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ltwilliammowett · 2 months

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Glossary of Nautical Terms - as used in the late 18th and early 19th centuries

Aft: at or towards the stern or after part of a ship, the opposite of bow.

Aloft: overhead, or above.

Athwart: across.

Bank: a rising ground in the sea, differing from a shoal, because not rocky but composed of sand, mud or gravel.

Becalmed: to halt through lack of wind.

Bow: the foremost end or part of a ship, the opposite of stern.

Bowsprit: a large mast or piece of timber which stands out from the bow of a ship.

Burthen: the older term used to express a ship's tonnage or carrying capacity. It was based on the number of tuns of wine that a ship could carry in her holds, the total number giving her burthen.

Chase, to: to pursue a vessel in wartime with the aim of capturing, acquiring information from her, or destroying.

Colours: the name by which the national flag flown by a ship at sea is known, used to determine nationality.

Dead reckoning: a system of navigation where the position of a ship is calculated without the use of any astronomical observation whatever.

Fair wind: a wind favourable to the direction a ship is sailing.

Fathom: a measure of six feet, used to divide the lead (or sounding) lines in measuring the depth of water; and to calculate in the length of cables, rigging, etc.

Fore: the forward part.

Hail, to: to call to another ship.

Helm: the instrument by which the ship is steered, and includes both the wheel and the tiller, as one general term.

Jib: a triangular sail set by sailing ships on the boom which runs out from the bowsprit.

Jury-mast: a temporary makeshift mast erected to replace a mast that has been disabled or carried away.

Jury-rudder: a makeshift arrangement to give a ship the ability to to steer when she has lost her rudder.

Keel: the lowest and principal timber of a wooden ship - the single strongest member of the ship's frame.

Knot: the nautical measure of speed, one knot being a speed of one nautical mile (6,080 feet) per hour. As a measure of speed the term is always knots, and never knots an hour.

Landfall: the discovery of the land.

Land-locked: sheltered all round by the land, so that there is no view of the sea.

Lead: an instrument for discovering the depth of water, attached to a lead-line, which is marked at certain distances to measure the fathoms.

Lee: the side of a ship, promontory, or other object away from the wind; that side sheltered from the wind. It is the opposite side to windward.

Lee shore: a coastline on to which the wind blows directly - consequently it can be dangerous as the wind tends to force the sailing ship down on it.

Leeward: with the wind; towards the point to which the wind blows.

Letter of Marque: a commission issued in Britain by the Lord High Admiral or Commissioners of the Admiralty authorizing the commander of a privately owned ship to cruise in search of enemy merchant vessels. The letter of marque described the ship, her owners and officers, the amount of surety which had been deposited and stressed the necessity of having all prize vessels or goods seized condemned and valued at a Vice Admiralty Court for the payment of 'prize money'.

Lie-to: to prevent a vessel from making progress through the water - achieved by reducing sail in a gale. The objective is to keep the vessel in such a position, with the wind on the bow, as to ensure that heavy seas do not break aboard.

The Line (or 'Crossing the Line') Sailing across the Equator. Nautical tradition where seamen celebrate the crossing of the equator by dressing up and acting out a visit by King Neptune. Those who have not previously crossed the line are summoned to the court of Neptune for trial, followed by a ritual ducking (in a bathing tub of seawater) and sometimes lathered and roughly shaved.

Mainsail: the principal sail of a sailing vessel.

Mizzen (or mizen): the name for the third, aftermost, mast of a square-rigged sailing ship or of a three-masted schooner.

Muster: to assemble the crew of a ship on deck and call through the list of names to establish who is present and accounted for.

Muster-book: the book kept on board a vessel in which was entered the names of all men serving in the ship, with the dates of their entry and final discharge from the crew. It was the basis on which victuals were issued and payment made for services performed on board.

Pintle: a vertical metal pin attached to the leading edge of the rudder; it is fitted into the metal ring or 'gudgeon' bolted to the sternpost of a vessel. This provides the means for hinging the rudder on the sternpost and allows a rudder to be swung or turned as desired (by use of the tiller); where necessary (ie. when the rudder needs to be removed or repaired) the pintles can be unshipped quickly and the rudder detached.

Port: the left-hand side of a vessel as seen from the stern; also a harbour or haven.

Privateer: a privately owned vessel armed with guns which operated in time of war against the trading vessels of an enemy nation. Each privateer was given a a 'letter of marque' which was regarded as a commission to seize any enemy shipping as a 'prize'. The name 'privateer' has come to refer to both the ship and the men who sailed in her.

Prize: name used to describe an enemy vessel captured at sea by a ship of war or a privateer; also used to describe a contraband cargo taken from a merchant ship. A 'prize court' would then determine the validity of capture of ships and goods and authorize their disposal. 'Prize' in British naval history always acted as considerable incentive to recruitment with many men tempted to join the navy in anticipation of quick riches.

Prize Court: Captured ships were to be brought before prize courts where it was decided whether the vessel was legal prize; if so, the whole value was divided among the owners and the crew of the ship.

Prize Money: the net proceeds of the sale of enemy shipping and property captured at sea - these proceeds were distributed to the captors on a sliding scale from highest rank to lowest seaman.

Road or Roadstead: a stretch of sheltered water near land where ships may ride at anchor in all but very heavy weather; often rendered as 'roads', and does not refer to the streets of a particular port city but rather its anchorage, as in 'St Helens Roads', the designated anchorage for shipping located between St. Helens (Isle of Wight) and Portsmouth, or 'Funchal Roads' at the island of Madeira. (see Elizabeth Macquarie's 1809 Journal).

Quarter: (1)the direction from which the wind was blowing, particularly if it looked like remaining there for some time; (2)the two after parts of the ship - strictly speaking a ship's port or starbord quarter was a bearing 45° from the stern.

Ship: from the Old English scip, the generic name for sea-going vessels (as opposed to boats). Originally ships were personified as masculine but by the sixteenth century almost universally expressed as as feminine.

Shoal: a bank or reef, an area of shallow water dangerous to navigation. Sounding: the of operation of determioning the depth of the sea, and the quality of the ground, by means of a lead and line, sunk from the ship to the bottom, where some of the sediment or sand adheres to the tallow in the hollow base of the lead.

Sound: (1) to try the depth of the water; (2) a deep bay.

Sounding: ascertaining the depth of the sea by means of a lead and line, sunk from a ship to the bottom.

Soundings: those parts of the ocean not far from the shore where the depth is about 80 to 100 fathoms.

Spar: a general term for any wooden support used in the rigging of a ship - includes all masts, yards, booms, gaffs etc.

Squall: a sudden gust of wind of considerable strength.

Starboard: the right-hand side of a vessel as seen from the stern.

Stern: after-part of a ship or boat.

Tack: the nautical manouevre of bringing a sailing vessel on to another bearing by bringing the wind round the bow; during this manouevre the vessel is said to be 'coming about'.

Tide of Flood: the flow of the tidal stream as it rises from the ending of the period of slack water at low tide to the start of the period of slack water at high tide; its period is approximately six hours.

Trade Winds: steady regular winds that blow in a belt approximately 30 N. and 30 S of the equator. In the North Atlantic the trades blow consistently all year round, from the north-east; in the South Atlantic they blow from the south-east, converging just north of the equator. The meeting of the trade winds just north of the equator created the infamous 'doldrums', where sailing ships could be becalmed for days or weeks waiting for a wind to carry them back into the trades.They were known as trade winds because of their regularity, thereby assisting sailing vessels in reaching their markets to carry out trade.

Under way: the description of a ship as soon as she begins to move under canvas power after her anchor has been raised from the bottom; also written as 'under weigh.'

Voyage: a journey by sea. It usually includes the outward and homeward trips, which are called passages.

Watch: (1) one of the seven divisions of the nautical day; (2) one of two divisions of the seamen forming the ship's company.

Wear: the nautical manouevre of bringing a sailing vessel on to another tack by bringing the wind around the stern.

Weather: in a nautical sense (rather than a meteorological) this is the phrase used by seamen to describe anything that lies to windward. Consequently, a coastline that lies to windward of a ship is a weather shore; the side of a ship that faces the wind when it is under way is said to be the weather side a ship, etc.

Weigh: to haul up.

Weigh anchor: the raising of the anchor so that the ship is no longer secured to the sea or river bottom.

Windward: the weather side, or that direction from which the wind blows. It is the opposite side to leeward.

Yard: (1) a large wooden spar crossing the masts of a sailing ship horizontally or diagonally, from which a sail is set. (2) a shortened form of the word 'dockyard, in which vessels are built or repaired.

Sources: JEANS, Peter D. Ship to Shore: a dictionary of everyday words and phrases derived from the sea. Santa Barbara: ABC-Clio, 1993.

The Oxford Companion to Ships & the Sea. (ed.) Peter Kemp. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976.

#naval history #naval artifacts #ship terms #not from me #sources below #18th century #19th century #age of sail #infos

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twinsimming · 4 months

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Utilities Mod by Twinsimming 💡💧

This mod adds optional power and water utilities for players looking for some added challenge in their gameplay.

This is a script mod that can be placed in your Packages folder. It was built and tested on 1.69 but should work fine on 1.67.

New Objects

Power Box

- Price: §0 - Category: Misc. Electronics/Misc. Appliances - Includes 3 original swatches + 1 recolorable option (3 channels) - Poly Count: 274

Water Pipes

- Price: §0 - Category: Misc. Plumbing - Includes 3 original swatches + 1 recolorable option (3 channels) - Poly Count: 1065

Utilities

The Power Box controls power and the Water Pipes control water (self explanatory :p). Both utility objects are free in buy mode in the Misc. Electronics tab and Misc. Plumbing tab, respectively.

Once placed down on your lot, you can enable one or both utilities. When the utilities are enabled, power and/or water will be cut off to certain objects on your lot until you "Turn On" the Power Box and/or Water Pipes.

While the utilities are on, your sims will be charged between §1 - §3 simoleons for every 10 minutes they use an object that requires a utility, with the charge varying based on the size of the object. The total cost will be added to your next household bill.

If you want to opt out of the utilities system, just use the “Disable Power Utility” and “Disable Water Utility” interactions available on the utility objects.

