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rotworld · 7 months ago

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A Bird in the Hand

you've been "partnered" with the nightbound who betrayed you for weeks now and neither of you are happy with how things are going.

->virgilio/reader. explicit; contains hypnosis, blood drinking, mild gore, power imbalance, aphrodisiacs, food control, mentions of conditioning.

Every day, there’s a notebook open on the kitchen counter. You can’t miss it because it sits right next to an enormous breakfast feast, already made, plated and waiting by the time you drag yourself out in hungry desperation. Everything is artfully arranged like it came right out of an upscale restaurant’s kitchen from lightly sprinkled garnish to elegant, swirling sauce patterns. Even the fucking cereal looks like a mouthwatering food blog photo, a row of sliced fruit ringing one side of the bowl.

There’s a pen tucked into the notebook’s spiral binding. At the top of the page, a single question is scrawled in neat cursive: What is your favorite movie?

It’s late. The sun shields are open and you can see the city skyline glittering through the windows. The only light in the room comes from a lamp perched on the counter, the thick dome shade softening the light to sunset orange. You uncap the pen, watching clouds drift across the moon.

Fuck you, you write.

Some nights are spent at Cassowary Tattoo.

It’s that or stew in your own misery for long, silent hours, because you’re not allowed to leave the house on your own yet. You claim your spot in the waiting area, stretched out on the sofa by the front windows with a stack of books on the coffee table beside you. It’s so cozy it makes you suspicious, the comforting and non-confrontational vibe almost smothering—lots of plants and pottery on the wooden wall shelves and muted rugs to soften the hardwood floor, some slow-tempo jazz playing over the speakers. Was it already like this or did they do some hasty redecorating? It feels more like a coffee shop than a tattoo parlor.

Your name is called with slow reluctance. “Hey, uh…” It’s the guy working the desk—nightbound. You saw him sipping from a blood pouch earlier. He knows what you are, too. That’s why he watches you like a hawk. He looks young but that doesn’t mean anything. What does is how nervous he is around you, anxiously vigilant whenever you shift around to get comfortable or exhale just a little sharply. Not like he’s scared of you, but scared of potentially having to handle you, like he’s watching a priceless vase wobble precariously on its stand. A lot of fledglings are like that because the older nightbound teach them that witches are some kind of endangered species, rare and skittish, necessitating firm but gentle handling.

He’ll chase you if you try to run. He doesn’t want to. He’s afraid he might hurt you by accident and then Virgilio will be mad at him, and he would sooner chop off his own hand than risk one of his superiors, his elders, being mad at him.

“Yeah?” you say.

He flinches whether you soften your tone or not. “Are you, uh. Are you hungry? Sergeant—uh, Virgilio wants to know.”

“I’m fine.” You pretend to be interested in the books you brought along, propped up on your side with one of the musty tomes open in front of you. It’s all dry, boring shit, leatherbound antiques on loan from the Dusk Council’s extensive library. Nightbound biology, nightbound psychology, nightbound history—there’s a lot here that you don’t know despite how they’ve been breathing down your neck your whole life.

“Oh. Okay.” He fidgets nervously with his phone. “Well, uh. I think he ordered you something anyway.”

He did, of course, and it shows up just a few minutes later in the hands of a delivery driver. Virgilio appears at the same moment, pushing through the curtain dividing the shop. There’s no doorbell or chime or anything. Every nightbound in the shop can hear it when somebody parks on the street right outside, or when the front door opens with a wheezy creak. Virgilio exchanges pleasantries and leaves a nice tip. He places the takeout bag on the coffee table right next to your books and then he pulls up one of the armchairs. His hair’s up in a ponytail. He’s wearing a black tank top so his tattoo sleeves are on full display—a moon and clouds, raven wings, a skull hidden among full-bloom flowers and half-melted candles.

His smile makes your stomach twist up in angry, sickened knots. “Hey. Got you something.”

You don’t answer and you don’t meet his gaze. Undeterred, he pulls a container out of the bag and opens it for you, steam and a garlicky scent wafting out. It’s some kind of spinach dish, sauteed leafy greens topped with crunchy garnish.

“Smells pretty good,” he says, stirring it with a plastic fork. “Let me know if you like it and I’ll make it at home sometime. Just need some garlic and olive oil. Maybe a little amaretto if you want it fancy.” He slides the bowl across the table, closer to you. “Come on. You must be hungry. You barely touched breakfast.” You still don’t take it and his smile wanes, all that cheerful enthusiasm souring into weary resignation. “I don’t want to put you under but I will if I have to. It’s for your own good.”

“Stop saying that.” The threat of hypnosis makes you sit up, but you still don’t reach for the bowl. You don’t want it. You don’t want any of this. “‘For my own good?’ This is all for you, so you can feed as much as you want.”

“It’s for you,” Virgilio insists. “So you don’t end up anemic or worse.”

The wounded look on his face makes your blood boil, soft eyes and furrowed brows like he thought this would go any other way. He wants to talk? Fine. You can talk. “I wouldn’t need to worry about that if you fed from anyone or anything else sometimes. But I’m here, so you might as well take as much as you want, right? Why bother with a donor who actually likes getting fed on? Is that not as fun? You can’t get off if your blood bag is having a good time, too?”

Virgilio catches your chin between his fingers and jerks your gaze up to meet his eyes. He’s got your mind in a vice-grip before you can even blink and for a blissful moment, there are no thoughts in your head. No anger. No fear. Nothing. Just fuzzy warmth and gentle drifting. His eyes are glittering gold and you’re sinking, all the tension leaking out of your body, all your worries evaporating—and then he lets go, slowly, like a fist loosening. He maintains just enough control that you can’t muster the energy to yell at him or tear yourself away.

“Eat the fucking food,” he says, his voice low and ragged. You can only think clearly when he stops touching you, and even then, you find yourself picking up the bowl and spearing spinach on your fork. Virgilio leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you mutter between bites. “I didn’t choose to be what I am.”

Virgilio takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah. Me, neither.”

Every three days, your breakfast comes with roseblood. Virgilio brews it himself on the stove and the delicate garden-fresh aroma fills the whole house by the time you wake up. He pours the first dose into a black mug with a golden bird silhouette stamped on the side, and then he drops in a few colorful crystals that gently fizzle, making little prismatic bubbles at the surface. That’s nectar, condensed and edible magic. The sweet scent makes your mouth water. He sprinkles a couple leftover rosebuds on top and slides the mug over to join the rest of the trays, plates and bowls he painstakingly prepared.

