#readmore for length as always

[wishing-stones]

hey there! first time asking and i am.. pretty nervous :') not sure how nightmare's body works for your au, but how would the boys™ react if nightmare was somehow weakened enough to have his passive body revealed under all the corruption and not die? (or yes die, if that's what you're about lol) thanks!

Awww don't be nervous! I don't bite.

Nightmare's body is largely permanently colored by the corruption, but it can weaken, and he's still a (mostly) complete, white-boned skeleton under it.

Without active corruption, Nightmare is around 5'6" (or your height) and has some damage around his right eye socket. The light still forms, but his vision isn't so great. (Still a far cry better than 'normal,' where he can't see at all). His eyelight in that socket is purple, and the one in his left is cyan, no matter what form he's in. Sometimes it'll be half-and-half, if he's especially weak or in his feelings, but he's usually got the full heterochromia thing going on.

Fortunately, it just kind of retreats into the inner void of his body/skull if it's too weak to fully encase him, so it's all or nothing with the curse/corruption. It won't kill him, but he is much more vulnerable when he's passive.

The guys would be surprised, to say the least, but they'd also make the (correct) assumption that he's not as sturdy as he usually is and should be guarded. Nightmare definitely tried to hide this, but with a bunch of intuitive, smart underlings, it's hard to maintain the illusion that 'everything's fine, I'm just going to stay in bed for a while.'

Still, no one's going to lose respect for him, or make fun of him (in any seriousness-- we all know Killer is Required By Law to give him some guff) in any real capacity. He'd get a little babied, actually, until he told them all to knock it off, and then it's only Axe who babies him. (He can't get Axe to stop.)

Everyone is sworn to secrecy, because he especially does not need Dream finding out about this. He'd never stop crying, and Nightmare doesn't want to deal with that, thank you very much.

This does happen every great so often, especially after things get reconciled with his brother. Without active malice and hatred to feed on, the corruption kind of ebbs away and 'rests' to regain strength, and then it comes back strong as ever. He's actually quite strong when it comes back because it's refreshed, and he usually feels his oats a bit when it comes back.

It's the only aspect of the curse/corruption that he can't really control. Since he doesn't have a ton of enemies anymore, or at least ones who would be able to take advantage of such a situation, it's just a mild inconvenience rather than a cause for alarm.

More little facts about this:

He sounds different while passive. If he tries really hard, he can get into his normal, deeper register, but it takes a bit. He sounds a lot younger (still an adult, but younger and higher) and gets a little bit sensitive about it, actually.

He's also sensitive about his height. He loses 8 inches or better, and he doesn't like it. Yes, he wears platforms to make himself at least taller than the others (save Axe) if he's up and about, and not sulking in his room.

He views it as an inconvenience, but he hates feeling vulnerable. He's worn the corruption so long, to not have it makes him feel naked, and it's not something he handles terribly well.

He's also more sensitive to: temperature, touch, elements, and Intent. He gets cold easily, so he's usually close to some heat source. This sometimes includes the boys, and they have cuddle-puddled to make him feel safer.

He will break out his crown and wear it. It's a newer one-- his old crown won't fit because it didn't grow with him. he wears a silver crown with a more elegant crescent moon fixture (not entirely unlike this, but solid and without decoration) with a three-quarter moon taking up the void of the crescent, leaving a small gap between the two. He also wears much less gold and much more silver, although he does wear gold with purple, since it's very regal looking.

Hand-in-hand with the above, he breaks out good fancy clothing, too, since he's not in danger of staining it, and it feels nice on not-corrupted bones. Silk, satin, velvet... very fine clothing.

He also wears a weighted cape. While he doesn't always have his tentacles out, he will over-correct for their weight when they aren't present, and he's fallen over before when turning because of it. (After Killer was done laughing, he helped devise the cape.) It's a lovely little capelet that hangs over one shoulder, but drapes otherwise evenly across the back to the small of his back.

He's usually passive for 1-2 weeks, and then it won't happen again for a couple years, if he's lucky, or 10-12 months if he's not. This only started happening once Dream broke out of the statue, so while it's a fairly new development, it's one that he's learned to deal with and has procedures for.

I mentioned it before with Dream in R&R, but his bones have kind of a pearlescent sheen to them. Dream's is warmer (like a cream pearl), but Nightmare's is cooler (like a silver pearl). They're both Demi-gods, after all.

Interestingly enough, I've been working with this idea recently.

[iraprince]

I love the entire concept of Cookie... the look, the fashion, the gender... Would you mind telling us a little more about him? I'm also intrigued about why she's named Cooking with Gorgeous!

HI i would LOVE to talk about george thank you so much. also this makes me realize i've never actually sat down and just made a post unabashedly infodumping at length abt an oc before and it seems silly that i haven't. i ask only for all dear readers to please temper their expectations for this post with the knowledge that i just smoked half a joint before sitting down to answer it. a small one. but still. anyway

FIRST OF ALL FOR THE UNACQUAINTED THIS IS COOKING WITH GORGEOUS, aka cookie or george for short. he uses he/him and she/her pronouns interchangeably!

hi sorry that's not cookie that's a horse in a bridal veil that i. found in my stuff while trying to scroll and find my cookie art. i just got distracted and had to show you. okay no for real here's cookie

he's the character i'm playing in a playtest campaign of the absolutely mesmerizing sapphicworld, an in-development ttrpg!!! and if i'm going to be talking about cookie i feel like i HAVE to say i think a huge amount of her charm and dazzle and charisma comes directly from the charm and dazzle and charisma of the setting i created her for. i know i am laying it on really thick right now but that is on purpose. i want, desperately and unashamedly, for this game to get really popular bc 1. it's genuinely that good. and it's not even DONE yet and 2. i want everyone to get into it so that everyone will make sapphicworld characters and then i'll get to see everyone's sapphicworld characters.

EDIT i'm scrolling back up here and adding a readmore bc this is already getting so long lol. you asked for "a little more" and apparently i have graciously decided this means "literally every fact about cookie that exists in my brain"

SO a lot of the info/tidbits i haven't shared about cookie are i guess gameplay-specific stuff... his title (which is like a class/playbook) is "The Noble Sweetheart," though in sapphicworld "nobility" no longer has anything to do with wealth or class, and is instead entirely about amassing a court purely via devotion/popularity; her subculture (which is like, Who You Hang Out With; drifters, goths, poets, debauchers, cowpokes, etc) is Babe; and her kind (which is like ancestries but in sapphicworld is really just like, a physical form, which u can change more or less at will) is Lunarthrope, which is basically a werewolf!! or more broadly a furry, since u always look like whatever were-animal you are 24/7. just MORE at night, tho i suppose i don't represent that aspect much in my cookie art... ANYWAY i am restraining myself from just sitting here and like. transcribing her entire character sheet. but basically what all this means is that cookie's role in the world (at least at the beginning of the campaign) is "Professionally — no, VOCATIONALLY Hot Person who everyone loves so so so so so so much." cookie really enjoys this role.