The utilities system only applies to the active household.

A full list of all of the objects affected by the Power Box and Water Pipes utilities and their usage costs can be found on the mod download page.

Utility Costs and Usage

To check how much you've spent on utilities during the current billing cycle (between when you pay your bills and the next bill payment), click on the "Check Utility Usage" interaction on either utility.

To see your full utilities breakdown, use the new "Check Utility Costs" interaction on the computer.

Also included in the full utilities breakdown is a Green Energy Rebate total.

This total calculates how much money a lot saves by using the Solar Panels and Wind Turbines from the Sims 3 Store and factors that into the total utilities cost.

The full utilities breakdown also shows up when your sim pays their bills.

Lack of Funds

If your household funds fall below the usage cost of a utility, that utility will be shut off and cannot be turned back on until your funds are sufficient.

Bill Delinquency

If you’re late on paying your bills, your utilities will get shut off. Both utilities will be shut off when your bills are two days old.

Tuning

All of the tunable values can be found on the mod download page under the header “Tuning”.

Script Namespace

If you want to turn another object into a power or water utility, open your desired object in s3pe and replace the current script name with the following:

Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Twinsimming.Utilities.PowerBox

Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Twinsimming.Utilities.Water Pipes

Conflicts & Known Issues

These are new scripted objects so there shouldn’t be any conflicts.

Credits

EA/Maxis for The Sims 3 and The Sims 4, Visual Studio 2019, Sims4Studio, Blender, Milkshape, TSRW, ILSpy, s3pe, Notepad++, and Gimp.

Thank You

Thank you to gamefreak130, @zoeoe-sims, @greenplumbboblover, and @echoweaver!

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi 💙

Download @ ModTheSims

#sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 mods #ts3 mod #4 to 3 conversion #4t3 #download #my mods #utilities mod

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lydskisses · 10 days

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🌟 PO - (FANMADE) Love and Deepspace In-Game Ring Designs by LoveBuff 🌟

ETA: Late November 2024

Payment Deadline: While Stocks Last

➡️ All prices are in Singapore dollar and are inclusive of shipping from source country to me. Mailing to you will be calculated separately when the items arrive. PayPal and Wise are accepted for international buyers.

The rings are open-ended so they are adjustable, though slightly hard to manoeuvre. Male ring diameters are 17.5mm across, except for Sylus 17mm across. Female rings are 16.5mm across.

The rings can be bought separately or as a set. M = Male ring, F = Female ring, C = Couple set.

Zayne/Xavier: (M) SGD$13.90, (F) SGD$13.90, (C) SGD$22.90

Sylus/Rafayel: (M) SGD$16.50/ea, (F) SGD$16.50/ea, (C) SGD$28

This is a fanmade merchandise.

If anyone is keen on LoveBuff’s Tears of Themis ring series, you can DM me as well!

#loveanddeepspace #ladsmerch #ladsxavier #ladszayne #ladsrafayel #ladssylus #sylus #rafayel #otome #otomemerch #恋与深空 #黎深 #祁煜 #秦彻 #沈星回

#love and Deepspace #otome #otome merch #papergames #lads rafayel #lads Xavier #lads zayne #lads sylus #sylus #rafayel #恋与深空 #沈星回 #秦彻 #黎深 #祁煜

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lets-try-some-writing · 10 months

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Survivors

The Pretenders have made attempts to spread. Efforts have been made to stop them, however fear amongst the Decepticons is growing. The Pretenders are appearing more and more often, always being cut down before they can return to their abominable creator. The Cons learn more with every Pretender killed, but the survivors still bear the scars.

Damus wishes more than anything else that he could have minded his own business long enough to not get involved.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Damus never intended to get involved. He already had enough to deal with considering his outlier ability, his faltering memory, and the fact that empurata had done extensive damage to his ability to function normally. He didn't have the time or the motivation to join up with either faction when the war began, at least at first. He knew Orion Pax, well he knew of him at any rate. He was also familiar with Megatron's doctrine. As such, he took his time trying to decide which faction he would inevitably end up siding with. War would force him to choose eventually, but he was slow in his selection. There was no need to rush, not yet.

He saved up shanix, doing odd jobs for both sides as peace talks began to occur. Maybe he wouldn't even need to pick. At least, that was his hope as he got his life together. With the senate in disarray, they didn't care for the fact that he went to a medic and payed an absurd amount to receive a new set of servos and a proper face. Things were looking up for him and he couldn't have been more thrilled when his old mentor called upon him to do odd jobs and run calculations. Damus didn't know why Shockwave wanted him to collect seemingly random fauna and flora from on and off world, but he did as instructed and was paid handsomely for his services.

Part of him wanted to question, but after the Senate and his prior empurata- No, he refused to risk it. He was getting his life together and he was going to keep things stable. That was his hope. But of course, just as he found himself a spot working as a field scientist for a research facility, everything went to slag. Orion Pax dropped off the face of creation and in turn the war went to the pits and back. Both sides were in an uproar, so Damus tried to steer clear of it. That of course did not last, not when during an expedition underground for a few stellar cycles to escape the horrors of war, he met a mech who was far larger than he remembered.

"You are Damus."

"Orion Pax. It is a surprise to see you here."

"I come in search of the Matrix of Leadership. Do you know its location?"

"Legend says it returned to Primus after Sentinel offlined."

"Do you know the path to Primus's core?"

"Maybe? I can try, but I don't work for free Pax. I am not the lost mech you knew. I have a life, a job. I am not risking it by helping out the Autobots without something in return."

"You desire payment?"

"Obviously. I know the tunnels well enough to get you going in the right direction at any rate."

"That is sufficient. Should you complete this task adequately, you will be rewarded in due time."

There was something very off about the mech who Damus was pretty sure was Orion. But he decided whatever it was, he didn't want to get involved. Orion had been gone for stellar cycles, probably on this foolish mission. It was in his best interest to get Pax where he needed to be so he could get his aft but up to the surface and stop the panic. And so that's just what he did. He walked Orion down the right paths until he didn't trust his memory to lead him further. Orion, or at least the mech who looked a great deal like Orion, watched him with calculating optics and nodded before vanishing into the dark. He decided then and there that he didn't even want to be paid, not when this mech was staring lasers into his spark during their entire walk.

Not his problem. Not his problem.

That was what he chanted to himself as Optimus Prime emerged onto the battlefield not long later and Damus found himself with no choice but to join up with the Decepticons for his own safety. Something was very wrong with Optimus Prime, although he couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was. He was just WRONG and looking back at the tunnel incident, Damus regretted guiding him. He did everything in his power to steer clear despite being with the Cons technically. His hope was that by staying in the city of Tarn, he could keep away from whatever was going on in the war. Being a researcher behind the lines was his safest bet. He didn't even care about trying to make something of himself. The job could frag itself now that he had his face and servos. He just wanted to stay as far away from all of it as he could. Whenever he left the safety of Tarn for whatever reason, he seemed to run into trouble.

Optimus met his gaze twice from a distance. Damus purged after each incident. The Prime was focused on him, and something deep in his spark told him that was a death sentence. A few times he caught sight of another one who gave him unsettling feelings. A yellow scout, one who the records stated was designated as Bumblebee once he finally worked up the willpower to look him up. Then there was the third, the last one that confirmed Damus's fears. Ratchet was the CMO of Cybertron before the war, but now he was on the battlefront every now and then... and he was different. There were rumors that he got ill and then miraculously recovered. But looking at him from a distance? Damus got that same feeling, the one he got when he saw Optimus. Those three were wrong, and so he tried not to leave Tarn for his own safety.

He was concerned to say the least. But he was safe in Tarn. Of course that was fine until Megatron began laying down rules that Damus and many others didn't understand. There were constant warnings about an infection originating from Autobot lines. Medics were suddenly being trained en masse and were promptly put absolutely everywhere. Medical procedures grew more invasive and frequent, constant sanitation became the norm, and any soldier that presented even the slightest behavioral difference after battle was taken away, often never to be seen again. There was also the sudden appearance of strange armor suits that mecha amongst the Decepticons began to wear. There were whole propaganda campaigns urging every soldier to get the suits for their own protection. The bulky things covered every possible part of the frame, and somehow Damus got the distinct impression that something darker was going on behind the scenes. Things weren't adding up.

His fears were confirmed when Optimus Prime decided it was time to give Damus his payment.

Damus had no time to react when the Autobots launched an attack on Tarn shortly after the destruction of the Senate. Damus hid with the rest of the non combatants, but the Prime was quick to appear on the battlefield and tracked Damus down like a bloodhound when he tried to run. Optimus Prime found him huddled amidst the ruins of the bombed out fortress he called home for so long. And it was there that the Prime, no, the monster, ruined his entire life.

"I promised you payment. I have come to offer it."

"GET AWAY!"

"You are one of his students. You will be useful."

"Primus no-!"

He could only scream as the thing's jaw came apart, splitting into a maw of mandibles. Then just as quickly, a squirming bug of some sorts was lowered toward his right optic. It was agony as the thing wormed its way into him, and all the while the monster above him seemed to smile in its convoluted way. All he knew was pain as the thing left in a hurry and he was promptly collected and dragged away to a place he didn't know.

He remembered medics, dozens of them all practically buried under the protective suits the posters were always advertising. He remembered screaming in agony as they worked on him, doing something to his helm and much of his torso. But then it ended, and Damus was left in an isolated room, strapped down to his berth with heavy chains, and standing before him was the one and only Megatron who also wore the suit.

"What in Primus's name happened to me?"

"You were infected with the Pretender larva. We managed to remove the larva itself, but its roots have already spread."

"What does that means? What is this?"

"Listen closely Damus. We don't know where it came from, but the Pretenders are creatures that infest a host and devour them in order to wear their frames as disguises. Optimus Prime is one of these creatures."

"Then he-"

"He spread the infection to others, including yourself. We have found hundreds of others like you in various stages of infection. We have done everything we can to reverse the effects, but all we have accomplished is slowing it down."

"So... I am going to die?"

"Yes. We slowed the infection to a crawl and your life will be extended through frequent surgeries to remove the largest of the roots. However, it will kill you one cycle."

"I will become one of those monsters."