“Buon appetito,” he says with a grin. He usually makes himself scarce when you show up for food but today he’s decided to stick around. He stays on the other side of the counter, at least, a newspaper unfolded in front of him so he can pretend he isn’t watching you intently. You eat begrudgingly. Virgilio is such a talented chef that it makes you angry. His plating is immaculate and his dishes are perfect whether he’s baking, boiling or braising something—a sharp contrast to the single small plate at his elbow with nothing but a piece of toast smeared with marmalade.

You watch him. He watches you. Neither of you speak to each other and the only sounds are the clink of your silverware and the whisper of turning paper, the occasional muted crunch when Virgilio nibbles on his toast. The roseblood is delicious, sweet like honey. You catch him smiling when you hold up the mug, enjoying the soft floral scent and the warmth against your palms, but he quickly averts his eyes back down to the newspaper.

You think about those videos of animal shelters and people who sit with nervous dogs until they stop shaking. That’s how he sees this, you think. A selfless act. Doing you a favor. Coaxing you to him with food and gentle words, like he doesn’t already have the leash around your neck.

Today, the notebook asks, What do you like to do in your spare time?

Virgilio’s gaze is drawn by the scratch of the pen across the paper. You scribble quickly and furiously, then shove it aside. He doesn’t have to look to know you’ve written the same words you always do. He gathers up his newspaper and toast and finally gives you some privacy.

Some nights are spent in Dr. Griffiths’ office. The two of you look like a couple on the verge of divorce. Virgilio hunches like a man in a confessional booth and you’re scrunched up against the armrest of the big Victorian sofa, keeping one full cushion between the two of you. Your gaze travels across the room in careful avoidance of Virgilio, wandering from the bookshelves to the hanging paintings to the swinging pendulum of a grandfather clock. Candles flicker atop ornate brass stands. It smells like leather, parchment and incense.

“I just don’t know what else to do,” Virgilio says. “It’s not like I don’t get it. I do. But you have to understand that the second you became active…look, you weren’t leaving that dinner party without the rug getting pulled out from under you, okay? That’s just how it is. If I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve. And I know you hate me for it, you feel like I took advantage—”

“Let’s not assume,” Dr. Griffiths says gently. “It would benefit you both to ask each other how you feel, rather than jumping to conclusions. Even in situations where you’re certain you already know, is it not better to ask? To have the opportunity to voice those thoughts and feelings?” He’s nightbound, of course, because why would the Council send you to any other kind of therapist? His eyes glint like an animal’s and he has the uncanny, fluid grace of an elder. He dresses somewhat eccentrically for his profession, stylish and formal in a black blouse with translucent sleeves and fitted slacks, his high heels glossy like obsidian. He looks the way people expect nightbound to look, sickly pale and ghostly as though carved from marble.

Virgilio glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “They don’t talk to me if they can help it.”

Dr. Griffiths tilts his head, regarding you with a pensive frown. “You’re still not speaking to your partner?”

“No,” you mutter.

“Why not?”

“You can’t guess?”

He smiles and pushes away from the desk. You watch him warily as he comes to stand beside you, resting his palm on the armrest of the sofa. He looks down at you, tilting his head in that odd, bird-like motion the nightbound all share, like an owl tracking a scurrying mouse. “No assumptions, remember?” he asks.

“It’s really not that hard to figure out,” you insist. He hums, urging you to continue. You don’t look at Virgilio but you can feel the weight of his stare. “My life doesn’t belong to me. I’m like his pet or something.”

“That’s not true—” Virgilio starts to say. Dr. Griffiths cuts him off with a sharp glance.

“Go on,” he says patiently.

There’s a lump in your throat, the burning sensation of tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You swallow hard. “And my time, that’s not mine anymore. I’m basically nocturnal now because I have to be. Even if I get up early, I can’t see the sun because of the stupid shields on the windows. It’s so dark everywhere, all the time. And my bedroom isn’t mine, it’s just the guestroom in his house. Some of my stuff’s there but it doesn’t matter. He can come in whenever he wants.”

“I would never—”

“Virgilio,” Dr. Griffiths says, firm but gentle.

“And,” your voice cracks, “and the food, too. He picks that. And I know why, I know about roseblood and the risks and all that stuff, I know that. But it just reminds me that I don’t have anything anymore. I don’t even have myself. And…and…” Your words unravel into sobs. The sofa creaks under Virgilio’s shifting weight and you see him in your periphery looking sick with guilt.

His hand trespasses onto the cushion between you. You hear him come closer. You know what he’s going to do and it makes you feel even worse, but you don’t try to stop him from touching your shoulder and turning you towards him. You don’t fight the gentle pressure of his fingers on your chin. You don’t squeeze your eyes shut or try to look away. Your eyes meet and Virgilio’s calming presence fills your mind, quieting your sobs to sniffles and numbing the ache in your chest.

Everything is okay for a while. Everything is light and airy, soft and sweet. You’re freed from thought and fear and worry, left with nothing but peace. When you surface, it happens slowly. You feel an arm wrapped around you, a gentle hand stroking your head. You smell chewing gum on his breath. Virgilio holds you against his chest, idly stroking your back and pressing kisses to your tear-dampened cheeks.

Dr. Griffiths is back by his desk, frowning thoughtfully. “You have a problem with control, Virgilio,” he says. “Understandably, you crave it. You exert it however and whenever you can. Losing it makes you lash out and act impulsively. I would hope, then, that you might have some sympathy for someone who has none.”

Virgilio wraps around you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces. He knows this will end badly once you get home; more tears, more distance, days of agonizing silence and refusing to meet his eye. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, you’re right.” He holds on tight while he still can.

There are indents in the notebook paper, like someone scribbled furiously on the page before it. You turn back and find line after line written and then hastily crossed out. A handful are still legible:

What is your favorite breakfast food? What is your favorite food? What foods do you like? What would you like me to make you? I will make you anything you want if you ask for it. I didn’t know it upset you so much. I thought maybe it upset you, but I didn’t know what to do. I’m trying to make the best of a difficult situation. I know it’s not fair. I’m not good at this. I can’t let you go but I will do anything else, just name it and I will do it. I’m going to put a better lock on your door. Do you want a better lock on your door? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry.

On the next page, Virgilio’s handwriting reverts to its usual neatness. It simply says, List some foods that you like.

Some nights are spent at home. Virgilio’s coworkers say he’s allergic to time off, which is news to you. It feels like he’s around more than he isn’t. Usually you stay in the guest room and only venture out for food but tonight, you reluctantly join him on the living room sectional. Virgilio is hunched over and doodling in a sketchbook, so shocked by your sudden appearance that you hear his pencil lead snap. You flick on the lamp and unceremoniously drop your entire stack of books on the coffee table, picking one from the pile at random to start with.