he's named cooking with gorgeous because he's an avid cook, and he wants to share that with you, and he's gorgeous!! though honestly the cooking hasn't ended up as important to his character as it was when i first came up with him, lol — but my initial concept was kind of like, what's the equivalent of a bouncy normie recipe blogger/lifestyle influencer but in the context of the lush horny trans deathless psychedelic universe of sapphicworld. and it's cooking with gorgeous, a doggirl dyke with big blue boobs (six of them!!) who is so devastatingly cute and darling that a bunch of people just kind of pledge their fealty to him for no real reason other than he feeds them. and is cute

also her name is def influenced by the fantastic names of many canon sapphicworld npcs! like, quick example list of some npc names off the top of my head: the booty commie, death cybernetic, princess eureka!, the culinary goof (whom cookie dislikes. btw.), pizza friday (whom cookie loves!!!)

cookie is very very determined, and she's ALMOST always very confident. even when she isn't feeling confident, she's still very good at forcing herself to keep putting one foot in front of the other — maybe just while screaming or crying or uncontrollably barking or at least very ardently complaining. he has a tendency to be spoiled and, like, tactless-via-obliviousness, so sometimes he can be grating to interact with, and he has a petty/vindictive streak; but in general he's an AGGRESSIVELY kind person and usually aims all his shrill, cheerful stubbornness directly toward the goal of refusing to accept anything but the best for everyone.

at the beginning of our campaign cookie has JUST received a brand new castle!!!! (chateau gorgeous.) which he doesn't actually "own" bc, remember, no wealth or class in sapphicworld, but he's the ENTHUSIASTIC new caretaker and is chomping at the bit to renovate it so ppl can live there and he can throw a bunch of magnificent parties and basically continue living exactly as he has been, But Even More Fabulous. obviously this is exactly when the main plot threat of the campaign shows up and spoils everything and compels cookie to go on his First Ever Adventure!!!!!! she HAS to save the world otherwise NOBODY will be able to go to the first big party at chateau gorgeous :((((

at this point to prevent myself from just like, giving you guys a play by play of the entire campaign so far i am going to just start listing every cookie fact i can think of as bullet points

🎀 he owns a magical sword in the shape of a giant microplane. it's called The Microplane. he pronounces this "mee-crow-plah-nay"

🎀 george desperately wants to resurrect The Dog-Lich, an entity that once ruled over all beasts from its palace on the moon but was murdered and torn to pieces in a cosmic war far in the past. her attitude towards this desire is 50% devoted lunar cultist, 50% parasocially obsessive twitter stan

🎀 this isn't really a cookie fact but going back to how his title is The Noble Sweetheart — just for a glimpse at party composition, his fellow party members' titles are The Intimate Scholar, The Tentacle Advocate, and The Tw*nk Controversial (the * is the canon spelling).

^ aforementioned tw*nk. its name is Mwah ("pronounced like the kiss you blow at someone you just fucked over"). mwah is played by @/squiddelyfather on twitter!

🎀 mwah and cookie used to be very, very tight, BEFORE mwah became the tw*nk controversial. now that it's so.... you know.... controversial, well. they're still very close, but it has gotten a little stilted and weird (and watching them slowly un-weird it together as the campaign goes on has been one of my fav roleplay experiences ever honestly)

🎀 cookie's other adventuremates, skarligge and delaryn, are both very indulgent towards him. delaryn acts the most grumpy/dismissive about it but is honestly sometimes the worst about spoiling cookie out of anyone in the party (skarligge's player is twt@/clown_dream and delaryn's is twt@/glaiveguisarme and hey while im at it our fantastic gm is the sapphicworld dev, twt@/ddemoneclipse. hi guys i hope u don't mind me chattering abt ur ocs here lol it's just hard to talk abt the best of cookie w/o bringing up everyone else's characters and roleplay also!!!)

🎀 cookie is very VERY sensitive and will burst into tears at the drop of a hat. the precursor to this is her eyes getting So So So Big And Wet And Round. one of my favorite bits to menace the other party members with is when something is not going cookie's way i will lean into my mic and say "cookie's eyes are getting so so so big. they're getting so big and wet and round and shiny. they're so so round and fucking big her eyes are like big wet black glass marbles" and this is like kryptonite to them. this is like getting hit with deadly radiation

🎀 oh speaking of fashion!!!! one of cookie's perks from being a Babe is that she can always change her look whenever she wants. she will ALWAYS have whatever outfit she needs and can quickchange instantly. wait this reminds me i have a bunch of seasonal holiday outfits sketched out and i don't think i've ever posted them here but it'll only let me put one more image in this post. well here have this one

🎀 okay well suddenly i have forgotten all other george facts so that's all for now!!! from now on i will try to just dump oc facts like this more often tho this is really fun. ty for getting me going lol!!!

[felikatze]

FE brainrot continues. Based on base Keaton's battle artwork in FEH, which made me realize what a babygirl pose that truly is. Okuma Yugo drew both base Keaton and Halloween Dogboy Grima, which automatically makes him my hero forever.

Anyway. Wolfskin Isabeau.

This is where I hit you with my FE crossover headcanons.

The two wolfskin characters that exist are, to put it mildly, fucking morons. Both Keaton and his daughter Velouria (the only playable Wolfskin) are well and truly Dogs in personality. They like smelling things and collecting cool looking rocks and bones.

They are both named after fabrics.

I think, beastfolk have it better in a place like Vaugarde. Their ability to shift shapes at will is seen as a boon from the Change God themself. They're admired, nearly holy.

And yet. And yet.

Why do they change shape into... this? Into animals? Are they humans who change into animals, or animals who change into humans? Their abilities are praised in theory, but in practice, anybody's bound to freak out when someone turns into a huge wolf creature in front of them.

There's no real stigma against being beastfolk, but, well, don't show it, will you?

I think, Isabeau keeps his nails short, even though they always grow far too quickly. He smiles with a closed mouth to hide his teeth. His ears are weighed down by earrings, so they wiggle less. There's nothing he can really do about the tail, but people at least find that charming.

He plays into the stereotypes on purpose. Acts like a dog for jokes, to make others laugh. Because a dumb wolfskin is expected. Because a dumb wolfskin is less threatening. Someone with intelligence and cunning, who can also tear you to shreds with their bare hands?

....People don't like that very much.

But Isabeau didn't like being shy and demure, didn't like dancing around what he is. What he's always been. When he Changed, he wanted to be bolder, wanted to be someone who others look up to, confide in - not just something like a cute pet.

It's about confidence, and gender, and all of that, yes. It is also about being honest to the monster inside of you. As the journey progresses, he lets it trickle out, bit by bit. Using claws instead of closed fists. Hitting harder, faster, using his senses to warn others of danger.

