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animentality · 1 year

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MY FIRST EVER DND CHARACTER- because everyone was asking.

Ahem *taps podium.

Rasp of Steel is a Kenku. His class is rogue, his subclass assassin, but really he's a jack of all crimes.

He was born to a Kenku flock in a densely populated city, and grew up in the criminal underbelly of its unscrupulous streets and seedy neighborhoods. He spent his childhood skulking about back alleys and shady markets with his fellow Kenku, scheming and plotting and seeking wealth and riches. Spying, stealing, intimidating, gambling, poisoning. Just an average Kenku upbringing.

But as he grew older, he found himself growing apart from his fellow Kenku, for one reason, and one reason alone.

Rasp of Steel is a daredevil, a thrill seeker, a desperado. He seeks the joy of the hunt, more than he cares for the gold pieces and the rare gemstones and beautiful jewelry. The journey over the destination. The race and the sweat and the feeling of running and chasing, over the finish line and the glory.

He does not commit crimes for money, but rather for passion.

Because it exhilarates him, and he seeks excitement and dare he even say it, adventure.

Rasp is very passionate about the art of crime. The pizzazz. The style. He is an artisan, crafting a performance against the system. He is always seeking bigger and better crimes, ones that he's never done before, sometimes even to the point where he fails because of his inexperience or his recklessness, resulting in harsher punishments. But he doesn't seem to mind being in and out of prison.

And as he entered adulthood, other Kenku began to gravitate away from him, disturbed by his strange disregard for treasure, his zealous and impulsive need for rebellion over reason.

So he began to leave the cities. Exploring, taking on odd and interesting jobs.

But ever since he left the cities, he has been alone.

Kenku are solitary by nature, when not around other Kenku. And he finds himself often regarded with distrust as he travels, causing him to shy away from social interactions, even with other thieves and spies and assassins.

The only long-standing relationship he has ever had...is ironically with an Aarakocra named Lazark.

A prison warden, who hates him about as much as Rasp likes him.

See, Rasp is an oddly humorous and light-spirited Kenku.

He is conniving and scheming, but he's also rather open-minded and cheerful. He has a dark sense of humor, without even realizing that others find it dark.

Lazark, on the other hand, is stern and humorless and ill-tempered. He has seen Rasp in and out of his prison a million times, and each time annoys him more than the last.

As Lazark shouts at him to get off the bars, to wash yourself, inmate, you smell disgusting, don't look at me inmate, Rasp just imitates his voice and repeats it back. It drives Lazark nuts, but Rasp thinks they're good friends.

He has mimicked Lazark's voice more than any other person he's met, and so many of his phrases are related to Lazark shouting at him not to do something.

And breaking narrative character for a moment...I just find that fucking funny, ok? My character's voice is literally the voice of the guy who hates him...but he has an affection for him, and he sees Lazark's hostility as a deeper bond they share.

Maybe it's because he spent most of his life being hated and seen as a suspicious, shady character. So being disliked, but passionately and single-mindedly, by one person, who recognizes him and sees him as a person (even if it's a hated person) is the closest thing he knows to friendship.

Because even though everything Lazark says to him is angry and literally shit like...get the fuck down from there, or stay in line, weirdo...Rasp just lights up because Lazark is talking to him!!! They are having fun together!!! They're hanging out!!! In this prison!!!! In which Rasp is supposed to be learning his lesson (but viewers, he is not).

Anyway.

So at the beginning of our campaign...Rasp is at a tavern because he was planning an elaborate escape plan from Lazark's prison...

But Lazark knew he was going to escape again, and he honestly didn't want to deal with it again. Rasp's escapes have always been a mess, whether he succeeded or failed, and his chances were about 50/50 anyway.

So he just did some paperwork and threw him the fuck out before he could even escape. And now Rasp is drinking his beer, mourning the fact that he never got to try this escape (but it was so nice of his best buddy Lazark to let him go early :) he must really like Rasp).

And he's wondering what he will do next.

it has to be something big that he's never tried before.

Some kind of crime, that'll take him places he's never been, meeting people he's never met before....

And SCENE.

EEEeeeeh.

Alright everyone, wrap it up.

This is what I've got.

Obviously, my friends and I haven't figured out our campaign yet, but...

I imagine I'll tweak my backstory for whatever it is.

But this is the gist of my son!

And I wanna draw him soon, because for pure aesthetic reasons, I want him to have a plague doctor mask.

For no particular reason, just because I like it, and have no backstory reason for it.

But uh...yeah

This was for all the lovely people who asked me what my character was.

This is him.

And he is waving at you excitedly...and you are shouting at him, because he is waving your own wallet at you.

#dungeons and dragons #dnd #kenku #is this embarrassing #maybe its embarrassing #im so embarrassing omg lmao #my fucking obsession

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suddencolds · 3 months

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insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.”

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face.

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that.

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation.

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion.

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away.

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand.

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says.

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above.

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable.

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?”

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light.

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek.

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him.

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running.

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

#sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fic #snz kink #my fic #i needed to get this out of my system 😭 i know its unpolished #i thought i was already baring my soul with the ki//ll//er pe//ter fic but this is so much worse #special apology to my dear friends who have been forced to listen to me talk nonstop about al//n//st (you know who you are) (and if you see #this i'm personally sorry 😭) maybe someday i will write something for them that is less unhinged and perhaps more in character #the thought of kink!iva//n just took hold of me and then this fic materialized #still experimenting with different flavors of writing him... balancing my understanding of his character w this specific kink flavor was #an experiment for sure. like how do you balance concern and desire/selfishness?#i couldn't figure it out so just leaned very hard into the latter #also the 1/? is a placeholder; writing this was already testing the limits of my courage LOL #if i sit here i'll write another 200 disclaimers because i'm embarrassed to be posting this so i'll just schedule the post now

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