You peek over the edge of the book. Virgilio is frozen for a moment like he thinks the slightest twitch might scare you off. You don’t think he’s even breathing. He watches you carefully, assessing you with cold focus like he’s sizing up a threat. The intensity in his stare frightens you. You don’t know what gives you away—quickening pulse? Hitched breath? Some subtle scent? He blinks and his gaze softens. He sets his sketchbook down and turns to give you his full attention. His casual lean, the way he drapes his arm over the backrest, reminds you of the night you met.

“How about a truce?” he offers.

You stare at him suspiciously. “What kind of truce?”

“Less mesmerism.”

“How about no mesmerism?”

“Less,” he stresses with finality. The way your expression crumples with disappointment makes him sigh and rub the back of his neck. “What else do you want? Within reason.”

You almost scoff at that but Virgilio’s anxious stare makes you reconsider. He’s trying, at least. It’s the smallest of consolations, but he’s giving it to you. “Could you talk to me the way you used to?”

“The way I used to?”

“Like at the party. Before…” Before he ruined your life. Betrayed your trust. Claimed you in front of the whole Council. Your heart is in your throat. “Like before,” you say quietly.

The hoarseness of your voice makes him restless. He drums his fingers along the back of the couch and his gaze wanders. “I tried that,” he says. “When you first came here—”

“When I was brought here,” you correct him. He clenches his jaw. “I didn’t choose to come here. You know that.”

“The point is I tried that already. I acted like nothing was different. You still wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Because I was angry. I still am,” you tell him. “I know I didn’t have much of a choice. I know somebody else would’ve done it if you didn’t. But it hurt. I’m allowed to be hurt. You can’t just snap your fingers and make me forgive you—”

“I could,” Virgilio says. He turns towards the kitchen windows where the moon is just a curled sliver. “I could make you. Probably not in one session. I’d need to reinforce it a few times. But I could.” He says it so plainly. Soft and contemplative, like something he’s spent long nights turning over in his mind. “Hm. That sounds extra fucked up when I say it out loud.” You flinch when he gives you a sidelong glance. “I really am sorry. About the way I did it, anyway. If we’d been anywhere else, I would’ve taken you home and talked it over first. I would’ve made you comfortable first. Been gentler about the claiming mark.”

The reminder makes you pick at the turtleneck collar of your shirt. The scars on your neck are crescents of bumpy, gnarled tissue like the prints left by a vicious mauling. Virgilio follows the movement of your fingers intently, hoping you might peel the fabric down and show him the proof of his claim, but you won’t. You keep it covered as much as possible. The way he looks at it even through your clothing, the voyeuristic hunger in his eyes, unsettles you.

“And yeah,” he says wryly, “I know you would’ve agreed to it. I would’ve laid out your options, and you would’ve picked me. That’s not a brag. The bar is real low and I know that. I’m perfectly happy being the lesser evil.”

He’s lying. You can’t usually tell. Before he started covering everything up with cloying, overindulgent sweetness, he hid all of his feelings behind a veneer of deadpan sarcasm. But that last part, you’re certain, was a lie. He doesn’t look at you when he says it. His voice gets small and timid, almost ashamed. You set your book down on the table slowly and take a steadying breath.

“Do you want to feed on me?” you ask him.

Virgilio blinks a couple times, like he’s trying to wake himself up. “Are you fucking with me?”

You were really hoping he wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. “Remember what I said at the therapist’s? About how I’m basically your dog?”

He frowns. “You’re not—”

“Not looking to argue,” you cut him off tiredly. “Sometimes it feels like you’re trying to train me. Rewarding me for good behavior, punishing me for bad, all that stuff. Well, we’re trying to make things fair with a truce, right? So now I’m going to train you, too.” You lean back against the couch cushions and hook your fingers into the turtleneck, rolling down the collar until your throat is exposed. Virgilio’s pupils dilate. “If you’re good, you get extra.”

He drags his gaze up from your neck to your face and your heart races. You don’t see him like this very often. Virgilio is old enough to control his appetite, normally unfazed by the sight or scent of bare human skin. The temptation of your blood when he didn’t expect it seems to have caught him off guard. He looks at you like a starving wolf looks at a lone deer, how the same wolf looks at a mate in heat, lust and hunger a single entity. Virgilio prowls closer on all fours, crawling towards you on the couch. You both know he’s the one in control here. He can take what he wants, when he wants.

But he stops just short of you, one hand landing on the cushion beside your feet, and looks at you with that animalistic tilt of the head. “Have I been good?” he asks, his voice low and eager.

Heat rushes through your body. “Yes,” you say. “You’ve been very good.”

There’s something ritualistic about the way Virgilio feeds. You don’t know if all nightbound are like this or if it’s unique to him, but he goes slow. There’s foreplay before the bite. The approach is a dance, graceful and gradual. He caresses your leg as he shifts closer and he presses kisses everywhere, even over your clothes. To your ankle. To your knee. To your hip. They’re chaste but they linger and they feel reverential. He slides into place beside you and pulls you into his lap, hand wandering. He rubs your shoulders and strokes your sides. You see desire in his eyes but also sadness and solemn determination. This is about more than blood.

His fingers slip beneath the hem of your turtleneck but he doesn’t take it off right away. He feels you first, his palms sliding up and down your chest. It feels good—not just the stroke of his fingers against your hardening nipples but also the undivided attention, the focus on your body and your pleasure, the weight and wanting of his stare. To Virgilio, nothing exists but you right now, you and your warmth and your pulse thudding beneath his fingertips. His lips move hungrily against yours, coaxing you to tangle your tongue with his. He makes small sounds, contented sighs and soft moans.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs, nipping at your lower lip. Your heart flutters at the teasing prick of his fangs, his venom fizzling pleasantly on your skin. “I swear I will. Someday I’ll be worthy of this partnership.” He pulls your turtleneck off and buries his face against the side of your neck, inhaling deeply with a shudder. His hips move involuntarily, short, needy thrusts that grind his clothed, hardening cock against your ass. He presses his lips against your neck, teasing you. He knows exactly where you’re most sensitive. The marks from the last time he fed still haven’t faded. But he likes to feign ignorance, enjoying your quiet moans until he reaches the spot that really makes you squirm.

For all his protests about you not being a pet, he really does have you trained. You don’t flinch anymore when he prepares, stroking the back of his fangs with his tongue until his mouth is full of venom. Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses leave tingling numbness in their wake. Testing nips make you shiver in pleasure rather than pain. You wrap your arms around him and hold on tight, not out of fear but in anticipation. Virgilio savors you, dragging his tongue over your pulse. His hand cradles the back of your head as you turn and bare your neck to him.