Here, this is useful. Once the journey ends, and it stops being useful... Well, he better reign it in, right? But it's exhilirating to be honest to his own capabilities. He doesn't know if he can go back. He doesn't know if he wants to.

Also thinks about. Wolfskin Isabeau within the context of Manakete Siffrin.

Siffrin, who, at first, doesn't even realize he's not human either.

For the first time, there's someone who just... isn't fazed by beastkin at all. Sure, Odile wasn't scared, but she'd never met a wolfskin before and Isabeau had still been a curiosity, comparing to the kitsune Odile knew. Yet Siffrin didn't even seem to know what a beastkin is.

Just utterly at ease, with whatever Isabeau shows them. Of course he'd fall in love.

Of course he'd accept every single monstrous part of Siffrin, too. Whenever Siffrin is just a little too quick, a little too strong, when their long ears flick or his eyes reflect the light oddly - when Isabeau sees that Siffrin could be just like him - yeah, of course he'd fall even harder.

I have more thoughts on how Siffrin would feel on their end (how they feel feral compared to Isabeau, who controls himself with perfect precision, how they feel rabid after being restrained for so long), but this is honestly long enough.

Hi to everyone who clicked that readmore, I hope the length of this jumpscared you. Ask me about my isat/fe AUs. Any of them. Please.

[hearts-hunger]

Welcome to the 2023 GVF Fic Writers Halloween Event! Prompts are below the cut, but first, some info about this very spooky affair.

٭ The rules are simple: pick a prompt from the list below and write a fic about it! The prompts range from particularly Halloween-y to just general autumnal vibes, and you're welcome to riff off any of them in any way you choose. On your post, please note which prompt (or prompts) you picked for your fic!

٭ This event is open to all GVF writers, whether you're a seasoned vet or a first-time writer! If you're a reader, show your love for GVF writers by liking their fics, reblogging them, and commenting in the reblog or even just in the tags. All fics from this event will be reblogged by me and added to a masterlist that will be linked in my bio!

٭ Fics can be written for any and all pairings — x reader, slash, platonic, x oc, multi, whatever you like! It's also open to any length fics (blurbs, oneshots, series) and all genres, from vampire sexy to candy sweet to scary movie spooky and everything in between. Please make sure to clearly tag any potential triggers in your fic — we want this event to be accessible and fun for everyone. Please also use a readmore in any fics that are longer than blurb length, just to keep the dash tidy.

٭ Absolutely no negativity will be tolerated, whether from readers, writers, or anyone else. This is a community-building event, and if you're not here to have fun and be kind to others, don't be here at all.

٭ Tag your fics with #gvfhalloweenfics. To make sure I don't miss your fic, please tag me (@hearts-hunger) so I can reblog your fic and add it to the masterlist!

٭ The deadline is technically October 31st, but I'm happy to add fics to the masterlist any time before or after Halloween if your creative energy is grooving or lagging. You can also write as many fics as you want!

٭ Now that I've talked your ear off, let me say one last thing before we get to the prompts: my asks (with anon) and dms are always open for any questions about this event! Please reblog this post to get the word out, and tag any writers you think might be interested! Happy writing, and happy Halloween!

1. carnival haunted house 2. real haunted house 3. pumpkin patch 4. apple orchard 5. scary movie night 6. campfire ghost stories 7. baking halloween treats 8. carving pumpkins 9. trick or treating 10. decorating for halloween 11. making costumes 12. putting on halloween makeup 13. halloween bar crawl 14. ghost hunting 15. monster/ghost/witch au 16. county fair 17. halloween party 18. exploring a graveyard 19. adopting a black cat 20. playing with a ouija board 21. buying halloween decor 22. dark magic 23. a walk through the woods 24. cosy coffee date 25. camping trip 26. hay ride 27. local oktoberfest 28. cabin vacation 29. halloween/autumn wedding 30. starting a new halloween tradition 31. fic based on a halloween song

[cyancherub]

video girl | hayakawa aki

PAIRING.  aki x fem!reader (established relationship)

LENGTH.  2.5k

NOTES.  mappa aki has me acting unwise......

SYNOPSIS.  aki misses you so much when he's away for missions, especially when you start sending him suggestive texts on your lunch break. good thing he has a folder full of videos of you stashed away, right?

CONTENT.  18+, pwp, sexting, nudes, filming, exhibitionism (ish), pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart), solo (m) (he watches a vid the two of you made together): creampie, cumshot, ass play, daddy kink, breeding kink (light), multiple orgasms (m + f), begging; flashbacks/references to: oral (m rec), oral (f rec), facial, anal, solo (f), toys; reader wearing a skirt; a touch of codependent aki because i simply luv that for him <3

A/N.  all my love always to my akiwife mystic @uppermocns for a few of the ideas that went into this and for thirsting for this man 24/7 with me!!!!

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING THE CONTENT STATED IN THE WARNINGS.

Aki gets back to the hotel midday, after a long overnight shift, and the first thing he thinks to do as the door clicks shut behind him is text you.

Hi, baby. I just got to the hotel.

He tosses his phone on the bed while he’s waiting for your reply. There’s tension in the back of his neck; he rolls his head over his shoulders for a second, before loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. Once the fabric’s shrugged off—discarded in the growing pile of equally bloodied work shirts sitting in the corner of the room—he pulls a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his slacks and sits at the edge of the bed, leaning forward to light the smoke he places between his lips.

His hair, pulled free from its usual knot, falls forward into his face and tickles his nose. But he barely notices the sensation; his mind’s numb with exhaustion. He takes several drags from the cigarette, studying the cuts on his hands and forearms absently.

I’ll have to get more gauze soon, he thinks in passing. Peroxide and cigs, too. But other than that, he’s too tired to think of much else. Except, of course, you.

The nicotine kicks in just as his phone chimes with your reply.

I’m glad you’re back safe. How was your shift?

A little long. Now that the main mission’s over we’re just taking care of some of the smaller Devils still loose in town. Just a few more days of work and I’ll be home.

Those twelve hour shifts must be killing you, babe. Make sure you’re resting enough.

He flicks ash into the tray on the bedside table before typing, Nevermind me. How’s your day going?

It’s good. I’m on my lunch break, got a few minutes left.

I’m glad I caught you before your break’s over.

Me too. I can’t wait for you to get home. Denji and Power keep whining about missing the lunches you make for them. They say my cooking’s like cardboard. Those kids would eat dirt for a snack, and they draw the line at my cooking?

Aki laughs. Those brats. You’re a top notch chef, sweetheart. Save the leftovers for me. I’ll take them for lunch when I get home.

I will.

And then another message from you, right afterward: I miss you.

His chest aches. This mission hasn’t been a particularly long one, and he’s grateful for that, but it’s hard even when he’s only away for a little while. To be near, to hold you close—those things are only natural. Aki feels most secure when the things that are most important to him are tangible. Within reach. His security comes in providing such for others; if he could, he’d keep you with him all the time. So when he’s away, he doesn’t just miss you. He’s constantly thinking about you. He’s craving you: something like the withdrawals he’d get if he tried to quit the smokes.