"Only if you give in. We have installed an explosive in your processors that will eliminate you at a moment's notice. This is not out of cruelty, but merely to ensure you cannot become another tool for the Pretender plague."

"I see..."

"You will die, but you need not do so without honor. You carry part of the Pretender genome. With it, you will likely find you have new abilities, most notably, an inbuilt radar which will point toward other Pretenders."

"You want to make me a tool."

"I offer you a choice. You can die here with a quick and painless offlinement, or you can serve us and use your curse to ensure others do not suffer the same fate."

"How many have died due to this?"

"Thousands. We find more every cycle. The thing that calls itself Prime is prolific and must be eradicated."

"Then... I will serve. I will make sure this CURSE cannot spread."

"Good. We will have need of you Damus."

"Please, call me Tarn. I want that monster to know that the city it destroyed yet lives on. That I still remain defiant."

Damus, or rather Tarn took one look at his face and knew what he needed to do. The larva had buried itself into him, and so to remove it, his face that he spent so long achieving was now devastated. However in his rage, he found he didn't care. He wasn't afraid anymore. That monster took his entire life from him. Condemned him to eventual death alongside countless others. He refused to let the newly named Pretenders be. Not after everything.

He wanted to not be involved. But now he had no choice. Passivity got him infected. And so until he perished, he would fight. He could feel the new strength that hummed in his fuel lines. Evidently, the Pretenders were more than simple infiltrators. The world was brighter, more noisy, and far less frightening. The thing within him would kill him, but until it did, he had its strength as its own.

The Pretenders were going to DIE.

With Megatron's aid, Tarn was given access to all he needed. Every moment was spent on the hunt, and the few he found in time to save quickly joined his ranks. Other mecha, each survivors of the larva. Together they grew in number and slaughtered the Pretenders in their cradles. The things were so very weak when young. Tarn could feel the rage of the one called Prime. But he merely smiled as time went on. Every Pretender killed was one less threat. Megatron's warnings now made perfect sense.

An infection was spreading across Cybertron, and Tarn was going to stop it.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #megatron #tarn #pretender au #damus #slightly rushed #but here it is #more pretender au #I just want to answer the asks Ive gotten and move the the story to earth #but not yet #just a lil longer

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narsh-poptarts · 9 months

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⁕ HIIIIII WINTER COMMISSIONS!!!!!! ⁕

As mentioned above, I will only be accepting payment through Kofi or Paypal, and payment must be made upfront. Once I receive payment, only then will I begin work on your commission. I will be sure to ask you lots of questions beforehand and during the process to ensure that both of us are happy with the outcome!!

If you have any questions or are interested, please shoot me a DM!!! I will not be able to start working on commissions until 12/29/2023, but you are more than welcome to shoot me a DM regardless!!!

Commissions will only be open until late January, as I have to start up school again!!!

Thank you so much!! Reblogs are much appreciated!!!

Some additional information/disclaimers/rules under the cut!!!

General Commission Rules:

Please tell me what you want BEFORE you pay me! That way I can properly calculate pricing!!

No refunds!

I have the right to refuse any commission for any reason!! Please respect this. It is likely nothing against you personally, just my own personal preferences for what I'm willing and able to draw.

Both the time I take and the price I charge will vary due to complexity, but I will do my best to inform you of any changes or delays!!

Life stuff happens. As mentioned in the above point, I will do my best to inform you of any delays that occur

Artwork is for personal use only. Do not resell or make profit off of my work without my permission. Additionally, my artwork is strictly forbidden from being used for Artificial Image (AI) Generation or anything similar.

Light blood/gore is okay!! If you're worried that something might be too heavy, don't be afraid to ask!!

I will do light nudity! LIGHT. Pretty much chest only and very little uncovered female presenting breasts. However, I will allow for censored and/or covered up nudity. I must express tho: No NSFW/suggestive, please and thank you. I just don't feel comfy drawing it. Please use what art I have already posted as reference for what I'm willing to draw (my drawing of my dnd character, Jack, is a perfect example).

Some of my rules are bendable and/or negotiable! Please just ask!!

I will default to using my grainy brush, so if you don't want that, say something!

If you don't care about the specifics of what I draw and just simply want me to draw your blorbo, I'm okay with that!! I might ask for the kind of vibe you're looking for tho

I will not be doing comic commissions, but I will do single scene commissions

Specific Commission Content Information:

I do accept furry comms!! Please be aware that I don't typically draw furry art so I am pretty inexperienced in that field. Regardless! I really want to try anyways and do my best, so I appreciate your patience with me!!

Additionally with furry comms: I will only do anthro/humanoid!! I'm not all that confident in my abilities to draw animals in the way I want to, but maybe someday in the future!

Yes I will draw your DnD character!! You must already have a visual reference for them, or at the very least, an assembly of reference images that I can use! I will not be designing your DnD character from scratch. It takes way too long for me to do something like that and I wish to respect both my time and effort and also yours.

I will draw most all DnD races. Please be aware the more animalistic races are not entirely within my expertise, but I will do my best!!

This goes for general OCs as well!! You must have an adequate visual reference of your OC for me or else I can't help you.

I don't want to draw irl people, but if you have someone specific or traits from someone specific that you want me to use as a reference for a character, I'm fine with that.

Yes I will draw fanart of any sort!! That includes fanart with all your headcanons!! (with ample reference) Just lemme know B)

The line between complex and simple background, at the end of the day, is up to my ruling, but for a general guideline: - No background: colors and/or gradients only, simple shapes and designs. No linework. - Simple background: concrete but not overly detailed. Does not especially matter where elements are coming from (if applicable). Ornate borders. - Complex background: detailed with heavy thought put into their design. Detailed linework. I will be doing a 70/30 rule. 70% character, 30% background. If i have to break out the perspective tool, it's complex. Refer to the examples for a general idea!!

Commission Process Rundown:

You go into my DMs and you say something like "hello! I would like to commission you for x, y, z!"

We talk over what you want, what you're looking for, how many characters, color or just lined, if you want shading, style, etc.

You give me a reference image if applicable.

I approve or deny the commission details and total up the price of your commission.

You confirm or deny the price and add or subtract any details to your order.

Upon your confirmation, I give you the link to my kofi or send you a paypal invoice (I would prefer kofi since it is easier and friendlier).

Once payment goes through, I start work on your commission at my next convenience!

I will send you a screenshot of the general sketch. You may change pose or any other detail at this stage. After your confirmation, I continue work.

I then send you a screenshot of the lines nearly finished. You may change minor details at this stage. If I made a mistake in design or otherwise, please let me know and I will be more than happy to fix it. If lines is all you asked for, then I will screenshot one last time once it's done, you confirm any last tweaks, and then I will send you the final image file!! I will ask if you want it to be a transparent image/blank background/specific color background/etc.

If that's the end of your commission details then yay!! If not, the process repeats for the colors and/or shading stages.

I will ask if you mind if I post the artwork! If you don't want me to post it, I won't.

Thank you for commissioning me!!

#my commissions #commissions open #commission #commission sheet #winter commissions #thank you for the support!!!#oh my god this took literally 2 hours to post cuz tumblr hated the last image

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innammoratta · 3 months

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Thorin Oakenshield x Reader Pt. I

Concept: Middle Earth/Arda is only one realm among many. The reader is from Earthrealm and was hired to help Thorin's company by Gandalf's invitation. She's a fighter and a member of the Lin Kuei. This is a Mortal Kombat/Hobbit collaboration.

(This is not yet edited, please excuse any mistakes)

* * *

The company had convinced Bard to sail you all to Dale--not without payment of course, which Balin now calculated and counted as everyone chipped in. You surrendered a portion of your currency, placing it on the table in front of Balin, then returned to your sight seeing at the edge of the boat. Your elbows and forearms were perched on the rails and you leaned slightly forward. It was late evening and thick fog rose from the black lakes on which you sailed, offering a covering over the boat. The peaceful atmosphere was a welcome change from the never ending action you were always faced with. In your own realm, you could never imagine such peace. Yes, Arda evidently had a good share of evil beings and bloody battles, but it also had the Shire and Rivendell--beautiful cities and villages untouched by war.

Your own realm had peaceful towns and gorgeous scenery as well, but you never had time to appreciate them. This entire journey with Thorin and his company was the longest you had ever been out in the world,--or a world, rather?--free. You had never experienced the warm sunrise so many days in a row, having lived your whole life in the cold mountains of Tibet. You had never truly witnessed what life was like in every day cities and towns. Places like the Shire... places like Rivendell especially!--these were too good to be true. All your life, you had only known fighting, wars, tournamets.

But what struck you the most was the fellowship you saw within the people in Arda. From the moment you met the Company in Bilbo's home, you found that the warmth of the Dwarves had touched you in a way you felt you had been longing for your entire life. Their two songs, though strange at first, bewildered you the more you thought of them. The company was joined together in joy and in loss, expressing their emotions so freely. You had not been raised to show your emotions. In fact, it was custom, from where you came, to express nothing--but anger, perhaps.

The way they cared for each other, tending to each other's wounds, sharing meals, comforting each other when forlorn and laughing together when merry was all but familiar to you. At first you found their openess overwhelming and frankly exhausting, but you came to appreciate it.

In secret, part of you wanted to be as open and free as they were with their thoughts and hearts. Now, as many members of the company had expressed their utmost admiration for your fighting skills and made effort to take care of you while camped out, you found yourself longing to be a part of them. To share in their joys and share in their sadness, to care for others as they did and be as close as they were. You did not know what it was like to put your trust and confidence in an individual. In your clan, relationships such as these were not allowed. You may rely on your brothers and sisters as a whole, as the Lin Kuei, but never in a personal manner.

You squeezed your fists shut, angry at yourself for having lost the control you once had over your mind and emotions. The longer you were around the Dwarves, the more the intensity of your emotions increased. They had, without knowing, made you more aware of the desires of your heart.

You glanced once again to the table where Balin counted the coins and noticed Kili looking at you. When you met his eyes, he smiled, channeling so much warmth and real, raw emotion to you. He was grateful for your action just a few hours ago, when you had jumped on him to save him from the arrow of an Orc; when you saved his life. It would have been a waste to let him die. The others seemed to love him much.

