win without a fight.”

Laughter filled the room as Aventurine engaged them in an impromptu game of theatrics, mock battles, and exaggerated tricks. His dramatic lunges and calculated “defeats” sent the children into fits of giggles. For a brief, stolen moment, the weight of his world lifted, replaced by the pure joy of fatherhood.

As their game wound down, Aventurine reclined once more, pulling his children into his arms. Their giggles softened into sleepy murmurs, and as he cradled them, he allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. Perhaps, in the fleeting happiness of these whirlwinds, he could find something he’d thought lost forever—a reason to keep gambling with life.

For them, Aventurine thought with a quiet smile. Always for them.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 2

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You go through checkout in autopilot. You pay, not paying mind to the total, and a bag boy helps get the bags in your cart. You’re still trembling from the encounter at the bread shelf. You’re starting to think you imagined it. Can pregnancy hormones make you delusional? 

As you push your cart out to the lot, you feel a chafing against your thighs. Your panties are still askew. You slow as you near the car and peek around to fix them. A shiver rolls over you at the brush of fabric across your pelvis. 

What are you doing? You should march back in there and demand the surveillance footage. You should call the police and file a report. It’s not about them believing you, they’ll have to see it on the cameras, right? 

You’re kept from your moment of clarity by the buzz of your phone. Shoot. You answer as Jake’s name flashes over the screen.  

“Hey,” you wisp you as you keep hold of the cart, hovering just next to the trunk of the car, “did I forget to put something on the list?” 

“Checking in. Been there a while,” he says. You can hear him typing as he speaks. He’s always so busy, even when he’s at home. If he isn’t logged into work, he’s up to some coding of his own. You suppose he’s trying to get as much in before the baby comes. “So, you almost done?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you try not to let your voice quaver, “just packing up the bags now. How’d your meeting with Harold go?” 

“Usual. That big project we’ve been working at? Got scrapped. Starting over,” he scoffs. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jake,” you pout as you reach into your purse and fish out the car keys. You pop the trunk and angle the cart so it won’t roll away. “I think I might get that promotion though.” You lift a bag and puff out as you balance the cell between cheek and shoulder, dropping it in the trunk, “Terra’s leaving so...” 

“Babe, I told you to wait until I finished work,” he sniffs, “you okay?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t get anything too heavy. Jake, it’s fine.” 

“Mm, I feel like... like you don’t let me do enough,” he whines. 

Your lips slant. You won’t let the hormones loosen your tongue. He has every opportunity to help. He could do the shopping himself but he says he needs you to make sure he gets the right things. He could cook dinner but he burns everything. He could clean the dishes but he breaks at least one thing each time. 

“You can rub my back?” You suggest, “or my feet.” 

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees noncommittally. Right, he’ll only do that if he gets a bit of fun after. 

“Anyway, we’ll talk when I get there. I don’t want the ice cream to melt,” you lean on the cart and hold back a sigh, “love ya.” 

“Mm, huh, yeah, you too. Gareth’s calling.” 

He hangs up and leaves you listening to dead air. You drop your shoulders and shove the phone back in your purse. You shake your head and move around the basket to grab another bag. A pair of thick arms beat you to it and you step back as a man in a yellow polo smirks down at you. 

“What’s a lady like you doing all the heavy lifting for?” The man asks. 

His timbre hits you like a train off its tracks. Your pregnancy brain unfogs and you remember what you’d meant to do before the phone call. You feel the scene back in the store, the creep of his hand under your dress. That voice. It’s definitely him. 

You gape at him as he steps close, hugging a bag to his stomach, and you back away in horror. His hair is combed back on top, his sides shaved close, and his lip is trimmed with a thick mustache. Despite his clean shave, a shadow already darkens his jawline.

Your heart hammers wildly and your whole body tingles. He steps around the cart and places the bag in the trunk. You touch your stomach as you try to calm yourself.

“Get away from me,” you murmur. 

“I’m just being helpful, sweet cheeks. You should know, I’m not really the type to help an old lady cross the street or whatever shit,” he snorts and faces you. 