I miss you too. I can’t wait to see your pretty face again.

There’s a short lull in your replies, and he uses it to settle in. He lays back on the pillows, spreads out on the white sheets; the comforter’s cool to the touch, plush. You’ve always liked hotel beds. Maybe he should’ve brought you with him—he could’ve let you stay in one of the beds you like so much during his shifts. You’d miss him so much by the end of them that you’d pull him right into bed with you as soon as he got back. He’s sure he’d get through the shifts just fine if you were here waiting for him; in fact, he’d come back with energy to spare, just for you…

His phone chimes, and he peers down at the message on his lock screen.

Is there anything else you want to see?

Suggestive. Aki smiles around the cigarette. He knows exactly where this is going.

During his trips, he’s come to learn that you crave him just as much as he craves you. If he’s not home to fuck you to sleep every night, you get frustrated. Needy. But Aki loves being needed, and he always plays along.

I guess that depends on what you’re willing to show me, he replies.

Whatever you want, say the word.

His smile widens. He’s already starting to get hard. At work, baby? That’s risky.

I’ll be careful.

Think you’re careful enough to show me what you’ve got on under your skirt?

He takes a drag of the cigarette, feeling his dick stiffen against his thigh as he waits for the picture he knows you’re going to send.

It comes in just a few moments afterward, but his slacks are already uncomfortably tight by the time he receives it: a shot of you on your leather office chair, with your conservative, work-appropriate pencil skirt hiked all the way up, and your thighs spread open so he can see the pretty panties he bought you, and the soaking wet spot right in the middle of them.

Aki ashes his cigarette, freeing one hand to grab his stiff cock through his slacks as he zooms in on the picture with the other.

The damp cloth hugs the shape of your pussy, gives him a vague glimpse of something he’s spent a lot of time burying his face in. He’s so familiar with you that he can taste your pussy on his tongue just from looking at it.

Another chime.

See how much I miss you, daddy?

Aki inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—Daddy. And then he’s letting go of his cock to undo the button of his slacks and pull his zipper down, texting you back with his free hand.

Your pussy’s so perfect, baby, I wanna put my face in it. You always taste so good.

His hand’s down his boxers by the time you text back.

No one makes me feel like you do. I can’t touch myself the way you touch me. I need you.

He wraps his fingers around his cock and strokes it slowly, thinking about catching a flight. He’s dying to show up at your office; he’d stretch you out right on the desk, make you drip all over it, fuck you until the surface beneath your ass was all slippery with your squirt.

Wanna go in the work bathroom and call me, princess? I’ll talk you through it.

Give me a few minutes. I have to wait until I can sneak away, but I want you to keep going. Watch something while you're waiting for me.

You know him so well. You know all about the videos he keeps in that locked folder on his phone, a whole stash of them that he saves for times just like this. When he needs to sate a craving for you—at least for a little while.

I will. Call me when you’re ready for it, baby.

After he sends it he goes right to that folder and pulls his tented slacks down until they’re mid-thigh, and he can feel his cock dripping precum onto his lower stomach. He enters the passcode, bringing his other hand up to spit into his palm. With his stomach knotted up and his cock throbbing, he scrolls through the thumbnails.

There are tons of them. His eyes catch one thumbnail, and then the next; they can’t seem to decide where to settle. You’re alone in some of the video snapshots—your fingers stretching your pussy; you riding a dildo with your ass facing the camera; you pressing a wand to your clit, your thighs glistening. But in most of them, he’s there too. He sees your pretty face next to his cock, your tongue out, running up the side of it; you on your knees, with both hands on his dick as a rope of his cum paints your face. He sees your body bent over the kitchen counter, with your back arched and his dick in your ass. He remembers the whine in your voice; in his head, he can hear exactly how you sounded when you begged for him to fuck it deeper.

He can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet.

It’s the one he took the night before he left. You’re always extra needy on the nights preceding his trips—anticipating the deprivation, starved for him; he gives you one orgasm after another and you still want more. And you want all of them on tape, so you both have something to tide you over until he gets home.

That’s the video he taps on.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet—sticky, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back home, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet—you were supposed to be careful not to wake anyone up. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, I’m so close. Your fingers slip over your clit, each movement sloppier, and your whimpers heighten, competing with the wet smack of his skin on your ass. He remembers the mess between your thighs: all the wetness he fucked out of your pussy dripping down your ass. He remembers feeling it there, rubbing his fingers (all lubed up with the juices from your pussy) over your asshole, the way it clenched, and then relaxed for him.

He can hear his breaths behind the camera turning into soft moans, just as you say, I’m gonna cum, keep fucking me, I’m gonna—

You let out a strangled little whimper that makes his breath hitch, each stroke of his hand over his dick feeling more pleasurable as he watches you cum. That night, he’d had his eyes on your face—so pretty when you cum for me, he’d said, watching your eyelashes flutter—but he’d kept the camera pointed between your thighs the whole time you were cumming. Now, he gets to watch his cock sink into your twitching hole, fucking you faster and faster. From behind the camera, he hears his own voice again: That’s right, baby, get my dick wet.

You cum hard; he watches your clit pulse under your fingertips, his cock a little messier each time he pulls it out. That feeling’s always so good—rush after rush of wetness on his dick, the clenching of your walls; it’s hard to last.

Your pussy’s gonna make me cum, baby, fuck.

You have the same effect on him now—just watching you on camera makes him want to cum just as bad. He’s dying to be back there, fucking you again, especially when he hears your voice say: Cover me in it.

His dick’s already spurting cum when he pulls it out. It shoots all over you, coats your chest and paints your tits; more of it shoots up onto your throat. Aki digs his heels into the white comforter, trying not to cum. There’s just something about seeing you covered in it, watching it drip down your body; it’s like an affirmation—a reminder that you’re his.

If that wasn’t making it hard enough for him to hold back, you give him another reason to grit his teeth, swiping a finger through the cum on your chest before popping it into your mouth.

Tastes so good. I want more of you, daddy, put it back in.

Daddy. He feels the same way hearing you say it now as he did then. He wants to make it real for you. On screen, he pushes into your pussy again, with his cock still twitching from his orgasm. (It was sensitive, some halfway point between pleasure and pain that made him shudder.)

Wanna make me a daddy? his voice murmurs. Take more cum, I’ll turn you into the prettiest little mommy.

If you were in this hotel room with him right now, sitting on his cock in this bed, he’d shoot this load into you, and however many more you wanted. He’d give you whatever you asked for.

Aki watches the space between your bodies close a little as you lock your legs around his waist.

Fill me up this time, daddy, I want your kids.

God.

His eyes are fixed on the screen; he’s fucking you sloppier, this time—now that he’s letting himself chase the high he’s so close to. Now that he knows he can stay inside, he doesn’t have to restrain himself so much.