By your observations, you figured you were supposed to smile back, but you were suddenly overwhelmed with emotions you were incapable of understanding. You did not let yourself feel them, pushing them into a bottle as you had been raised to do. But now it felt as if the bottle was pouring over, unable to contain anything more. You tore your gaze from Kili and tried to distract yourself with the beauty of the lake once again, though unsuccessfully.

"Is something wrong? Were you injured during the attack?" You were surprised to hear Thorin speak casually to you. He had never done so previously. Out of the members of the company, he was the most normal to you. He only spoke when necessary and maintained a calm disposition--though he did let his anger and frustration flow freely. His hostility did not shock you. It was understandable and even quite close to home for you.

You spared him a glance then looked away again, shaking your head. "No, I am fine."

He was unconvinced. It was easy to see you were troubled about something with your clenched fists and rapid, shallow breathing, but he knew better than to intrude. Instead, he thanked you for saving Kili, explaining that he had made a promise to his sister, their mother, to protect them best he could.

At the mention of their family, you felt the increasingly familiar anxiety form in your stomach. Your heart felt as if it was being crushed within you, and a scoff escaped your lips as you couldn't help but raise a hand to your hair, frustrated.

Next to you, Thorin frowned, confused about your response. "What?" He asked, expectantly.

"I apologize." You shook your head and straightened your posture, trying to shed away your troubled mind. "I only..."

Thorin took his hands off the edge of the boat, replacing them with his elbows as he mirrored your previous stance, leaning over to see you better. "Only what?"

You struggled to find the words, remaining silent for a few moments until making the decision to do as they did: speak their minds with utter honesty. "I am jealous of your family." You refused to make eye contact, eyes still fixed on the obscurity of the fog.

Thorin was dumbfounded, taken completely off guard by such an opinion. A sound escaped him, something between a scoff and a chuckle. "My family? You know next to nothing of them." He spares a quick glance at Kili and Fili. "You've only met my nephews."

You shook your head, turning so that you could look at him, but not in the eyes. "But you have a family... and I can tell from what I've witnessed and have been told that you... care for each other." You scratched at the wood beneath your hands, trying to quell your nerves.

Thorin thought for a moment, bewildered until he realized what you had implied. He wanted to ask a question or maybe offer his condolences, but his words ran dry.

"Look! there it is! The mountain!"

You had gratefully turned your attention to where the dwarves were pointing, but Thorin's eyes darted between you and the mountain as he became torn between the desire to continue talking with you and to relish in the moment he had spent years dreaming of; returning home.

With the arrival on land came more obstacles to overcome. Thorin was focused on sneaking past the guards of Dale, and reaching the safety of Bard's home, but he did not miss the way you stared at Bard and his children when they interacted. There was a deep longing in your eyes, maybe even sadness. However, he put aside his curiosity.

It wasn't until after the company had been discovered and the Master of Laketown had promised his help that Thorin began thinking of what to say to you. While you and the company enjoyed the feast hosted by the Master, Thorin was quiet. As soon as the company began filling up with ale, they became more rowdy than usual, no doubt their spirits having been lifted by being so close to Erebor. Though you quite liked hearing their joy, laughter, and jokes, you were still overwhelmed. You sought peace and quiet elsewhere, excusing yourself from the table.

Through the window, you could see that it was late at night. There was even a slight hint that the moon was out and shining so beautifully. So without thinking, you left the house entirely and walked out into the empty streets. A cool breeze went by, colder because of the water surrounding the premises, but it had nothing on the cold you were used to in the moutains of Tibet

Just a few meters away was a dock, looking across the lake with a view of Erebor, you imagined. It was hard to tell with how dark the lake and everything beyond it was. You walked out onto the edge of the dock and sat down, leaning back onto your palms. You did not notice that Thorin was following not far behind you, as he had been waiting for a moment like this.

Just a few seconds later, heavy footsteps on the dock approached you. "It's only me," Thorin announced as you had been close to drawing your dagger. You said nothing, only watching him as he sat down next to you. "It's dangerous to be alone in town this late."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've had to defend myself. I am able to do so," you stated, relaxing once again.

"I shall never doubt your skill again. However, I insist that you stay close to the company. We're too close to reaching Erebor to lose a member of the company now." Thorin stared at your face and troubled expression, and while you were still silent, he continued. "I wanted to talk to you. About what you said on the boat." His voice was soft and hesitant. "What happened to your own family?"

He was met with only more silence as you tried to figure out whether you should be honest or wise. The Lin Kuei was very secretive, virtually unknown except by a select few. With courage, you turned your head and looked Thorin in the eyes.

He seemed sincere.

He was a very private person.

He was of good character.

"I will answer your questions, but whatever we discuss must be kept between us in complete confidence." You wanted to be like the dwarves, as open and close as they were. So even though you felt uneasy about revealing your secrets, you thought that perhaps it just took courage to be like them.

Thorin nodded once, slowly, to show that he agreed to your terms.

"I barely knew them," you said in a monotone voice, almost nonchalant. "I have a few faint memories, but that is all. I was taken at too young of an age to remember what my parents looked like. I know I had siblings, but I remember even less about them." You outstretched your legs and sighed.

"Taken?" Thorin asked for clarification. "What do you mean?

"In my clan, the Lin Kuei, children are often born into it, but sometimes they are stolen during childhood or even infancy. Then they are brought to the temple to become acrobats... assassins... fighters and warriors. That is what happened to me."

Thorin had nothing to say, unaware that such a place could even exist. It began to make sense, why you looked at Bard's family with longing and why you confessed to envying Thorin's family. "You are still a part of this... clan? They sound diabolical!" He whisper shouted.

You made no reaction and instead changed the subject. "But... that is why I wanted to help you and your company get back that mountain,"--you motioned to it with the jerk of your head. "Long before I was offered to help on this quest, I entertained the idea of looking for my family. I wanted to know what it was like to have a normal home." You looked into Thorin's eyes, sincerely. "So even though your definition of home is a place and mine is the people, I believe we want the same thing. I will help you get your home, so you may grant your kin normal lives, beginning with your nephews and Gloin's son."

Thorin wanted to thank you, or somehow show his appreciation, but first he needed to know, "Did you not attempt to look for your family?"

A new heaviness itself upon your chest, and you looked away from Thorin. "No," you shook your head, "another member of my clan had attempted to find his family once; he was like me. After a long time, he managed to track them down, but they were killed by a rival clan. Because of the bad blood between us, they may do something similar to mine should I attempt to find them. I don't want to risk my family's life, if they are indeed still alive and well. They don't deserve to lose anyone else."

"You have done much to help us on our quest. Once we have taken back Erebor, I should like to help you reunite with your family." As you looked at Thorin with a shocked expression, he realized it was indeed impulsive of him to promise you help, but you risked your life for his cause, and he endeavored to do the same for you some day.

You smiled for the first time in forever, it felt awkward, but you were touched by Thorin's offer. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to do with a normal life even if I had the opportunity to have one. After the life I've lived, I don't believe I'd integrate well into civilization." You stood to your feet, wanting the conversation to come to a conclusion. It had been nice to be open, but it was also exhausting.

Thorin quickly stood as well, facing you and taking a step forward. "The odds never seem to be in our favor. There is a dragon in that mountain at this very moment, the same one who burned my home and murdered and drove all my people away--thousands of people! Yet here we are, 15 of us headed to take it back. Are you not willing to fight for your home as you are helping me do now? Even for just the chance of getting it back?" He had such a passion in his eyes, you admired it. But his attempts to inspire you were in vain.

"And if I found my family... what will I do? Live amongst them?" You wore a bitter smirk. "There is no leaving the Lin Kuei. It is punishable by death." And with that, you began heading back to the rest of the company.

Thorins face softened at yet another piece of shocking information. He was not used to accepting defeat so easily. He would find a way to fight for your freedom.

#thorin oakenshield #Thorin x reader #Thorin Oakenshield x reader #Thorin x human reader #Thorin Oakenshield x human reader #The Hobbit x reader #The hobbit oneshots #The Company x reader #Thorin's company x reader #The Hobbit

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hotpinkmurex · 3 months

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WIP Wednesday (on a Wednesday!)

I did this. I chose to make Kaz Brekker an actual character in my historical Wesper romantasy. So now, as an homage to Crooked Kingdom, I have to write him scheming up a scheme probably I won't even understand...

"Pekka Rollins?!" cried Jesper, as disbelief at what he was hearing made him forget momentarily the six foot five Fjerdan barrelling towards him and wielding a sword. Too late Jesper side-stepped. Steel glanced his cheek. The blade sliced the air. Momentum carried Matthias's feet forward, and the not-inconsiderable force he had put behind his weapon got buried in a pine tree with a shrill-sounding 'thunk'. Pekka Rollins engaged to Lord Wylan! It was too ridiculous. Kaz was mistaken. His source was feeding him lies. Kaz must be wrong. Though he never had been before... "Mind your stance," came a flat voice across the clearing to where Jesper stood shaking. Kaz was sitting stately on a felled tree, and barely looked up from the sheaf of paper he held in his hand. At least Matthias had assured himself Jesper suffered no real injury, before bracing his foot against a boulder and trying to retrieve his broadsword from its wooden sheath. "You must carry your weight evenly, Jesper," Kaz continued, with a spectacular air of indifference, "and stop leaning so hard on your left foot. You forget all that we've practiced these last weeks. Control the things you can and do not allow yourself to become distracted." Distracted... That was too much for Jesper. How had Kaz expected him to react? Pekka Rollins name should not be uttered in the same breath as Lord Wylan's. His Wylan. Pekka Rollins was a criminal - that he was still allowed walk free in Kerch did not change that. Out of all of them it was Kaz alone who had borne the full brunt of Pekka Rollins actions. Jesper turned towards him, with narrowed eyes and a cheek still smarting, wondering how Kaz could sit there, with his bad leg stretched out before him, and speak of Rollins so coldly. Jesper had only heard stories of Rollins: A Kaelish skin trader, who had escaped his grandfather's justice and fled The Wandering Isle. Matthias knew him as a war profiteer, who had used Kerch neutrality to sell to both sides. To the detriment of those operating the gun carriages, the black powder he supplied had a tendency to explode outwards. Rollins name had become notorious. But Kaz had actually met the man. Pekka Rollins was the swindler Jordie Rietveld had trusted to turn his quietly growing savings into exponential wealth. Rollins had sold sovereign bonds, and though Prince Dietmar's royal seal was there on each deed of payment, like a cherry squashed between the parchment, when the time came to draw down dividends, the officer of the treasury had never heard of the scheme. Kaz's schooling ended. He travelled to Ravka to become a mercenary. And when lack of funds prevented him from seeking the help of a healer for the foot long gash dealt him by the losing party in a duel, the infection spread and settled resolutely in his bones. Usually when Kaz spoke of Rollins it was with blood between his teeth. This calculated calm was eerie. Jesper would know the meaning of it. "Is it any wonder I lost focus, Kaz? Does this information seem to you at all... peculiar? The Duke of Belendt's son was set to marry a common criminal? This is Pekka Rollins we are speaking of! Why are you not more distracted?" "I am wondering at that too, Rietveld," called out the voice of Matthias. The stinging scent of pine sap filled the air, telling Jesper that Matthias had recovered his weapon. He took his place at Jesper's side looking as suspicious as Jesper felt. "Usually at this point you would be setting fire to something." Kaz's lip curled. "And who says that I am not?"