“Two and a half centuries in this shitty world,” he whispers, “and nothing has ever been as precious to me as you are.”

Virgilio’s bite is ecstasy. The moment his venom floods your veins, your toes curl, your back arches, and you cum. If he didn’t hold onto you so tightly and keep your head still, you would thrash and flail wildly. You know he feels just as good, maybe even better, because his hips buck like he’s fucking you, rolling, languid thrusts that lightly bounce you in his lap. You’re aware, dimly and distantly, that the bite is shallow. He’s keeping it light and controlled, sucking the blood that beads to the surface rather than widening the wound, and in a state of pure instinctual want, it infuriates you. You want more, deeper, harder, everything he has filling you. He keeps a firm, steady grip on the back of your head to make sure you don’t try and impale yourself on him further. You whine when his fangs retract and he laps at the punctures left behind.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs against your skin, trying to soothe you. The praise goes straight to your sex, heat and arousal making you move your hips against him. “Mm, yes, you are. So sweet and delicious.” His hand dips between your legs. He doesn’t undress you but he loosens the clothes on your lower half enough to get his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and then he’s mercilessly working your sex with his fingers. “Cum one more time.” He’s growling, so deep in his own primal need that his voice is low and rumbling. He’s not asking. It’s an order, and it makes you whimper. “One more. Come on. Sweet thing, letting me have a taste of you. Let go for me.”

Already raw and right on the edge, you cum with a sob. Virgilio doesn’t let up, still mouthing at your neck and whispering filth. He coos about the mess you made on his fingers while your hips helplessly chase his hand. He doesn’t stop until you sag against him, worn out and oversensitive. The blistering pleasure phase has run its course but his venom will keep you in an extended post-orgasmic bliss for a while longer. He lays down and keeps you tucked against his chest, gently rubbing your back.

It’s nice, you think deliriously. Every feeding is nice, but usually you shake him off and demand to be left alone once it’s over. It was a mistake to stay. Now that you know what it feels like to be in his arms, you’re not sure you’ll be able to leave.

“You can take a nap, if you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. Warmly. He sounds happy, you think. Because you fed him without prompting? Because he’s in control again? You don't know if tonight was a step forward or back, but you aren’t going to worry about it right now. Not when the lights are low and Virgilio’s touch is so tender, and everything almost feels alright.

The next night, you're up and moving a little earlier than usual. Viriglio is still cooking. You sit at the counter to watch. He looks back over his shoulder at you briefly, almost shyly, like he doesn't want to scare you into leaving. He nods in greeting. You nod back. He looks a little disappointed but he smiles anyway and returns his attention to the stove.

You tell him your favorite movie.

#rotpeach writes #meanvamps #meant to have a setting intro piece ready first but this possessed me so it skipped the line #garrett and his unfortunate reader are conspicuously absent without explanation here #virgilio probably left them with someone else for a little while because he cant handle them and this reader at the same time lmao

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akito-shinonome-daily · 6 months ago

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🎤 day 300! 🎵

➥ today’s akito is the post-3-year-anniversary (brand new world) casual outfit chibi!!

➥ here we go!!

➥ once again, send in some places you’d like to see chibi akito go, or check out the ‘chibi akitos adventures’ tag to see all of chibi akito’s adventures!

➥ repeats are allowed, but if i can't find enough images that I can use, there might not be as many

#chibi akitos adventures #round 3!!#took my last final this morning i’m free!#daily akito #akito shinonome #project sekai #prosekai #pjsk #prsk #vivid bad squad #vbs #will there be an explanation to why chibi akito gets thrown into random dimensions every 100 days?#will the origins / identity of evil shadow glitch sephiroth akito be revealed?#chat do i make chibi akito “lore”?#is there already chibi akito “lore”??#——————————————————————————————————————#also other media shown here are animal crossing beastieball and mob psycho #and 109 building from real life lmao #i instinctively typed 104 when searching for that image twewy was my intro to shibuya so their fake names are ingrained in my brain #do they ever actually mention shopping there in game? i know it’s in the background of the scramble crossing #but i feel like the shopping is usually at the generic mall they made

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ace-of-hats · 26 days ago

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Please tell me everything about your OCs!!! I see you post about them but can't find the proper intros (if they have them)

(Specifically thinking about lev, pon, dandelion, and hecate, but whoever's on your brain is great!)

AAAAHH I'm so excited you asked me this!! YAYYYYY!!! ok--this is going to be pretty long so I'm going to put it under a cut :3

I have two main settings for my characters: a kind of magical-realism type thing with magicians and dragons and whatnot, and a more classic fantasy setting that I've done a lot of really specific world building for. (don't get me wrong I have really specific worldbuilding for both of the settings ahaha) I'll put a bit of info about the world before the characters that go in it, but I'm gonna try to keep it brief! (I could go on for forever I heart worldbuilding)

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These guys are fairly new, so their worldbuilding isn't set in stone yet. That being said, there is a few types of magic: magicians---humans who have magic genetically and can perform it with a familiar or a powerful magical object, magical creatures (like dragons, elves (more like gnomes or goblins than your typical pointy fantasy elf tho), werewolves, vampires, etc.) who don't need to use something else to do magic, and normal humans with no magic in them---they are immune to magic that could turn them into something else. Most people don't know about magic, because the magicians don't want modern-day witch trials. The characters are set in Generic High School in Generic Town Or City. There is a Generic Fantasy Cult that wants to figure out how to change werewolves, vampires, and dragons into normal humans.

Korbin Knight-

Korbin was originally my protagonist, so he is the character that a lot of plot events would follow (if I had any lmao). He is pretty quiet and reserved, preferring to fly under the radar and just finish high school. In his free time he likes to go to the library, and he reads so many books it's actually crazy. I think he would like the fantasy-romance genre a lot, and he would read pretty much any fiction. I want to say he would love Twilight, but I haven't read any of the books and only watched two of the movies. He isn't ambitious and doesn't have a plan for what to do after he graduates besides getting a job and moving out of his relatives house as soon as possible (I was trying to make him very cliche so he has dead parents-being cliche is the reason for the wacky name as well). Korbin doesn't know he is a magician until he meets his familiar (a raven named peanut) and is befriended by Erin, but it is basically a dream come true for him: he gets to be like the people in the books he reads, and he gets to be friends with someone who's really awesome. He ends up with big bird wings sometime because of reasons that I don't know yet (characters with wings are so cool, also for the cliche factor ehehe).