Aki strokes his cock faster, watching through heavy eyelids as his breaths pick up. It feels so good, watching you take his dick; you looked so good that night. You sounded so good, begging for his cum like that—Please, I need it so bad—give it to me, I’m about to cum again—

He watches himself bury his cock into you, a deep thrust all the way in accompanied by a shudder, and then he’s watching the two of you cum at the same time, thinking about how your walls felt pulsing on his dick. Then it’s all coming to a head—fast strokes of his hand over his cock as he watches himself fuck you, fast breaths; his stomach’s all knotted up from watching you; he needs a release; he needs to feel your pussy again; he needs to fuck another orgasm out of you; he needs to cum—and then he’s going over, too. His eyes roll back; his head drops back onto the pillow, and he feels his cum shooting all over his stomach and dripping down his knuckles.

He comes down just as the video cuts off, and he’s raising his head to look blearily at the mess on his body when his phone starts to buzz.

He picks it up after one ring—“Yeah, baby?”

“Sorry it took me so long to get away, but I’m finally walking into the ladies’ room.”

“Good,” he says. “Are you ready to get started?”

[newbie-whovian]

So sorry for this ask, but could you please do one for the Eleventh Doctor where the reader is on the autism spectrum and also has depression, and the Doctor discovers that the reader is really beginning to feel like she doesn’t belong on the TARDIS? The Doctor ends up confessing his love for her after the reader confesses that she doesn’t want to live anymore? Sorry if this doesn’t sound like something you’d like to write.

(so sorry for the wait! I'll be posting more consistently, I promise)

Stormclouds

Pairing: 11th Doctor x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Tags/TW: hurt/comfort, reader struggles with suicidal thoughts

You'd learned a long time ago that happiness was an exceedingly fickle thing.

Life had a habit, one that you'd noticed for years. It would tease you with something brilliant, something beautiful, and after long enough, when the clouds had finally parted, everything would fall apart. The thing that looked so beautiful from far away would suddenly feel far-fetched and even laughable, and the clouds would close in again.

:readmore:

When you met the Doctor, a voice from the back of your mind told you that you shouldn't accept his offer, that the universe would be treacherous and you would be better off on Earth. But the Doctor opened the TARDIS doors, and for a moment, everything was bright.

You travelled through space and time and it was everything you could have hoped for and more, until a trip went wrong.

The TARDIS materialized in the middle of a space battle, a massive dogfight with what had to be a thousand spaceships shooting at each other. The roar of the engines and the shriek of the blaster fire left you covering your ears and huddled in a chair, while the Doctor rushed around the console.

In an instant, he'd taken the TARDIS into the bridge of the command ship and rushed to the doors, sonic in hand. You followed him out of instinct, nearly falling to the floor as blaster fire rocked the ship. He began tearing apart a control panel, shoving piles of shredded wires into your arms.

In a few tense minutes, he'd disabled the command ship, sending out a signal (somehow) that deactivated the rest of the opposing fleet. You retreated inside the TARDIS as he (somehow) sorted out the rest, and the voice in the back of your mind returned, whispering that it'd been right all along.

There were trips after that, but those first few months of peace and calm had been a fluke, because for every one trip that turned out exactly as planned, there were at least five more trips that ended in disaster. You wondered if it was always like this, travelling with the Doctor, and you had to insist to yourself that it wasn't. But there was a feeling, creeping in and corroding each day - the feeling that everything was wrong and there was nothing you could do.

The universe was full of problems you couldn't solve, along with problems no one could solve, not even the Doctor. You were only one person, one human being, how could you do anything worthwhile? The feeling drowned out everything else.

The Doctor told you today that he had a wonderful trip planned, that the TARDIS was on its way to the largest forest in the universe, with trees hundreds of times taller than skyscrapers and bioluminescent birds.

You couldn't help but think that something would go wrong. When you were proved wrong and the TARDIS landed safely on a branch the size of a bridge, the feeling remained. Your mind was flooded with images of giant bloodthirsty hawks and venomous bugs, and you lamented that you couldn't even enjoy what the Doctor was trying to show you.

He tugged on his jacket and offered you a smile, gesturing to the doors. You returned his smile but it didn't quite reach your eyes. The two of you left the TARDIS to admire the forest, and if he'd noticed you were acting strangely, he didn't say anything. Deep down, you thanked him for it.

He began walking down the massive length of the branch, pointing out each bird he could see in the branches above and telling you what they were called. For a moment, you let yourself listen.

His voice turned into a hum in your ear as you continued to walk, staring down at the bark beneath your feet before stopping entirely. You took a deep breath that shuddered in your throat, and when he heard it, the Doctor stopped and turned to face you.

You looked up and saw the look on his face, and your heart plummeted in your chest. He looked concerned, not confounded or frustrated, but concerned. When he spoke your name, his voice was low and softer than you'd ever heard it.

He stepped closer and cupped your face in his hands, peering into your eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked. You tried to say something, anything, but your eyes started brimming with tears and your shaky exhale turned into a sob.

Your knees buckled underneath you and he held onto your elbow as you sunk to sit on the branch. Now that the dam had burst, tears streamed down your face and every breath you tried to take came with a hoarse cry. You couldn't remember the last time you'd cried like this, but instead of feeling cathartic, this felt like you were dying.

The Doctor tugged you to him, holding you in an enormous bear hug as you sobbed. He stroked your hair and spoke gently, "It's alright, I promise, everything's alright."

You made some attempt at cleaning your face, saying, "No it's not. It's really not-" Your voice broke off and you tried to look away. "I don't know why I'm here."

He took your chin in his hand and gently lifted your head. "You're here because you want to be, aren't you?" he asked, trying and failing to crack a smile, "What's wrong?"

You sniffed. "I dunno, everything is wrong, I'm wrong, everything goes wrong and I can't help. I stand out of the way while you do all the work and I'm useless-" you said, choking back another sob. You swiped your sleeve across your face and sniffed again before saying, "I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm always in the way. It was the same on Earth, I can't do anything right. I'm like a-" You cried softly, "I'm like a parasite-"

"No one talks about my friend like that," the Doctor said, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "You're incredible! You're lovely, and brilliant, I couldn't imagine traveling without you."

You covered your face with your hands and muttered, "You don't understand-" Your shoulders shook and your chest heaved with sobs. "That feels like a lie, it feels like- like you're just trying to be nice, and I can't help it, but I can't believe you- and I'm tired!" you cried, "I just want it to stop, I'm so tired of feeling like this. I just-"

You paused, sniffing and wiping the tears from your eyes. The Doctor peered at you, not daring to say a word.

You said, "I'm sorry," and the Doctor responded.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about, alright? Nothing at all, I promise," he said. You sniffed again and took a deep breath.