Soft tagging @dreamtigress in return for many many tags... :)

#kaz brekker #matthias helvar #jesper fahey #six of crows #ao3 fanfic #shadow and bone #wip wednesday #and yes this story is still about wesper...#i am going to a lot of effort for a background story - i made an excel sheet of timelines #crooked kingdom

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dhaaruni · 7 months

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For Veronica Merritt, 38, the creator behind @thismadmama, the calculations are more complicated. As a mother of 12 who mostly documents life with her large family, she claims that when she makes a video with one or two of her children, she’ll share the profits with them, but if the video is a haul of the entire family going shopping at Dollar Tree, she considers the $10 they got to spend there to be their payment. When she made a TikTok comparing two of her daughters, the younger felt embarrassed because Merritt called her the “weird kid at school” in contrast to her older sister, who was labeled “popular” and “bubbly.” But Merritt says they decided not to take the video down because it was doing well and making money through TikTok’s monetization program, which pays creators for qualified views. The video is now pinned to the top of her page, with 2.3 million views and counting, netting $1,100 as of late February. As a form of reparation, she decided to split the profit from the video between her two daughters, with the stipulation that they use the money for the bedroom makeovers they’ve been wanting.

#links #parenting #yikes

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somedaylazysomeday · 1 year

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Good Intentions Part Thirteen

It's that time again...

Rating: Mature, 18+, lemon, etc

Word Count: 5,000

Warnings: mentions of sleeplessness, descriptions of a bar after hours, threats, ongoing references to sex as terms of a business agreement, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv sex, themes of intimacy.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

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You rolled over, pressing your face into the arm you had folded across the soft surface of your pillow. The split second of wakefulness disappeared as you dropped back into sleep, but that had been enough to notice it: your mind was working on something.

It was unexpected. You hadn’t gone to sleep with a specific problem in mind and your bedtime routine had been utterly normal. The Haven was quiet for the evening, remarkably so. You were all set to go to The Last Drop the following day and make your regular payment to Silco.

It was time to turn onto your side. Your body had demanded the movement, breaking into the hazy half-dreams you had been experiencing to let you know. The change in position brought the constant workings of your thoughts to the forefront, but they weren’t ready yet. Your brain needed more time to work before delivering a solution.

Something was definitely happening, something your waking mind had missed. This had happened before. You tried to relax into sleep while your unconscious mind worked on whatever problem it had identified, but it was a struggle. Every time you rolled over, you woke up. Every time one dream ended, you found yourself blinking up at the darkened ceiling before dissolving into the next one.

It seemed like it was both a moment and an eternity later when your mind presented the final thought to you: your next payment to Silco was scheduled for that day. You had already known that, but you also had a full day of meetings scheduled, starting at roughly nine in the morning and running until almost midnight. You had forgotten the date you had scheduled all of the meetings to take place… at least, your waking mind had.

You were out of bed and on your feet faster than your brain could calculate, and you had to wait a moment before you could start haphazardly throwing clothes on. If you hadn’t been late to your previous meeting, you would feel more confident contacting Silco for a delay on your payment, but something told you he would be even less understanding now than he had been then.

The room was dark, and only the combination of a semi-reflective clock face and an obnoxious neon sign outside of your window allowed you to see the time: nearly 5:30 in the morning. With any luck, the Last Drop would be closed by the time you arrived, but Silco would still be around for you to speak with. You had never asked where he went during the day, and you didn’t have the slightest idea where to start looking for him.

You rushed out of the Haven’s side door, keeping your head down and your steps quick on your way, but it was still almost six by the time you reached the Last Drop. The lights were off and no music thudded through the courtyard in front of the building. Only the giant eye over the entrance was still glowing, though you could see some light through the windows.

When the doors opened under your hands, you breathed a sigh of relief. If they had been locked, you may have truly been out of options.

The inside of the Last Drop was nearly empty, as expected. The bartender looked tired, but he still glanced up at you with a weary resignation. “We’re closed for the night.”

He was a young man, wearing remnants of makeup around his eyes that had likely been smeared under his fingers. His clothes were wrinkled and you could see a notepad on the bar in front of him, covered in lines of numbers. You felt a surge of compassion for him. It was a little on the early side for you, but incredibly late for someone who worked in a bar.

So you kept your voice light as you replied, “‘Night’ may be a little generous. The sun will be up soon. I’m here to see-”

“Never mind,” he told you, turning away. “I know who you are. But the boss is done for the night, too. You’re out of luck.”

The panic rose in your throat, sharp and hot and burning acid. “Wait, please! I have to-”

“I can’t do anything for you,” he repeated. You could see the irritation and impatience on his face, but buried in that expression was fear. He was - like most people - afraid of Silco. Afraid of what would happen to him if he crossed a line and angered the head chem-baron.

You wished you could sympathize, but you knew exactly how he felt. In fact, your situation was probably more precarious than his, and you were willing to push.

Fortunately, you were saved from figuring out a way to do that by the sound of something heavy clattering against a table. You turned, instantly on-edge as you scanned the bar’s deserted seating area.

To your surprise, you caught sight of a blue-haired girl sitting in one of the booths. “Jinx?”

She flinched slightly, but beamed the next moment. “That’s me!”

Jinx was toying with something, the same thing that had made the loud noise a moment before. It was bulky and metallic, though its surface was covered almost completely by hand-drawn designs in a variety of eye-watering colors. It took entirely too long for you to realize that it was a grenade.

“So I see,” you told her, bemusedly. “What are you doing here? Especially so late?”

“Got stuck,” she said simply, waving the grenade at you. “This isn’t working the way I need it to. Sometimes, doing something different is enough to shake a new idea out, ya know?”

“I can relate.” You eyed her. It had been roughly six months since the first time you had met Jinx and you admittedly didn’t know her very well, but she didn’t look so great.

Jinx was a slender girl, not quite a teenager yet, but she was much closer than she had been the first time you met her. She looked at least a little taller now, though it was hard to judge when she was sitting slouched over the way she was. The thing that concerned you the most was the way her face looked. She was pale and drawn, dark circles under her eyes and a dark bruise on one corner of her jaw.

Your first thought was to wonder if Silco was mistreating her. Living conditions in the Undercity were dire, but Silco had money for food. Jinx was verging on skinny. That, combined with the tiredness on her face and the nasty bruise made you wonder…

Of course, you had dismissed the thought a moment later. Unless something dramatic had happened between Silco and his daughter in the past six months, abuse or neglect didn’t seem likely or even possible. It had taken precisely one interaction for you to realize how deeply Silco cared about Jinx.

“You know,” you said carefully, “sometimes, I get my best ideas when I’m sleeping.”

“Yeah?” she asked dryly. “That why you’re here so late?”

“Ironically, yes. I need to see y-” You paused awkwardly, horribly, as you remember Silco’s threat that he would end your agreement if he ever found out you had spoken to Jinx a second time. Of course, you were well past that. Still, you didn’t want to push your luck and it somehow felt worse to directly mention Silco’s relation to Jinx. “...you know, Silco.”

Jinx was amused by that, a wide grin breaking out across her face. With her voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, she said, “Don’t worry. I know he’s my dad.”

“Yeah.” If you’d only had Jinx’s self-assurance when you were that age…

Your thoughts were thoroughly interrupted by footsteps approaching from behind you, paired with a sharp voice. “Hey, I told you: there’s nothing I can do to help you. The boss is done for the night. Get out.”

Somehow, the problem had seemed almost salvageable as you spoke with Jinx, but it flooded back full-force as you turned to plead with the bartender and his smudged makeup. “Please, you don’t understand-”

“No, you don’t understand. The boss doesn’t like to be interrupted, especially not by random people off the street.” The bartender’s eyes slid until he was looking past you at Jinx. “How about this? If I tell him who you were so interested in talking to, he’ll probably set up a special meeting you won’t be able to miss-”

“Shut up, Chuck!” Jinx ordered, sliding out of the booth. You had a moment to realize that she was indeed taller than she had been when you had first met her, then you were distracted by her sudden, apparent fury. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck? Do you? I’ll even give you a hint, Chuck: Days. And talking with her is the only thing that’s managed to help so far. Get it? Now walk away or I’ll make sure you’re my test subject when it’s ready.”

The bartender’s mouth had gone slack at Jinx’s tirade. As she delivered her final threat, his eyes darted to the grenade in her hand. And when she thrust that hand out toward him, his mouth snapped shut as he walked out from behind the bar and left The Last Drop entirely.

In the stillness of the now empty bar, Jinx turned to you, already wearing an expectant look. It seemed like a bad idea to ask anything too prying, so you settled for, “So his name is Chuck?”

“Of course it is!” she said instantly, so brightly that you sincerely doubted his name was Chuck. But she was smiling again, so you went along with it. “Now, you need to see my dad?”

“I really, really do.” The fervency in your tone may have been a bit much to put on a kid, but you were feeling a little desperate by that point.