“Go,” you rasp hotly as your eyes tinge. “Get away!” 

“Now, don’t go shrieking like a banshee. I’m really not into the whole...” he makes a motion in front of his stomach, “baby thing, but you’re convincing me.” 

“I said--” 

“I’m not done,” he points at you, “so keep your ears open, sugar tits.” He gives a leer at your chest, “now those... that’s amazing. You gone up a cup size or were they always honkers?” 

“Ew, you--” you try to accuse him and he taps your lips, stunning you to silence. 

As he comes closer, his size is even more obvious. Everyone’s big compared to you, he’s probably about the same height as your fiance, but he seems broader. Maybe because he’s older? 

“I’m just being a good Samaritan,” he looms over you, “helping you get your shopping all away.” He grins down at you and brings up two fingers, giving them a sniff, “getting you off--” 

“You--” 

"...your feet," he finishes.

He’s quicker than you. Your voice dissolves as he has you by the neck in and instant, your keys and purse falling to the tarmac. Your top-heavy stature has you off-balance without much of a struggle and you barely keep your side from hitting the open edge of the trunk. He bends and scoops up your leg, pushing you to roll onto the groceries and land uncomfortably against the emergency kit. 

“Hey!” You cry out and he snaps the lid shut. He slaps it and gives a cackle loud enough for you can hear. You hold your stomach, terrified that you landed too hard on your side.

“I only came for milk, imagine that.” 

[ithildinwrites]

thinking about kaveh going on week(s) long trips to survey sites or get inspo to create something new and alhaitham is still at their house in sumeru city on his own (think established haikaveh or they’re ambiguous or just have an undefined / developing relationship)

and alhaitham misses kaveh so much. he misses the smell of his coffee in the morning and the waft of the oud that kaveh dabs on his wrists when he goes to kiss him good morning

he misses saying “welcome home” when the door opens late in the evening, hours after alhaitham himself has clocked out of his strict work hours and come home. misses seeing a disheveled but pleased looking kaveh enter the living room and his eyes instantly light up upon seeing alhaitham

but most of all he misses kaveh’s voice. he misses their debates and he misses listening to kaveh ramble and yap about his most recent project or something that’s caught his interest recently or what he saw today. he loves the sound of kaveh’s voice and how soothing the timbre of it is, it’s such a comforting thing in his life and it makes him feel so warm and soft and safe

and maybe kaveh has an inkling of this so when he goes on these trips he sends alhaitham voice notes. he doesn’t really have much free time when he’s away so they’re usually at the end of his day as he’s getting ready for bed. his voice a little hoarse after a days work and slurring just the slightest because he’s tired but it’s perfect and alhaitham loves it. it’s his nightly routine to put it on right before bed and he just lays there in the darkness in his bed with kaveh’s voice surrounding him as he drifts off

edit: this is now a fic!

[sandplague]

pathologic 3 save & sound 2024 presentation

this is a quick attempt at a transcript of the presentation. I think I got most of it but there are some words I was unable to hear, I can't say I have a lot of practice doing this and that's on me so if any of you guys can help me I'll edit it asap

Ressa Schwarzwald: I'm Ressa from Gameowdio. Our team has been working on Pathologic 3 with Vasily Kashnikov and his apprentice Nikolai. This video will feature some of the audio stuff we've made together.

Our goal regarding audio direction was to give the real experience of being in the epicenter of an epidemic. Fully realistic, no bullshit. So we are obviously shooting this video in The Town. We realized pretty early that the game was quite different from the original Pathologic 2 because of the time travel mechanics. So for the prototype we built a time travel machine [the date November 1924 shows on screen], which appeared to be quite useful to record some source sounds, and [date changes to November 3024] make this video in just half a second using existing technology.

Let's start with the music.