"It's just... A lot, all the time. It gets terrible like this, and I've- sometimes, I..." you said, swallowing a lump in your throat, "I think the world would be better off without me in it. I dunno, it- it feels like I'd be doing everyone a favor." You chuckled bitterly.

The Doctor spoke, slow and deliberate, refusing to break your gaze. "Please believe me when I say that the world would not be better off without you. I have been travelling for over a thousand years, and I have never met a person that didn't matter. You're extraordinary."

He touched his forehead to yours, cupping your face and taking a deep breath. "I can't imagine a world without you," he said, stating it like it confused him, "But if I can do anything about it, I'll make sure that any world with you in it is nice and safe, I promise I'll try my hardest."

He paused again before saying, "I also want you to know that I love you, and I'm here, even when it gets hard."

You froze. Your eyes flashed across his face, looking for any telltale signs of a lie, but as you looked, you found nothing but sincerity. A tiny smile crept onto your face.

He enveloped you in another bear hug, stroking your hair as you wrapped your arms around him. For the first time in a while, you felt content.

[nwqueenwrites]

The Changing Leaves 🍁

A Halsin love drabble ❤️✨

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Beneath his worldly openness, Halsin harbors an aching heart. He has loved deeply, only to lose everything, again and again across his long immortal life. Like leaves withering as winter comes, he has watched generations bloom and fade. Each loss leaves him more alone in his grief - an ever-present chill inside him no companionship can entirely warm.

:readmore:

So he shields himself behind easy affection and casual trysts, keeping even the sweetest soul at arm's length. He pretends this is enough, that the cold cannot touch what is not precious, yet he craves true intimacy beneath his guarded façade.

In unguarded moments, he yearns for the impossible - to grow old with someone, to be vulnerable, to share in life's small joys and sorrows. To not walk alone. He yearns for stability - a home, a haven where his weary heart is safe. He yearns for tenderness and understanding impossible to find among the fleeting.

But he knows better and buries these hopeless dreams. Mortals wither; they always leave him bereft. He must be winter; beautiful, untouchable, and ever cold. And yet if he could thaw for but one brief moment of mortal time...if he could give himself to love fully before loss comes once more...perhaps the cold would not cut so deep again.

Perhaps, this time, spring would finally come to his eternal winter.

The decades pass in a blur, mortals living and dying as Halsin remains unchanged. He steels himself against profound love now, knowing its perils. Instead he seeks solace in fleeting moments - passions as vivid and ephemeral as wildflowers after rain.

He nurtures each blossoming connection, admiring their unique beauty though he knows their impermanence. Some companions make him laugh, some offer insight, others foster creative passions long dormant. With each he shares intimacy untethered by expectations.

They do not belong solely to him, nor he to them. He revels in their radiance, even as he prepares to let them go. In this tapestry of brief romances he finds unexpected solace.

Though the losses still sting, new joys rise to greet him. In lieu of one enduring love, he is sustained by many. His world expands with each soul who enters and leaves gently as the seasons.

Over time, the cold isolation he carried lessens. A community of care surrounds him, even as individual roots do not run deep. He sees mortality's fleeting gifts: passion unburdened by time, affection untainted by possession.

This carefully balanced dance guarding his fragile heart has served him well through devouring years.

But now and then, between the casual and carefree, he finds rare souls that kindle undying embers within. Their spirits speak to his own, lighting new fervor in his weary breast.

He tells himself it is but a flicker, easily extinguished when the long night falls. But oh, what splendid fire they ignite, warming his cells, stirring life in his ancient bones. For a few precious heartbeats, he lets himself burn brightly, consequences be damned.

These kindred flames never stay; their dance is fleeting as their lives. Yet their memory lingers sweet and sharp at once. The pain of their loss etched into him etches also the rapture they stirred. And when the next comes to ignite forbidden passion, he prays the embers will never fully die. Enough pain to remind him he lives, was loved, burned beautifully - if only for a moment beyond time.

No matter how many cycles turn, how many loves fade back to sea, for a time each radiant one makes him feel infinite, more alive than he thought possible. Though he knows this cosmic dance well, its ephemeral magic takes his breath anew each time.

When at last their orbits drift apart, memories remain glowing inside him, tiny embers keeping vigil through long empty nights. Brief brilliances that warm him even after they are gone.

So he opens himself to burn again and again, knowing the pain that follows is the bittersweet price of feeling alive.

[carminecherry]

PLAYGROUND | kazutora hanemiya

this is part one of the series put a collar on your pet

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!kazutora hanemiya x bff fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: kazutora has wanted a neck tattoo since middle school. after you get a tattoo apprenticeship in the city, he wants you to be the one to do his neckpiece. however, the neck is an awfully sensitive spot. especially for a first tattoo. some people handle pain better than others. some people even enjoy it...

⇝ PART ONE LENGTH: 2.5k words

⇝ PART ONE WARNINGS: slight nsfw (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; AU! where kazutora never got a neck tattoo; cuddling, drinking, a little angst, teasing, chasing, tickling; kazutora is a playboy, you're his bff who he can always count on, you're the last person to admit his charms phase you, he comes to you after yet another break up, would you risk your friendship to confess to your womanizer bff? also, you find out that kazutora is ticklish.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: lots of spice in the next part, this is mostly for tension and build up, enjoy <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

“C’mon~” He whined. A pout, curving his lips. “I don’t know, Kazu… I just became an apprentice. Shouldn’t you go to someone, I don’t know, more professional?”

You take a swig from the tall can you bought at the convenience store, the tinny metal tainting the taste in a familiar way. Despite being 7% it was making your head swirl pleasantly already. 

He sighs, pulling you close to him on the wooden park bench, littered with small carvings and ink; some of which you and the gang have contributed over the years.

It sits in an area that's slightly secluded, a grove of shrubs and trees blocking it from view. It was the perfect spot for smoking or drinking in privacy. Once you and the gang stumbled upon it back in high school, you’ve kept coming back. 

You run your fingers over the weathered graffiti, ignoring the man nuzzling into you, finding a spot on the seat. A smile tugs at your lips. It's a little heart with a dagger through it. Basic, but it had been the design of your first flash tattoo.

You remember the night you practiced drawing it here on the bench and how Kazu, Baji, and Chifuyu and volunteered to let you sketch it on them in sharpie.

A feeling of nostalgia warms your chest. You also remember a younger, very intoxicated, Kazu swearing he'd only ever get a tattoo if you were the one to do it. This park, this spot, this bench, holds so many memories.

You take a deep breath in, letting the cool, night air fill your lungs. The sun set a long time ago, but the air still held a slight dampness from the humidity of the day. It’s one of those nights where you can feel fall creeping in.

“I don’t wanna go to just anyone, I want it to be done by you.” You can’t fight the blush that dusts your cheeks, much to your chagrin. He’s always been a huge flirt, that stupid pretty boy. You hate it when his methods have an effect on you. “Yeah, yeah, flattery that’s not gonna work on me Kazu. You just want a discount.” You lie, feeling your heart rate increase with his lingering proximity. He plasters on an innocent face, but the glint in his golden eyes gives him away, it always does. 