“And you promise you’re not a prostitute?” Your mouth fell open at the unexpected renewal of Jinx’s suspicions on that point, but the girl gave a wicked cackle. “I’m just messin’ with ya! Come on.”

You couldn’t exactly ask questions since she had already taken off toward the back room of The Last Drop, but you certainly had plenty.

Those questions only compounded when Jinx took you through a circuitous route that seemed to be working in a very jagged circle. You never saw the same doorways twice, though, so you trailed along gamely behind her and hoped it wasn’t an incredibly complex trick meant to trap you in the middle of some twisted labyrinth.

Your journey ended when you followed Jinx up a set of creaking stairs. The top of the staircase featured a tiny landing, complete with a small shelf built into the wall. The shelf had a squat, rather ugly vase sitting on it. You might have chosen to put a light there instead, but it wasn’t your room. In fact, you weren’t even sure it was Silco’s. If nothing else, the vase didn’t seem to be his style.

“Okay, knock normally twice, pause for one second, then four quick knocks and tap twice on the vase.”

You were still processing that when Jinx hopped up on the sagging bannister. She waved at you as she pushed off with her feet and slid down faster than you could believe.

With the instructions still fresh in your mind, you knocked twice on the door, carefully let a full second pass, knocked four times so close together that it sounded like you had used both hands, then tapped the vase twice. The vase turned out to be secured to the shelf, which was good. In your nervousness, you had hit it a little too hard and would have been in danger of knocking it off completely.

When the sharp sound from your knuckles against the glass had faded, you took a deep breath and gingerly turned the doorknob. The room was dark, a complete inky void with one exception - the glowing orange point of an unnatural eye.

You felt like you were frozen, pinned in place by that unblinking gaze, but that apparently wasn’t true. Somehow, you shifted just enough to let some light pass you into the room, illuminating Silco more fully.

He was in bed. A distant part of your mind registered that Silco apparently had a bedroom in The Last Drop, but it wasn’t your major focus. He was leaning up to stare at the door, leaning on one elbow to support himself. His other hand was sitting at a strange angle, and you registered why as you saw the shine. He was holding a knife, no doubt retrieved from some well-concealed place in easy reach of the bed.

Silco didn’t strike you as the type to be unprepared, even in sleep.

“Well?” he asked irritably. “Now that you’ve interrupted my rest, do you intend to stand there? Dawn is coming.”

You wordlessly stepped into the room, letting the door close behind you. When you turned to be sure it closed - and to lock it if Silco wanted - you were only mildly surprised to find that the door itself, the handle, and the entire frame blended perfectly into the wall of the room. A hidden door made sense for someone whose power put him in consistently dangerous positions, but it still delighted the child in you. You’d always had a weakness for secrets.

Since there was nothing for you to lock, you turned back to Silco. Thankfully, your vision had adjusted to the darkness, because there was no illumination. Silco shouldn’t have worried at all about the dawn, since he didn’t have a window.

Silco had stowed the knife somewhere, but he was watching you with a hard stare that felt equally threatening. You stopped short as he said, “I told you to stay away from my daughter.”

“You did,” you agreed, feeling your heart rate increase. There was no use in arguing with that point, but maybe it would have been wiser to try. “To be fair, I didn’t approach her.”

There didn’t seem to be a way to argue that, since Silco sighed and raked fingers from his forehead back to the nape of his neck. His hair was more disheveled than you had ever seen it, and something about the mussed strands was making you feel distinctly twitchy. But you had to see if he was going to murder you horribly before you could think of doing something about that.

“Tell me what happened,” Silco ordered. “I was expecting you this afternoon.”

So you told him everything - your surprise schedule conflict, the unhelpful bartender, Jinx’s offer to bring you to her dad. You briefly mentioned Jinx’s claim that talking to you had helped her work on her grenade, but you didn’t belabor the point. You didn’t know how true it was, especially since you hadn’t discussed anything that remotely concerned engineering or explosives. Not that you would have been much help with either of those topics.

By the time you finished with your explanation, Silco was sitting up fully. He had propped a pillow behind his back to cushion himself from the headboard. His legs were resting straight out in front of him, slightly splayed and bent at the knees. He looked… casual. It was strange to see from someone who typically seemed so tightly buttoned.

It was only then that you realized he was wearing only a loose pair of pants, sitting bare-chested in front of you. Your mouth went dry and you could only hope the darkness hid the way your eyes had locked on his torso.

Your gaze was so intent that you jumped when he lifted an arm to beckon in your direction. He did seem to have seen that, if you were to guess by the smirk that lifted one corner of his mouth. Still, you took a step, then another, then another, until you were standing beside the bed.

Silco was actually a bit shorter than you like this, and it felt strange to look down at him. That didn’t curb any of the imperiousness in his voice as said, “Strip.”

The clothes you had thrown on before rushing out of The Haven were casual and comfortable. Shucking them off almost took less time than it had taken for Silco to issue his command. He still, of course, found time to talk.

“In the future, I would like you to contact me if there are issues with the timing of our meeting,” he informed you. “Though we decided against postponement last time you did so, it does not excuse your apparent refusal to do so a second time.”

You nodded, feeling slightly abashed. Realistically, you could very well have waited until one of The Haven’s guards was awake and sent them to deliver a message to Silco. He would have (probably) understood. It was difficult to tell with him, sometimes.

Before you could respond - though what would you realistically have replied with, an apology? - Silco spoke again. His voice sounded different then, and it took you a moment to recognize the difference in tone as mingled warmth, pride, and arousal.

“However, I cannot fault you for your initial reaction. I appreciate the fact that you were so distraught at the idea of missing our meeting that you rushed here without a second thought. In fact,” he caught at your wrist, towing you closer with that strength you had always found such a surprise for his wiry frame, “I think that kind of loyalty deserves a reward…”

He didn’t toss you onto the bed. It wasn’t his style. But the slow, inexorable pull was just as exciting. You wanted this, wanted it very badly, but the illusion of the lack of choice tricked your brain into dropping any guilt stemming from your connection with the city’s most notorious chem baron. (The same guilt seemed to get less and less noticeable every time you met with Silco, but that was a new source of guilt in itself.)

The important thing was that your half-hearted tug against his grip only made Silco bare his teeth in a grinning half-smile. He didn’t release you once you had knelt on the mattress, nor when you had laid down on its surface. No, Silco kept his hands on you, arranging your limbs until you were sprawled under him.

Your legs were carefully parted, allowing space for him between them. Realistically, you knew what was likely to happen, but you could hardly breathe with the anticipation of it. As Silco started moving steadily toward the apex of your thighs, your moan was half-excitement and half-relief.

As he slotted himself between your legs, eyes bouncing greedily between your face and your core, you watched the light of his orange eye with an unexpected sense of nervousness. Silco was intense in his office, but now you were in his room. The intimacy of it all struck you for the first time. He had allowed you into his private spaces when he easily could have ordered you away or killed you outright. Now your head was resting on his pillow as he parted your folds with something that approached glee.

Silco didn’t give you the chance to think much more about his room… or anything else. As his mouth delved toward your core, your thoughts were fully absorbed by him and the way he was making you feel.

He didn’t ease into things - starting off with a thrust of his stiffened tongue into your channel. You made a surprised little noise for him, one that turned abruptly louder as he gave a pleased hum and the vibrations went through you.

His fingers, the ones that had started by spreading you open for his mouth, didn’t stay still for long. They petted and stroked, pinched and speared. When Silco turned his mouth to other things, they took his place inside of you, opening you up for things to come. A pinky drifted downward to your rear, pressing on that ring of muscle. The digit never breached you but the light pressure was enough to keep you on-edge.

You arched and cried out when Silco’s lips closed around your clit. Within the pressured cavern of his mouth, his tongue teased that sensitive bundle of nerves until you were squirming under him. With his hands busy and his mouth occupied, Silco pinned you down with his shoulders against your thighs. The gentle, barely-there scrape of his teeth against you was enough of a warning that you forced yourself to lay still beneath him.

At least, you tried to. Silco was demanding, pulling every bit of pleasure from you with a lack of mercy that left you feeling raw. It didn’t help that you were flat on your back, fully under his power, and surrounded by the scent and heat of him. Just the feeling of being overwhelmed by this man made you writhe and squirm and beg beneath him, pretty pleas falling from your lips faster than you could ever hope to push them away.

“Come, my pet,” Silco ordered, moving the minimum amount to make his command audible. “Fall apart for me.”

And then his mouth slanted over your slit once more, delving deep and inevitable as he ripped your orgasm from you with a ferocity that left you breathless - though you still found the air to cry out for him.

When your pleasure had finally peaked and you fell into the post-orgasm lull - every muscle shuddering - Silco continued working his tongue over you. It wasn’t enough to push you fully into overstimulation, just enough to remind you that you were at his mercy.

Silco pulled away from you, your legs fell from where they had been wrapped around him. Instead, he crawled up the length of your body, licking and touching all the while. Somewhere in the rush, he had managed to kick away his loose pajama pants, leaving every bit of him brushing every bit of you. You were slack with pleasure, but you still managed an arch of your spine as Silco pressed his length through your slick folds - not entering you, but ensuring you knew he was ready for you.

“I will never tire of the noises you make for me,” Silco whispered, leaning down to tease the line of your neck with his lips. That was all well and good, but when he paused to suck a mark into your skin, your hips rose of their own accord.

“Silco, please,” you begged, shocked at how quickly your need had risen up after being sated so completely. “Fuck me.”

Silco repositioned himself so he could peer down at you, one brow lifted high. “Such language from a well-known and renowned philanthropist! We expect better manners from the people of Zaun.”

“Silco…” you trailed, trying not to let it turn into a whimper. You weren’t entirely successful.

“I suppose you did say please…” Silco mused.

You nodded, trying to subvocally encourage him to keep going, but he rolled off of you instead. A litany of complaints rose to your lips, but you held them back for one simple reason: he had pulled you with him.

The two of you were lying on your sides, staring at each other in the nest of body-warmed blankets that wreathed Silco’s bed. He pulled you close, then closer, positioning one of your knees up and over his hip. That opened you to him, not quite spreading you wide, but enough that the coolness of the room felt like a shock to your overheated core.