Erin Hunter-

Erin is a changeling---she was swapped with a human baby by her original dragon parents so they could be able to turn into accurate humans for species survival reasons. Her parents figured this out when she was in early elementary school, and decided to keep her and not look for their original kid. Since she is a changeling, she has a more powerful type of magic and can turn into an awesome dragon. Erin has pretty much always been the popular girl in her class, because she is really nice to people and likes having a lot of friends. Her best friend had always been her older brother Rowan, but when he suddenly went missing one day four-ish years before the main story, she became a bit more reserved and stopped being able to really connect with her friends at school (none of them knew about her magic and therefore couldn't be told the whole story). She stayed very kind and friendly, but now with a really intense anger and hatred for the cult that she (rightfully) thinks had something to do with her brother's disappearance. She is a high school senior, and she plans on going to school for fashion design after she takes a gap year to try to find out what really happened to her brother.

Hecate Smith-

Hecate would describe herself as very determined and too smart to be "burdened" by her peers. She is an only child of parents who are both magicians and also both work in the medical field, and she has been encouraged to go to medical school and become some sort of doctor as well. Hecate really likes this idea, but she is also really interested in magic. She somehow got her hands on some VERY ILLEGAL guides for necromancy and blood magic when she was in middle school, and has been experimenting on dead animals her familiar (a snake who I have not named yet) brings to her in an old graveyard near her house. She has yet to try anything on a person (and is mostly doing this stuff in a graveyard for the vibe and to make sure her parents don't catch her), but she has had some results on small animals. Hecate overall has good intentions, only doing sketchy illegal magic with the intent to help people eventually, but her lack of meaningful social connection and stuff makes her really easy to manipulate. This becomes a plot point later in the story, specifically with the cult, but I don't really know much other than that, since these OCs are my newest ones! She eventually becomes really good friends with Viktor.

Viktor Hawthorne-

Viktor got turned into a vampire when he was around 10 or 11, and his parents---full believers in the cult (I should really name it...)---gave the ok to move him into the manor where the cult people do generic cult things. Their goal is to eventually un-vampire him (he wants this too---he hates feeling like a monster), but so far nothing is working. His familiar is a white cat, and while he cant do normal human magic (magic done with a familiar) anymore and is discouraged from using the more powerful magic he got from getting vamped. He LOVES his cat. Viktor is sick of being unsuccessfully experimented on, so he has been trying to get in contact with his older sister, who had moved states a few years previously, and run away to go live with her. The graveyard where Hecate hangs out is near the manor where he lives, so they kept running into each other and became friends. He often finds himself with a lot of free time (at least before he meets the other three characters) and so he got really into knitting. He made a sweater for himself, and likes making people things---he also makes little hats and jackets for his cat. He has crazy low self esteem, but is actually the kind of person everyone seems to like immediately.

these two are a lot less developed but i still like them:

Andre-

Andre is Erin's human counterpart. He was raised by dragons so that they would be able to accurately turn into humans. He is kind of shy and quiet, but loves his dragon community and would do a lot for them if they were threatened.

Rook Penny-

Rook is a little elf-creature that lives with others of her species in some caves in the same mountain as Andre and the dragons. Despite being like 3 or 4 feet tall, she is a big presence in a room, very bold and loud, and goes and does quest things with Andre. The two of them are like that "excuse me he wanted no pickles" meme!

-----

The next three are my oldest characters (I've been drawing them for at least 5 years, and thinking about them for longer). There are a lot less people in the world because of wizards: very rare people who learn how to use magic from the world/nature. When they die, the magic gets released back to where it came from, but that can only happen with really big global natural disasters (that end up killing a lot of people)(I'm calling them Big Catastrophes for this). People across the world aren't able to connect pretty much at all, but big boats are becoming more of a thing and people are starting to go other places and start maybe doing trade with other groups of people. magical creatures started appearing after wizards, but they don't have the same negative impacts as the wizards. These creatures range from "regular animal but with some magic or something" to "oh that's just a person with cool powers". If anything here doesn't make sense I WILL explain better, but this is basically it!

Dandelion-

Dandelion is VERY loyal to the people she cares about, and she tends to care easily. She was taken in by the few knights and guards of the castle when she was young to be trained in the king's effort to get more soldiers, but she quickly got out of it (she didn't like how structured it was and just physically left) and now just mostly does favors for a few of the townspeople, hunts for prey in the woods, and follows Lev around. She is a magical creature---a shapeshifter---and can be either a human or a mountain lion at any given time. This helps her get her way---you don't want to argue with a big cat with sharp teeth and claws. Dandelion used to live in the forest surrounding the small kingdom with her mother and three siblings, but they were attacked by a mysterious hunter one day and she doesn't know if any of her family made it out alive, and she also doesn't quite remember what happened as she was so young (but she knows that the arrow the hunter shot at her is the reason she has the scar/notch on her ear). the only reason she hasn't gone back to live in the forest or try to find out what happened to her family is Lev: they have been attached at the hip since she came to their community (he was the first one to find her) and they consider each other family. he and Pon (when they eventually meet) are the ones she would most readily go to the ends of the earth for.

Lev-

Lev is pretty bad at most physical activities and gets sick easily, but he has perfected the art of being really likeable. While Dandelion starts liking people easily, she doesn't seem too approachable and is a bit too intense and/or scary for a lot of people. Lev is really good at conversation (despite not talking much when he was younger due to not being able to hear well) and he is kind of "just a guy" and thus very approachable. He's scared of a lot of things (like horses) but is trying really hard to get over his fears. He is the son of the rulers of their small kingdom, but he isn't the first in line for the throne: that would be his older sister. Lev is happy about this, because he would much rather become some sort of adventurer than do government. He has been wanting to leave his home and learn what's out there for pretty much all of his life, and used to run away a lot. This actually led to him meeting Dandelion and them becoming friends. Lev and Dandelion do plan on venturing out into the forests when they are both old enough to not die, which is where I would start if I was writing this into a story! Them leaving doesn't end up going well: Lev gets trapped in some sort of magical underground realm that is the start of the next Big Catastrophe, and Dandelion doesn't know where he is or how to get him back. It all ends up ok though (but not after i make them suffer a bit hehe)

Pon-

Pon hasn't been around many people in their life so far. They were created by the most recent wizard out of his shadow for the purpose of fighting death when it comes for him and thus making him immortal and skipping the Big Catastrophe that would be caused by his magic re-entering the world. this did not work, but Pon was somehow left alive. They lived with the dead wizard's wife in their cabin, and she taught them about botany and medicinal plants (which started their love of tea), and helped them learn how to read. She eventually died as well, and Pon lived on their own until Dandelion stumbled across their house while looking for Lev and got them to help. Pon is not good at making conversation (they don't have much practice) but they love to learn and understand things and have knowledge that they weren't allowed to have when the wizard was alive. the thing that this doesn't fully apply to is themself. Pon doesn't actually know what they can do/what powers they have from being a magical shadow person, but they still feel immense guilt in not being good enough and "letting" the wizard and the lady die, and they feel like finding out they can do more things now would be undeserved. Pon has always been able to become intangible though which is cool. Pon eventually becomes a doctor after traveling to a (slightly) larger country with Lev and Dandelion and getting through the Big Catastrophe.