“Pretty, please. It won’t be right if it isn’t you.” He whines, throwing himself over you in a dramatic display. You huff. He knows what he’s doing, he always teases you like this. Making you put your guard up and shut him down. The helpless flirt, the devil. He rotates his head against your shoulder, making his earring jingle, bringing his chin to rest there comfortably. 

You can feel his breath on your cheek, smell his shampoo, his detergent, his cologne mixing together; light but strong- like the crisp, cold air of a shopping mall. You like the smell, though you’d never admit it. You’re wrapped in it, enjoying it for as long as you can before he notices. He’s quick to poke fun at everyone, especially you, a trait you have mixed feelings about.

You hear his soft breathing in your ear, that flustered feeling building. You break first, “I’ll… Talk to my boss. But-” He’s crushing you in a hug before you can finish. “Don’t go getting your hopes up.” You choke out. “Is your boss the hot one? Give her my number if she needs some persuading.” “Ew. No. That’s Amy, and ONE she has a girlfriend, TWO my boss is Rei, big, bald, lots of tattoos, sunglasses, yeah?” “He pouts again, "I’m not super into guys but give him my number nonetheless.” “You’re ridiculous.” You finally shake him off. 

You’ve had to make an effort to hold on to moments like this, where the shameless comes through. These sobering moments can help you when you feel the butterflies starting, a reminder of why it would never work between the two of you. He always did this, spoiled the moment. 

You’ve walked to that edge before, the boundary of your friendship. Peered into the inky blackness of the unknown below. What would meet you there if you ever garnered enough courage to leap? More times than you can count, the words would bubble up in your chest. What do you think of me, Kazu? Do you think we could ever be more than friends? I want you all to myself. All bitten back by the gripping fear of losing a dear friend, fear of getting your heart broken by the person you care about most.

He curls a hand around your waist, leaning into you. You melt into the heat seeping through his shirt. He usually gets like this, more touchy, after a breakup regardless of who dumped who. He has all of that pent up affection, that physical touch that needs an outlet. And it’s always you. Over and over again you are his rock. 

You hate that it’s like this, that he has such power over you. But that doesn’t change anything. You can’t bear the thought of him being with anyone else like this. There is an intimacy to your relationship beyond physical. One that he has never had in his love life, or so he’s told you. Your heart aches, confused. The conversations of the past whirling into a spiral of anxiety and hope.

It’s almost funny. The double standard you’ve slotted yourself into. If one of your girl friends came to you, talking about a guy situation like this, you would tell her to run for the hills with a promise to kick his ass. But you were putty in his hands. Damn it.

You’re brought back from your reverie with him jostling you, “Oi, are you even listening?” “Nah, I tuned out when you couldn’t remember her name.” He makes an indignant noise. “Why are you so hung up on her anyways?” The intrusive thought blurts out before you have time to stop it. “I don’t know, I just feel kind of gross about it…” You sit in silence together, not wanting to pry. 

“I guess I feel kinda used.” He admits with faux drama. “I’d say it’s karmic at this point, then.” You shoot back, earning you a shove. “Come on, I mean, how many girls have you hooked up with and dumped? I don’t see how this is any different.” “Those girls didn’t matter.” “Oh wow.” You say only half sarcastically. “Not like that, I mean, it was just for fun. We were on the same page… Most of the time…” You roll your eyes.

He slides down the bench, reclining, resting his head in your lap. Your fingers naturally comb through his soft, dyed hair. The longer, wispy bits tickling the skin of your thighs. He closes his eyes to the pleasant sensation of your nails on his scalp. “It was like… I guess I feel like a pawn… She was just hooking up with me to try and get Mikey’s attention.” His voice sounds distant. You hum, taking another sip of your drink, prying your eyes from his peaceful face. “Sounds very dramatic.” You offer, he laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, it’s shit.” 

It’d been a long time since you’d hung out with the guys. Work has been busy since you started as an apprentice at a tattoo studio in the city and the only reason you get to see Kazu is because the two of you live so close to each other. You wonder how the others are doing. Sounds like there's some tea brewing and you’re happy to not be involved.

“I don’t know, getting a tattoo after a messy break up, pretty cliche don’t ya think?” You tease. His eyes shoot open and he looks flustered, it’s rare that you can get a reaction out of him; a shiteating grin spreading across your face. “It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.” He says, with an earnestness that you don’t often see from him. You lean over him in your lap, “Oh~ What’s a long time to you? Two months?” You continue teasing. “Since, like, middle school ass hat!” He says with a playful shove, your drink sloshing in your hand. 

“Ay- watch it!” You say shoving him back. “You’re gonna spill my-” He grabs your wrist that’s holding the can, you wrestle with him but he has that brutish strength, one forged over years of brawling in his younger years.  He guides your hand up with ease. “Hey, knock it off!” you say, struggling in his vice grip. He replies only with a devilish grin, opening his mouth in a seductive way, locking eyes with you. 

His head rolls back, exposing the column of his neck. He turns your wrist to waterfall the liquid in the can into his open mouth; the stream catching a small glimmer of light from a distant lamppost.

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as the can grows lighter in your hand. A bit of the drink escapes, you follow the slow drip from the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw. He closes his eyes as it slowly rolls down his neck, dripping into your lap. You feel your face heat as you take in the sight hungrily. He shakes your wrist to get the last few drops of the beverage. “Problem solved.”

“You ASS!” You sputter. He releases you with a laugh, wiping the spilled liquid with the back of his hand, before sizing you up in a predatory way. A sharp smile spreads across his face. “Sorry, do you want it back?" He sits up quickly, rearranging your positions, grabbing your face between his warm palms. 

He hovers over you on the bench acting like he’ll spit the drink back into your mouth as you fend off his attack, curling into the bench to put some space between the two of you. “Oh mY GOD SICKO LET GO OF ME!” You squeal, fighting off his grip with a laugh. 

He relents, chuckling as well. “You owe me a new one.” You say, punctuating the statement with a tinny tap on the can with your nails, the wood scraping against the back of your thighs as you scoot away from him. “Yes, yes, your wish is my command, princess.” The pet name makes your heart skip. Damn him. 

He stands from the bench, stretching his long toned arms above his head. “I didn’t mean right this second.” You pout, hiding your blush in the shadows. “So bossy.” He quips back. You wipe the spilled liquid from your leg and rub absently at a bug bite that meets the pad of your finger, the itchiness a welcome distraction. You slap at your chest as you feel the prick of a new bite. Then another on your thigh. 

“Fuck, I’m getting eaten alive out here!” You say with annoyance. It is still summer after all. He whips around, pinning you between his arms and the bench. “I’m the only bloodsucker that gets to eat you.” He says in a syrupy joking voice, bringing a nail to scratch at the rising red spot on your collar bone. “Fuck off.” You say kicking at him, he retreats with a laugh.