Silco wasted no time, holding you in place with one hand on your hip and the other snaking along your spine until he could cup the nape of your neck. Then his length was spearing up into you and you stopped caring so much about where anyone’s hands were.

He hissed at the feeling of your body’s grip on him, baring his chipped teeth in a silent snarl. When he had sunk as deep as he could get, Silco paused, giving both of you a moment to experience the way your inner muscles were working around him, and the way he was throbbing inside of you.

Rather than employing his driving sprint toward the proverbial finish line, Silco seemed more content than usual to take his time. The lazy push and pull of his hips between your thighs left you surging up and pushing down in time, meeting him at the apex of each stroke. Still, the motion managed to be steady and metered rather than frantic.

And the pace wasn’t the only unusual thing about the experience. No, Silco seemed to be insisting on eye contact. The first time you had looked away, unable to bear the directness of his gaze locked on yours, Silco’s hand had traveled from your neck to your chin. After he had levered you back into looking at him, he gritted out, “Eyes on me, pet.”

The rumors around the Undercity were that Silco’s orange iris was a result of getting an acid or toxin in his eye. You had always chalked that up to ridiculous superstition, egged on by Silco’s employees as an easy way of increasing his credibility among potential challengers.

But just then, you felt like that eye was eating into your very soul. It didn’t seem so impossible, not when you were locked in Silco’s embrace with the orange fire of his ruined eye casting the only light in the room. As soon as you had seen that startling glow set against the backdrop of his darkened room, you couldn’t have looked away even if he would have let you.

Silco stared at you for the remainder of your session. He watched as he thrust deeply into you, watched as you made a desperate noise for him, watched as he made a desperate noise in return. His gaze stayed on you as his fingers drifted downward to toy with your clit. Those eyes went half-lidded, heavy with pleasure as you tightened around him, but you could see the way they were still locked on you.

It was impossible to say whether the eye contact was pushing you closer to the edge, but you certainly felt as if your skin was burning with the intensity of it all. Silco’s hand on your hip tightened and loosened, flexing almost as if he was kneading your skin. You flexed under his touch, your leg drawing further up along his side.

And then he pushed inside of you again. The new placement of your knee left Silco driving into that incredibly sensitive place in your core. If the look on his face - intrigued, eager, and self-satisfied - was any indication, Silco knew exactly what was happening. A few more pumps inside of you and a shaky circle traced around your clit and you were left gasping as another orgasm slammed you into space.

Shaking, pleading, struggling for air… yet you had no trouble keeping your eyes locked on Silco’s face. His mismatched eyes became an anchor for you, the only thing that helped you keep your balance in the overwhelming tide of pleasure.

As far as you could remember, you had never orgasmed while holding eye contact with someone. At least, not in a way that even approached this level of intensity. It felt like Silco was drinking you in with the way his gaze was fixed on you. Even when he withdrew and spilled into the pajama pants he had left lying nearby, his attention was utterly focused on you.

You made some kind of noise as Silco settled on his side next to you. It was one of surprise, but you tried to play it off as if you had started to say something. Even then, it seemed like a bad idea to show any sign of vulnerability to Silco.

“That- That was… incredible,” you admitted eventually.

“I quite agree,” Silco said, resting his head on his pillow. As his natural eye began to close, you turned, intent on leaving him to rest.

To your utter shock, his hand latched around your waist, tugging until you fell backwards. When you were lying with your back to Silco, he moved slightly closer and let out a sigh. “In fact, I’m afraid I must insist that you stay here.”

“...Stay?” you repeated, voice faint in the darkness.

“At least for a short while.”

You cleared your throat, hoping to sound cheerfully nonchalant as you replied, “I was actually counting on you showing me the way out of here. I think I might end up dying in the labyrinth, otherwise.”

“When the sun rises, you may leave,” Silco decreed. His hand - painted deep gray against the blackness of his room - gestured toward a door across from the bed, half-hidden behind a shallow wall. “That door will take you back into my office.”

“Oh.”

Silco seemed to read something in your brief response, and his voice was careful when he said, “Unless you really do not wish to stay.”

Silco was a ruthless murderer. He was a chem baron, one who manufactured Shimmer with the aim to addict an entire city. He was violent and rude, and had been extorting you for the better part of a year. And yet… he sounded so uncertain of himself and his invitation, you couldn’t bear to turn him down.

Instead, you did your best to relax. “I’ll stay. But only until dawn. If I’m out much later than that, the people at the Haven will start to get suspicious.”

“Until dawn, then,” Silco agreed.

In the quiet hush of the darkened room, your wakefulness began to fade. With your interrupted rest and the physical exertion of the evening, sleep was chasing you faster than you could run. Just before you dropped off, you felt something brush the nape of your neck. It could have been one of Silco’s fingertips or it could have been a pair of lips…

Either way, the touch was almost unbearably tender.

---

Author's Note - Quick reminder that this story is set between acts 1 and 2 of Arcane. Because of that, Jinx is younger than in the majority of the show, and is still somewhere between Powder and Jinx.

Sorry for posting this a little late! Hope you enjoyed it anyway.

I don't offer a taglist for mature works, but you can find other fics on my masterlists (desktop or mobile).

#good intentions #arcane silco #silco x reader #silco #reader insert #silco x you #silco x reader fic #reader insert fanfiction #mature #lemon #spicy #rating: nc17 #minors dni #not suitable for minors

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canadianabroadvery · 10 months

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"... The board gave Dr. Lucabaugh a 40 percent salary increase (to $315,000) in late July of this year, making him the second-highest paid school district superintendent in Pennsylvania, and is now using that increase less than four months later to calculate payment, ...the severance package contains many suspicious provisions, including one that bars "any district investigations of his tenure. ...It’s hard to imagine a lawyer drafted that contract, No lawyer would think that a school board could insulate an employee from any kind of of court action or criminal investigation.”

#rightwing extremists'#Moms for Liberty #maga #christofascists #government corruption

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jellybeanium124 · 4 months

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adhd vent

cannot believe my psych might require me to do like $3000 and 16 hours of testing to """"prove""" I have adhd. give me 10 minutes I will leave you without a shadow of a doubt.

every couple of months I have this day. I never know when it will happen. but very rarely, I will have a day where I can just... do things. call the people I need to call, email the people I need to email, clean my apartment, run errands. I can get like 4 or 5 things done and I have to fucking milk it when it comes because most days are not like this.

most days getting 1 thing done is a win. getting nothing done is average. getting nothing done + being so filled with bees I can't even focus on stuff that's meant to be entertaining for more than a minute is a bad day. if I get the closing shift there's a 70% chance I will do nothing else that day because I do not have any sense of how time works and am worried if I leave the house to do groceries I will be late for work. on a good day I can do laundry before a closing shift. I never even remember to contact people until a time where I can't (at work, night). I can't even begin building habits like "exercise" because I don't want to do it and forming a habit for something that is technically unnecessary for my survival and I don't want to do is impossible.

there's a decent chance I will do absolutely 0 things on my days off because I'm so beat from work. this is part of why I'm getting into records. I have to LEAVE THE HOUSE to go to a record store. and because it is FUN and I might get a TREAT (new record) I am actually able to sometimes do it. this would be less of an issue if I had more friends where I lived. But Circumstances happened and now I only have one friend where I live. all my other friends are in [HOMETOWN]. I'm working on a second friend.

everything has an exact place in my apartment and if something isn't in its place (or for objects that move a lot, like my phone, one of its few places) I have Absolutely No Fucking Idea Where I Put It. I still have my TI-84 calculator from high school and I still use it if I know I'm gonna do multiple calculations in a row bc I will not remember the previous answers and the TI-84 records it for me. I keep it in my desk drawer. once I thought I lost my phone for like 10 minutes because I used my calculator and then put my phone in the drawer when I was done with the calculator. it took me forever to retrace my steps and realize what I did. I forget things one second after they happen.

I was constantly struggling to turn homework in on time from 7th-9th grade (12-14) and I only "fixed" that problem by developing severe anxiety over turning in homework late. and then I lived with severe anxiety during school years from 9th grade through my freshman year of college (14-18). idk why it suddenly didn't come back my sophomore year. probably because I moved out.

I wanna work in the film industry but that's driven by my effort and I can't even fucking remember I should be doing something about it most of the time!! and then reaching out to people is so difficult! sometimes for anxiety reasons but sometimes I just can't work up whatever I fucking need to work up to respond to an email. I love this work and once I'm on set I'm a hard worker and generally good (people seem to like me) but getting on set has been damn near impossible and not just because it's a difficult industry to break into.

this has just been my life. for 10 fucking years. and it's worse now because I don't have the structure of school or my parents looming over me. I only pay my rent because I have a calendar alert set up every month. I only pay for wifi and my credit card bills because they let you set up auto payments. my roommate is in charge of the electric bill and whenever they text me what my half of this month's payment is I have to venmo them immediately or it will never happen. when my calendar alert to take my birth control pops up on my laptop I don't let myself close it until I've swallowed that pill. when my alarm goes off telling me whatever's in the oven needs to come out, I don't shut it off until I'm out of my seat, otherwise I'd accidentally keep watching youtube or whatever and burn everything. everything's a calendar alert, everything's on a timer, I have a physical fucking whiteboard calendar on my desk to remind me of everything. if I didn't have these things set up and I didn't force myself to be diligent about it, I'd never remember when I needed to go to work, and banks and landlords would start coming after me.

my car is out of windshield wiper fluid. only the driver's side window goes down. the AC's out. and most recently the aux cord stopped working (this happened before and I got a new cord which worked for a short while so I think there's something wrong with the car). and I haven't fucking found the time to take it to someone and get it fixed. my AC is out!! in june!!! and I can only open one window!!! and I suffer because the car still technically works and drives me where I need to go and since this isn't life threatening or otherwise immediately pressing I have no idea when I will get to this!!!

I just want the days where doing two things being a major accomplishment to be a thing of the past. I want it to be a distant memory. I want to be able to function like everyone else.

you don't need to send me to someone for 16 hours across two days and cost me $3000. Idk what more proof you could possibly fucking need. give me the goddamn pills that will make my brain work.