Vasily Kashnikov: Hi, I'm Vasily Kashnikov, audio director of Pathologic 3 project. I'll tell you how our music is structured. We were already thinking about how the Bachelor's game would sound when we were working on Patholgic 2 and writing music for Haruspex. In Pathologic 2, the music had more ethnic and real motives (motifs?) and instruments. Since the city and its customs are familiar with Haruspex since he was a child, he is involved in the traditional way of life. In the case of Pathologic 3, this is the view of an outsider who evaluates everything from the point of view of rationality and science. Therefore, we are trying to make the Pathologic 3 soundtrack colder and more detached from the steppes and ethnicity in character. There is more synthesis, guitars at the same time, the Bachelor communicates with those in power so the soundtrack contains a large share of minimalist so-called furniture music that could sound in the beginning of the last century. Piano etudes and references to composers of that time: Satie, Debussy, etc. The soundtrack is a rather eclectic mix of dreampop, downtempo, and (?) minimalism.

In the city when the Bachelor is alone with himself, we emphasize the cold mind of the rhythm section: less emotional harmony, and sometimes electronic timbres. In the rooms where we need to separate the main character from those he interacts with, we use more expressive harmonies and more classical instruments: piano and guitar passages.

When we designed the interactive music system, we assumed that time is finite, and the music had to change depending on the amount of time the Bachelor had left. However, we later abandoned this system and now the music changes depending on the state of the Bachelor himself, who can fall into apathy or psychosis. To emphasize these states, we apply filters and effects to different layers of our tracks and get a slower, muffled sound in the case of apathy, and wired (?) nervous, glitchy in the case of psychosis. In the infected quarters, there are interactive systems that... [screen begins to distort] oh my god, Nataliya! Please stop this!

Nataliya Radina: Whoops, hehe, sorry. But yeah, basically the other system we created reflects everything you hear in the game. Such as... If we use our gun when dealing with the local thugs, the longer we aim the weapon at the people, the less sounds of the outside world we hear and the louder becomes the heartbeat. To add to the intensity, sharper tone was used along with a high pitch tinnitus sound. If the psychosis level goes to the maximum, it starts to damage Bachelor's health, which is accompanied by flashes on the screen, as well as low heartbeat and short breathing sounds.

Vasily Kashnikov: In the infected and rebel's quarters, there are also interactive systems that change the character of the music by adding or disabling instrument layers depending on the state of the world or the Bachelor's equipment to fight the plague. As a result, we have 12 tracks for each day spent in the city. they can freely switch between each other and several dozen themes for locations and characters, and all the music is subject to change depending on the state of the Bachelor.

Nataliya Radina: Since the game has a weather changing system, we also wanted to reflect that in our audio feedback as well. The game has global wetness parameter that shows how intense the rain is. The more it rains, the more squishy and muddy are the steps of the outside surfaces. Moreover, if you come closer to the window, you can hear the rain pondering on the glass. Even in the middle of the plague, we always have room for cozy moments, right? My favorite part of that system is involving cows. [cow moo]. So, when it's raining, you can actually hear very very soft sound of raindrops dropping on those bovine butts. And I personally think it's beautiful.

Artur Ramanouski: Hi, my name is Artur, and I was also involved in creating some sound assets for the game.

Probably the hardest thing to record were the footsteps. I had everything planned out: bought the equipment, got every type of surface, but...there was one small thing I overlooked: I live in a city with over 12 million people. Noise everywhere. The solution was simple and ingenious: I recorded everything on a Sunday, because in Buenos Ares, Sunday is the one day when no one does anything.

Nataliya Radina: One of the most important places in the game is the cathedral. There we have a system of ladders that control the speed and direction of time. Direction wise, we can have it flow normally, or reversed. [entire presentation is rewound very quickly so it's back to Ressa]

Ressa Schwarzwald: She is super professional.

Nataliya Radina: As for the speed, we can make it stand still, go twice as fast, or half normal speed. We created an audio system that has to (?) understand what is actually happening around (inaudible). When we reverse time, spatial effects are added to the surrounding sounds. Ambience, steps, and the mechanism itself. When time stands still, we increase the low frequencies in the ambience, and all the other sounds are muted to zero. Now lastly, when the time goes twice as fast, or half the original speed, the pitch of the surrounding sound changes accordingly.

The coolest part of this system is that it's been actually implemented into the game engine using only one parameter.

Ressa Schwarzwald: Thank you for watching. See you here, later!