#oc posting #thx for the ask!!!!!#internetgiraffekid1673 #im actually so so so happy youre giving me this awesome chance to yap about my guys #i heart my guys #also some bonus world explanations cus theyre such different settings #aahhh idk what else to tag this #long post #most of these characters (not Andre and maybe not Rook) have drawings of them somewhere in my 'oc posting' tag :3 #i hope this is what you were looking for i actually havent ever written character intros before!!

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twisted-acquisition-smc · 4 months ago

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Welcome to a Land of Regret

Hello. My name is Blueberry Milk Cookie. I'm a scholar and founder of the Blueberry Yoghurt Academy.

I find myself often thinking of my past actions, what I cannot change or take back. Thus, there are many things I regret in my infinitesimal life.

But I know I do not regret being with him. I miss him, but it won't be for much longer.

I wish I could apologise for what he did to him.

Feel free to ask me anything. I will not mind, as long as it is academy-appropriate enough.

More details under the cut

Mod Time:

Hey! N(yx) here— This is a blog I made purely out of boredom at 2am because I thought it'd be fun. TA is one of my favourite designs and I actually love him so much.

Basic Blog Rules

No outright NSFW (13+ blog, keep it to mildly suggestive)

No slurs please.

No drama

No bullying

Please use tonetags (I am incredibly stupid)

Other than that, the basic criteria follows (No homophobia/transphobia, toxicity, etc.).

This blog very much implies ShadowSpice/BurningMilk

Don't like? Don't have to interact.

To put this AU in short:

Shadow Milk and Blueberry Milk end up having to fight to share a body. At this time, Burning Spice and Red Spice have manifested separate bodies. RS has(d) six arms but SM takes control of BM and rips out four. RS and BM have a short argument, and it ends up that BM corrupts into the Beast of Regret due to loneliness.

Not to worry! RS and BM have a healthy relationship now— BM remains BoR (Twisted Acquisition, or TA) but their relationship is stable. Current point in time: RS is away!

They have two children btw! Dulled Spice Cookie and Tangy Butter Cookie were baked in an oven.

Fun fact: This AU is a result of an RP with friends

Blog pfp/banner: My art/art by @airbreather1234god

Other associated blogs: @hoclol (Run by Carbon for HoC/RS) @tangybuttercookie (Run by Advil for Tangy Butter Cookie)

also sorry if this rp acc clogs up the tags— i try not to :[

okay thats enough yapping enjoy

#intro post #blog explanation #rp blog #ask blog #au blog #crk au #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #pre corrupted shadow milk #implied shadowspice #mod post #Mod Nyx

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goodlucktai · 1 year ago

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every time i start to think i’ve finally gracefully accepted that we’ll never see any more of rottmnt, an official nickelodeon account somewhere will randomly post rise content for no immediately discernible reason and im back on the delulu train like i never left. it’s sick and twisted

#blah #IM BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN #shoutout to nickelodeon tiktok for randomly posting the rise intro last night with no explanation

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wildflowercryptid · 2 years ago

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made some visdev doodles for my fancase & have gotten way too invested in characters that aren't even alive during the story, oops.

also, since some of the text in the last drawing is hard to read, here's the plain text version of the letter under the cut! ⤵

Dearest Ramona, Disregarding the ache in my heart whenever my thoughts linger on your absence, I have received your letter in good health. My recent expedition to the lake has borne quite the bountiful fruit, as I stumbled upon one of the mystids from the book you had shown me. It appears that a flock of Inkdips roost amongst the lake's spires and they are truly magnificent. When I gaze upon their elegant and beauteous visage, I am reminded of you. Enclosed is an Inkdip feather to serve as a memento. May it also be a promise that, one day, I shall share their splendor with you. I await your reply with bated breath. Yours forevermore, Reimund Remington

#love dead dropping fancase lore #i'm working on victoria's chara intro still but i wanted to work on something else for a sec #btw @ the anon who asked about the little girl in vfv i'll try to answer that after i post vic's chara intro #i haven't given enough basic info about the case yet for the explanation to make actual sense i'm sorry #detective grimoire #tangle tower #v for valedictorian #dg fancases #my ocs #🎨 : mj draws

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alligaytorswamp · 2 years ago

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TCG with Baizhu

intro:

He's won:

He's lost:

#he is so... !!#so !! that i willingly lost several games just to make sure i got his responses lol...#also im confused- his phrase about forgiveness. why would he need that at all ?#edit: omg thanks for the explanation idk why i didnt even consider connecting the intro to it #anyways he is so so sweet and nice and CARING *dies on the spot*#baizhu #genshin impact #adry.txt #my man is dying after a card game and u know what i get it

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tech-92 · 9 months ago

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Tech and his "Extra Curriculars"

(CW: Talks of car crashes, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and hard kink)

When it comes to thinking or talking about Tech in any sexual situation, I feel it's important to understand where we come from here on this blog. A lot of posts on our blog tagged "#tbb tech" have this weird masochistic vibe to them and that's for a reason. Our understanding of Tech comes mostly from our development of a concept we call "Tech Crash". The "Crash" part in Tech Crash is from the 1996 movie Crash staring James Spader where essentially, he gets off on participating in car crashes. Anyways, here's what we have written down about the Tech Crash situation:

I finally figured it out what's going on with Tech. I had been having trouble because I knew that there was something Weird happening with him, I just wasn’t sure what exactly. Now I know. So, like obviously it’s been (practically) established in canon that he’s autistic. I also personally read him as someone who’s ace but still has sex and enjoys it. I think both of those things are intrinsic to his experience of sex. I also think both of those things lend quite well to him being into some strange and unusual fetish. We also happen to know he’s into high speed racing and shit from the show… And its like Crash in which he's like, into car crashes but it’s not exactly that. But I am expanding on that. I think he’s into very high-risk scenarios and extreme masochism.