#this is incredibly embarrassing tbh but I'm on the adhd autism website and I needed to get this out of my system so :/#and once you come out as a feedist how much more embarrassing and difficult could turning over any other piece of your soul be?

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phanhlee · 4 months

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~First sight~

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(This is a commission. Both I and the writer are not English speakers so there could be mistakes. However, this is the story I want to share, story about a devil in disguise and a devilish judge (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡)

Tag: Claude Frollo x male!oc

His name is Helzon, Helzon Sullivan.

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Even when he was crushing gypsies with the sole of his shoes like they were nothing but mere bugs, Claude Frollo still believed he was never in the wrong. If anything, he’d only have to worry about dirtying his outfit. But the archdeacon couldn’t possibly cloud his thoughts with such mundane matters. He had been tasked with jobs that overlooked the entire archdiocese of Paris. As one who belonged to God’s land, he’d wish the challenges he gave to humans could slightly stop being so tedious. Carrying himself properly along the streets of Paris, Claude held his head high in pride and dignity. Throughout the streets of this archdiocese, his presence was hailed like that of a ruler.

Humans, vile as they are, were born with their sins weighing on them. Only those who want to repent at God’s feet shall receive his salvation, and this of course did not apply to the Parisien who just caused a commotion in one of the most crowded places of this archdiocese. Claude had to be as careful as he could, so as not to stomp on any bystanders with Snowball the horse. He didn’t want blood on his hands anyway.

Today, the uproar was caused by a lowly thief, who was said to be an orphan who lived in the slums among the dirtiest waste. Claude’s nose could barely contain the foul smell of peasants, but it was his duty to reprimand the thief. Chasing the criminal throughout the streets of Paris with the guards going before him, Claude silently cursed his luck. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the men of the church to capture their prey. The boy, who dared to lay his filthy hands on a piece of white bread, was cornered by Claude’s stern and calculating eyes. Injustice, he thought. The poor are always the cause of misdeeds in this city. No matter how many charities and donations are made for them, they would go back to their roots as lazy, unapologetic men who will not work a day as long as they can still play under the sun. More than once, have they been late with the payment of their taxes; being an establishment for worshiping God, the church literally had no means of income, and they had to rely on taxes. The nobles were too busy partying, and Claude had no interest in bothering those bluffing, blithering idiots. As he was busy chasing down and correcting those who called themselves God’s children undeservingly, an unexpected presence appeared in the corner of his eyes. He was standing in the way of Snowball, so Claude had to try his best to calm the horse down, so as not to stomp on him and cause an unwanted casualty. Even though everyone around him was scurrying around the busy marketplace, the man with cold silver eyes remained in his place. Calm but deep, his gaze was like the Seine flowing throughout Paris, but it was somehow piercing at the same time. As if his air was taken from him, Claude Frollo had to steady his breath, but that didn’t help much as the other figure towered over him. Determined to make himself look like he could stand a chance against the much bigger man, Claude frowned, his brows furrowed deep. With his cold and unforgiving voice, he demanded:

“Speak, brute. What makes you think you have the right to stand here? You’re in the way.”

The bloke, however, didn’t budge. His eyes intently stared, as if his gaze could match a thousand blades piercing through anyone who dared to look directly at him. It was a different kind of look from anything Claude had gotten used to. He seemed to be far from the other low-life Parisiens, but in the end the man could be anything but different from the crowd that Claude had so much disdain for. A sonorous voice, deep as the ocean, commanding like the voice of a god, grumbled from the man’s stomach. One may even think he was not used to speaking. Only a few precise, meticulous words came out from him, that Claude could have sworn they sounded like “monsieur de Paris”.

A gentleman of Paris, was what he called himself. A foreign-looking man, who did not fear the gaze of Judge Claude Frollo, who stood tall in the presence of the authorities. Oh how Claude despised this defying bloke who thought of himself to be greater than others! Arrogance was one of the greater sins for men to bear, and yet this person who didn’t even want to speak of his name was full of it. With a cane in his hand, Claude lifted his chin up. But his cane slipped, hitting him in the face. It appeared as though the man’s eyes narrowed in a heartbeat, but it was probably just Claude’s illusion. Somehow, it terrified him, even though his gesture towards Claude showed no malevolent intention. Quickly, he left, leaving Claude speechless with his henchman trying to get him back to his senses.

“I want to know… who that vile bloke is. Who does he even think he is, daring to oppose me like that.”

Back in the chapel of the Notre Dame, Claude tried to keep his composure as he ordered his underling to do his deeds. The trusted henchman scurried away with his orders. Alone in the chapel, Claude walked around impatiently. He could’ve sworn he borne nothing but disdain towards the bastard, but something different had sparked in him.

“My Lord, I have returned.”

“Then tell me, boy… what do you know about him?”

“From what I’ve managed to gather, his name is Helzon Sullivan.”

“That sounds quite foreign. Do you know where he came from? Corsica, is it?”

“Sir… It doesn’t seem to be Corsica. I asked all over, there was little to no information about him.”

“Really? What is he doing in Paris?”

“It remains a mystery still, sir. He does not seem to disclose his personal life to anyone, nor does he get close to any citizen. Oh but, it is quite likely that he is a soldier, who had made himself a frequent customer at the grand tavern.”

Indulgence, Claude thought. A grave sin of men. He specifically sought God’s light of guidance because he did not want to fall under the sinful ways most men indulge themselves in. Women, alcohol, money,… all temptations are earthly bonds that imprison one’s spiritual being to the earth, bringing them closer to hell than to God’s kingdom.

“So he… is a drunkard, you say?”

“On the contrary, sir. He could control himself very well, and he is… popular with the ladies. Though, it seemed like he only frequented such places for some drinking activities, not for the purpose of… coitus.”

“That, I did not need to hear. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Claude did not realize he was taking his first steps into his own hell. Instead of ignoring the peculiar man, Claude found himself drawn to him. Nothing but fate’s cruel grand scheme bound them together. Just as the archdeacon thought he had escaped his silvery eyes’ grasp, he happened to see the brute again.

It was Lent when their next encounter happened. This time, he was donning a military uniform, standing alongside other brutes. That was just like the information that the judge received from his henchman. But as Claude was watching him on the way down from the belltower of Notre Dame, he seemed to be in a hurry. It was probably orders from the higher-ups that forced his presence to be at the archdiocese, guarding the church for this occasion. All the while, the archdeacon went on about his day, as usual. Or that was how he made it seem. Claude played his role perfectly, but that was his job. The people of God cannot rest well if they knew their leader was unwell. In the confines of the glass windows, he stood to catch a glimpse of the silver-eyed man. The way his wavy black hair draped over his shoulder was bewitching, and although Claude called him “brute”, the way he moved was far from that. His elegance reminded him of a noble, and he was sure that eye color was also very uncommon for vermin to have. Sure, he’d seen his fair share of dirty grey eyes like a mouse’s coat, but this was pure silver.

The brute, whose surname Claude remembered to be “Sullivan”, stayed guarding Notre Dame for about a week until Lent was over.

Claude did not realize he was deliberately looking for the man at every turn of the corner. But he did, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. The hellfire was scorching through his veins, burning away every last bit of his being. Alas! For a man of God to bear such thoughts with another man, he was to be punished. Going against God’s will was unthinkable for him. He should not lay with another man, per the holy words of the bible. His mind was once pure, unclouded by lustful thoughts. But in the shadows of this wretched man, he was obsessed. As he took a peek into his own reflection in the mirror, Claude was horrified to find himself changed beyond his imagination. His ashy gray hair framing his face, sunken eyes of a clergyman who’d devoted all his life to serve God that he even neglected his health. At least, he didn’t neglect the task of grooming. But Claude was conscious that he had become unrecognizable from the image of himself that he’d drawn in his head, every morning as he opened his eyes and led the way for Catholic Parisians like a bunch of loyal dogs who tremble in fear in his presence. He was not loved, but feared. Right. That ugly, wretched, poor Quasimodo probably feared him as well.

....

But the man with those silvery, mercury-like eyes that could pierce through one’s heart was… different. He did not fear him. That alone had made him stand out from the rest of the crowd, apart from his astonishing height of course. He was immovable, like the pillars that held the establishment Claude was standing on. Hecouldn’t forget about him, even if he tried to. He’d imagined the devil residing in a gypsy’s heart, and in the hearts of sinners, unsightly preposterous sinners. The man he’d seen carried himself with an air of poise and grace so rare that Claude could swear he’d only seen a handful of those people throughout his miserable life. No one had ever dared to oppose Claude, let alone planting the seeds of eros in him. How could I be led astray by that tramp, Claude thought to himself.

Unless, that was his salvation, sent by God?

Claude couldn’t do anything but pray. He prayed and prayed, asking God for peace of mind. At a point where this self-righteous man had found himself to be shaken by the thoughts of another man, he felt as if the ground under his feet could crumble at any time. Claude had never thought of serving or devoting himself to anyone other than God, ever since he was a young pastor, an inquisitor, a church boy. His life had been all for the Bible studies, for his acts of service for God and Mother Mary, who looked at him from high up above. He had never had a taste of love and affection with another person of his peers. Climbing his way up the hierarchy of the grand church was an unforgiving process that allowed him no friends. Allies, yes, probably, but everyone aimed for their own good in this world. He was used to being alone, fighting his battles by himself.

But it was precisely his loneliness that triggered the downfall in Claude’s image of the perfect man, one that he crafted for him to aim for. The imaginary hands on his shoulders of Helzon Sullivan were warmer than anything he’d ever felt. It made Claude’s entire body shivered in a sense of unwanted joy and shameful yearning. He did not want to yield himself to desires - Claude Frollo was known to have a mind of steel. But just with these thoughts, he was already deeper in this painful yearning more than he ever wished to.

Alone in the chapel of Notre Dame, Claude stared outside, dreading. The clouds have pulled themselves down like dark, thickened cobwebs covering the sky. A storm was coming, and it was coming his way.

(me too lazy to color or draw a new one so I'm gonna an old one)

#commission #claude frollo #frollo #the hunchback of notre dame #claude frollo x male oc #oc #judge claude frollo #hond #fanfiction #writting #they are beautiful just look at them #Helzon Sullivan

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