Part of the Tech autism situation is that, it’s really clear he has a hard time with emotions. Specifically, I think he has a lot of trouble parsing out how he feels about things and what to do about that, how to cope, etc. Which is why he tends to ignore problems (ex: when Echo was gone in season 2). Because even if he can recognize he’s upset about something, he can’t really process it in more detail than that. This causes some issues given that he’s a clone and is regularly forced to experience very very dangerous situations with the very very real threat of death breathing down his neck. That’s emotionally and physically devastating. But those scenarios also have a very dramatic effect on the brain in the sense that pivoting SO DRAMATICALLY so quickly from a mindset of urgent survival, "holy shit i am about to die get it together i have to live i have to live" to the overwhelming and ecstatic relief of actually surviving creates a mental sensation not unlike orgasm. And then, pairing that chemical high with the fresh sensation of pain from the injuries he sustained during the survival period creates a deep association of extreme pain with extreme pleasure, even if it is in a twisted context. As an autistic person with similar alexithymia (emotional blindness) to Tech, I can DEFINITELY see him processing those sensations in a sexual way. His emotions would be way easier to recognize and interact with if they’re associated with the distinctive, familiar emotion of sexual arousal.

Of course, those intense scenarios are a very prominent part of his life, and I think as he gets older there comes a stronger divide between the painful, high-risk scenarios he experiences for work and the painful, high-risk scenarios he puts himself in deliberately for sexual pleasure. But I think a significant reason he chooses to put himself in those situations is that, if he’s regularly experiencing that level of fear, pain, and release voluntarily, it makes it a lot easier to handle those things when he’s forced to experience them outside of his own volition.

I want to be clear that I think his enjoyment of masochism is a very sensory focused thing that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with sub/dom dynamics, in fact I think he is specifically not into that sort of thing. I also think his masochism has nothing to do with underlying self-hatred or any sense of “deserving” it. It is PURELY because he likes the sensation of pain and gets off to it. That’s a big part of what I mean when I say his experience of sex is fundamentally autistic. I also think that in general, he’s just not really that into other people. Like, he is willing to have sex with other people, but mostly just because there’s certain things that he can’t really do to himself, whether due to physical or psychological barriers, or just that the safety risk involved in hurting yourself really bad often necessitates another person’s presence in case he passes out or something. What he considers sex/sexual activity is mostly stuff that is barely, if at all, recognizable as sex in the typical definition. This is why I think his experience of sex is also fundamentally aroace.

To get back to the Crash thing. I do think that broadly he is just simply into the idea of danger to a really strong degree, and that can be sort of anything. But he already knows a lot about and has a lot of experience with vehicles, and I think that pushing their abilities and his skills to the absolute brink is gratifying to him both in an experimental way and in a sexual way. He also has the conceptualization to understand the inherent sexiness of metal, cars, etc. even if he is not sexually attracted to the cars themselves. So yeah, he’s getting into crashes. He’s not into it in the same way they are in Crash, where the end-goal/ULTIMATE release is death; as I said this is all a very primal sensory thing for him and he is not into the idea of near-death so much as he is into the rush of endorphins that he experiences while in those situations. While his thing is very high-risk, he is careful about protecting the most important/vulnerable parts of his body and making sure things are set up in a way such that he can hurt a lot without being in too much actual danger of death/infection. However, I do think that when he was younger he took more risks and did some crazy shit that he should NOT have done but calmed down and became more careful as he got older. He probably has the most elaborate and frightening collection of scars. The Crash thing is also why he handles the fractured femur with such ease.

Additionally this part of why TechPhee does not work, at least for me. She could try to figure out how to flirt with him for months and he wouldn’t realize, then she’d finally just ask him out and by the time they hit the bedroom he is like “I need you to hurt me so bad I’m seeing stars in order to get off” and she’d be like "you know what this is not worth it I think we should just be friends". Any apparent mutual interest in each other would just be like, Phee thinking “His eyes are so beautiful I think I want to make love to him” and Tech thinking “she is pretty I wonder if she’d be willing to carve holes into my thighs” or something

#intro commentary by m and explanation by django #also edited by m #tbb tech #tech bad batch #bad batch #the bad batch #tbb #ct 9902 #star wars #clone wars #m+d talk

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kyanitedragon · 1 year ago

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So it's agreed upon that Hide was awake during the Nishiki fight and heard everything, right?

Which means that he directly heard Nishiki mention this...

Which may be a huge factor on why Hide never told Kaneki he knew he was a ghoul, and why he kept quiet and suffered loneliness for so long.

Also! I've been trying to work out Anteiku's setup in the manga, and I realized that in Chapter 10, aka Touka's "I'll kill him" speech...

Hide is literally sitting just across from the counter from them???

Which means it's entirely possible that Hide heard some / most / all of this, too.

Which would be yet another reason for Hide to keep quiet about knowing Kaneki's a ghoul. Not just the threat on his own life, but also to prevent Kaneki getting scared now that Touka's getting in his head, and to prevent Kaneki feeling the blame and guilt if Touka killed him.

#tokyo ghoul #tg meta #i honestly always did wonder because of the amount of panels of Hide during Touka's explanation #but i never realized he's literally sitting just across the room #its also funny i realize this after writing that ficlet about Touka (and by extension Kaneki) being terrible at keeping quiet in Anteiku #was honestly not expecting that to turn out to be plausibly canon(?)#tg ch 10 #tg ch 8 #tg #tg 2024 reread #intro arc #tg intro arc #{tokyo ghoul}

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livalueact · 5 days ago

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LiValueAct Introduction ... !

Hiii !!! For this account I'm gonna go by Liva (pronounced however you want I don't really care...)

So, this is my introduction post for this account where I'm going to yap about my fantasy world which named LiValueAct (shortened version of: Lily Value Act).

This yapping will include talking about the language I made for it which is called Divinic (or ChēVō by a certain spiteful God).

I'll talk about characters and lore, which hopefully is connected to each other 🤞🏾

I'll explain how the world works! I'll also post edits that I also have on tiktok under the username Marvelgolq, that are made for this world.

Also by the way watch out for some depressed chick at the end, heard she's like some mortal God or something, weird. ANYWAYSSSS...

For a bit more information about me I'm a teenager (though I won't be a minor for long :p) and I'm about to graduate from high school so I've decided to get more serious about my fantasy.

I'm a black fem-presenting lesbian (yes, I know how exotic of me... No need to send out the roses). I specifically identify as genderqueer, but it's kinda in a demi-girl way but not at the same time... Gender is confusing. I'm on the asexual and aromantic spectrum, too.

For specific pronouns that you can use for me, I don't mind: they/she/it pronouns. Use any of them, I really don't care which ones specifically.

With LiValueAct part of my goal was to have representation for all the groups I fall into. There's a lack of lesbian representation imo, lack of black representation and our cultures, and lack of just general queer representation.

I find that my world is similar to My Hero Academia and Percy Jackson, both being media I enjoy to a point. I'm a big Arcane fan, love Once Upon a Time, and I adore How I Met Your Mother.

I want to create a community for creatives like me. For writers, language creators, artists, musicians, because I'm a creative too. I want a place where there can just be a hub of creativity, you know?

Hopefully you like me and stick around, and if you do then I hope this can be the same place you wanted :3

Hastags i use are all in my tags !!

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poorlydrawndirk · 2 years ago

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We're on air.

More precisely, I was on air when I recorded this, but the details are largely irrelevant. Because I don't really feel like covering fuckin' introductory quantum mechanics and telling you exactly how the influence of the Skaian universe, when applied at the quark level and taken alongside the probabilistic effect of quantum behavior, superposes via particle states and results in the formation of what you might refer to as "overlapping timelines". And that's already getting real abecedarian about this shit.

Yeah, sue me. Try boning up on basic physics while you're at it.

So. I'm sure you'd love to hear about how I managed to rig this sick as hell channel-cum-blog up and get it to straddle the space-time continuum like an antediluvian Olympic gymnast doing mad splits over baby's first toy pony, but that ain't the point of this little exercise. Posting what's effectively a vlog is enough of an onanistic venture without adding Skaian Principles For Dummies: Electric Boogaloo to the schedule.

Where was I?

(Rhetorical question. Don't answer, if it needed to be said.)

The name's Dirk.

Strider. Yeah, that Strider.

I'd be more worried about internet safety, but seeing as there are only up to two people alive around here no matter how far you pull my timeline back, and I'm one of 'em, it doesn't exactly compute. Face it, brosephine: you aren't getting to year 24xx post-hilarocaust, and you sure aren't getting past that. Wasn't shat out of a lab yet when you were committing identity theft and scamming doddering old ladies out of their sadsack pensions.

(If you manage to get pizza delivered out here, I'll tip extra.)

Besides, you already knew my name, didn't you?

Maybe your next question's going to be:

"Why are you calling this a vlog when it's obviously just a blog?"

Or maybe,

"Why is your URL poorlydrawndirk when it's totally malapropos?"

Buckle in, kids. Strap yourself into that convertible toddler-safe harness and keep your ass glued tight to all the prime polyester-lined foam, because this ride's about to pull into the station and vehicular standards are some passé 21st century horseshit.

The first thing you have to understand is that even peering upon the brink of these echelons of irony is a skill that you'll never grasp in your life. But that's fine. I'm around. And if it puts your mind at ease,

I'll be the one pulling the strings here.

(There's the tired callback. It's not wrong, but it's tired. Worn out enough for it to be begging you to take it out back behind the shed and put it out of its misery.)

(I'll leave it at that for now, because self-referencing is one thing, but if I get any more meta, I'll have to start narrating in twelve-point Times New Roman.)

Anyway, I'll be breaking it down, just this once. Magnanimous as hell, I know. I could wax poetic and in doing so obfuscate the actual meaning once more from obtuse minds, thereby adding another strata to irony so layered that it's settled past sedimentary and is ready to unearth some fossil formations, but let's be real. That shit would fly over your head so far it'd be trying to dial ground control at Houston.

Here we go.

Vlogs aren't cool; making one ironically is.

Putting in this much effort into making a multiversal vlog makes it cooler, ironically.

Putting in this much effort to make a multiversal vlog when the doomed timelines are all inherently fuckin' doomed, as the name implies, and therefore functionally useless to communicate with, makes it more ironic.

I have Heart powers and am able to achieve my ultimate self through my alpha timeline. Therefore, not only is this pimped-out vlog functionally useless, but I actually don't need it at all.

Which means this wasn't too hard to set up to begin with. Ironic, considering the complex presupposed conditions necessary for bridging that 'verse gap.

And despite framing this as a vlog, this is obviously a blog.

Even though it's just a blog, all these drawings I've made had you convinced that I really thought I was posting a vlog.

And in a way, I'm still making one. It ain't the traditional format, but the almost videographic mannerisms I've been laying on you more than compensate for the fact that the video part of "vlog" doesn't exist.

Except it does, for me.

And because it does, none of these pictures are drawn to begin with. They're all film stills. Screenshots, if you prefer.

Which makes the qualifier of "poorly drawn" untrue.

But it's also almost true, because you can call them poorly drawn by virtue of them not even being drawn. Ride that definition of "poorly" down the one-way rail and you're here, selfie central, population two, me and you.

Of course, that means we have to cover the quandary of truth itself. What constitutes the truth? Titillate that thought for a second.

If I consider the attached files to be selfies, but you consider them to be illustrations, which is it actually?

An analysis of the "truth" means that we have to start delineating how much of this is subjective, tying us in bed with the concept of knowledge. The Socratic take calls for dialectical conversation and inquiry via questioning; therefore, if I just bequeath my knowledge to you on a pretty little metaphorical platter, it won't mean fuckall. So we have to keep digging. Get your pickaxe ready, 'cause we ain't hitting any diamonds of wisdom any time soon.

In fact, maybe that ain't the right direction. Flip it turnways. We gotta climb a li'l higher for what we need.

Maybe we gotta head to the roof.

now. brought cal.

where making this HAPEN.

Haha.

Just fuckin' with you.

Welcome to my blog, dude.

Want water? Imagine I got you a nice, chilled glass.

Let's get this parasocial relationship pumping.

Questions? Concerns? Misguided pseudo-parental queries about whether or not it's safe for your pipsqueak to be exposed to a full dose of radically Stridered bullshit?

Cool.

Make it all three and drop it in the asks, yeah?

#Dirk Strider #Homestuck #Homestuck Fanart #Bro Strider #Ask Blog #((#No set timeline! primarily dirk but occasionally other splinters. yeah that includes scratch because why not. it sounds funny.#not a kinnie not a fictive! just a guy with a little bit of time and some bad ideas.#please note that it took dirk approximately five hours in the video to get ready. thank you.#yes the intro is one very lengthy quasi-shitpost. I was going to cover sincerity and the socratic dialogues even more #except it was already really long. lol. anyway I don't have 3 hours to write a more detailed explanation of all the layers of irony but #'trust me bro'#this is a regular askblog despite being named like one of the 'badlydrawn' ones.#im not gonna write long ass monologues at everything i just thought it'd be funny here #i'll spice up the actual blog layout later. for now - hope you enjoyed!#Also - runs not daily prob closer to weekly))

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