“Ugh, it’s so itchy now.” You whine, pressing on the warm patch of skin. You rise in a huff, walking out of the little grove. “Aww you poor thing. I can help you scratch any itch, just say the word~” He says , trotting to catch up to you. “Animal.” You spit at him, but your voice lacks venom and the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth takes any punch out of the statement. 

He skips ahead of you, blocking your path. You step to the left, he blocks. You step to the right he blocks. You stand to full height, not even reaching his chin, and cross your arms. He crouches slightly like he’s going to charge you. “God, you’re such a kid. Get out of my way.” You say in the sternest voice you can muster. 

“Password.” He says, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “Let me through, ass wipe.” “Nope, two more tries.” “Kazutora is a drunk brat who can’t keep it in his pants.” “Wrong again, only one more chance.” “I’m seriously going to kick your-” “Wrong!”

Then he’s running at you. You break into a sprint, a playful squeal escaping your throat. “OH MY GOD YOU DICK WHAT HAPPENED TO CHIVALRY?!” You run through the grassy field next to the grove, the lush blades of grass lick the skin of your ankles with the slight moisture of dew that’s formed. The cool summer air rushing past you. The child-like thrill of being chased thundering through your veins. You hear him laughing as he sprints behind you. 

You know he’s faster than you, he’s letting you outrun him. He loves this, the chase. You duck under some branches, the playground appearing in the distance. You run towards it, sprinting up the slide with a symphony of squeaks, rubber soles on plastic. He runs after you as you jump down the back. You feel the crunch of mulch under your shoes. 

The alcohol in your system gives you a pleasant buzz on your skin. You weave between the swings, chains jingling, and make a break for the jungle gym. You make a frantic leap up the stairs, cold metal meeting the palm of your hand. Before you can get in, you feel his arm snake around your waist, prying you from the structure. A high pitched laugh escapes as he swings you around. “Gotcha!”

Your legs flail helplessly, far from the ground. “Let go of me you ass!” You laugh. “I WIN!” He howls. “It wasn’t a game, loser.” “Everything is a game.” He says breathing heavily into the back of your head.  You wriggle in his grip but it’s pointless, he’s too strong. “Put me doooooown~” You whine. “What do I win?” He says in your ear. “You win an absolute ass whooping!” “That doesn’t sound like fun.” You feel his lip pout against the shell of your ear. 

He adjusts his grip, flipping you over his shoulder easily. “Down! Put me down! Down boy!” You say slapping his back. “You’re the one going on about chivalry, I’ll take you home.” He says with faux indignation, turning on a heel.

You resign yourself and flop down to dead weight. Letting your arms swing like a corpse. They brush against the fabric of his shirt; it’s smooth and thin. With each sway you can feel the tone of his back muscles, flexed carrying your weight. You let your fingers trail more, tracing a pattern in his back.

“Don’t get me worked up, sweetheart.” He jokes, but there’s an edge to his voice. “Oh~” You hum. “Ticklish, Kazu?” You bring your fingers to his side, fluttering them lightly before digging in. He buckles under your attack with a yelp as you tickle and prod the sensitive skin of his sides. He releases you unceremoniously, you stumble to get proper footing. You spin, ready to bully him with this discovery. Before the taunt can leave your mouth your eyes lock with his. 

What looks back at you is a face you’ve never seen him make. Is that fucker blushing? “Totally unfair!” He whines, straightening and rubbing his sides. “All is fair in… War?” “That’s not the quote, dumbass.” He fires back. “C’mon.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and guides you back to the sidewalk. “I can walk by myself, y’know.” You say under your breath. 

“It’s my chivalrous duty to protect young maidens from the scary creatures that lurk in the night. Even ones who can’t keep their hands to themselves.” “You’ve just described yourself.” “Just enjoy your scary dog privileges. You don’t know how many other fair maidens wish they were on my arm tonight. Don’t you feel special?” There it is, mood kill. You bite back a sarcastic comment. The two of you make the rest of the walk in silence, feelings swirling in your chest.

[yurucamp]

responding to ask under the readmore :-)

I just replayed Flesh, Blood, & Concrete a few days ago and I wanted to talk about one of Nika's lines near the end (so this ask contains spoilers). It was the one where she goes "Are you afraid that you'll realize that a better future was always possible". When I first played FBC a while ago, for some reason I interpreted that line as Nika... basically trying to tell Lera that it doesn't have to end like this? That "running" brought her to this point, and she was challenging Lera, the person who showed her kindness, to escape and go back to the world and try again to find a better future for herself instead? I still remember being taken by surprise by the supposed antagonist who has almost "won" telling you, maybe even realizing it herself at that moment, that she doesn't actually want your story to end like that. Replaying the game, I realized that's probably not what Nika meant there... But if Lera doesn't give up on the world Nika still tries to give her a chance, however small that chance is. So, something still changed in her by the end. She tried to honor her friend's wishes even though it was so painful for her, and that's really touching! I've been thinking about FBC ever since I replayed it, and I loved the side stories too. All of their interactions there are really sweet, and I really love imagining them as found family. I know it's a long shot given how the story ends, but I still find myself hoping they'll both somehow find whatever they need to fill the holes in their hearts. So yeah, if you read this, thanks for Nika being unintentionally very inspiring, and for making a cool game with characters I care about! I'm always looking forward to seeing art from you and if you ever make any more games I'll definitely check them out. Bye!

please don't apologize for the length; i am truly well and truly grateful for the time you've invested in playing my game and thinking about it, i'm nothing but flattered :-)

i really connect with your interpretation! i think it's important to understand nika's words in the context that she's completely convinced of the impossibility of leaving; she's tried herself to leave many times and knows that lera will either starve or be assimilated, so even in the true ending where she sacrifices herself to give lera the chance to escape, she doesn't see lera as having a chance to escape at all- it's more about giving her the autonomy to fight as she wants

i definitely don't see nika as an antagonist and see them as found family- in some ways nika embodies the endless hopeful dreaming that the adult lera has destroyed, while lera is the human friend and guardian that nika's never had

i originally, when i had the idea of the story in my head but no idea how the game would turn out, wanted it to be over a much longer time period, so that you could really feel the relationship develop between the two as they got closer.. it's a feeling that was captured wonderfully by vi in the side stories, but for various reasons i still haven't figured out how to "extend" the game to allow for that depth to build

thank you again for taking the time to write me :-)

[sparrowhero]

Present Mic Boyfriend Headcanons

The type to fall fast and hard. He originally dates around a lot, and though it's deceptively casual-- He's truly sincere and puts 100% of his heart into it. Unfortunately for him, this means that he's had his heart broken A LOT because the fire burns out a little bit too quickly.

Cries to Aizawa and Midnight every single time he gets dumped. Thankfully, after he cries it out enough, he's pretty normal most of the time unless the relationship gets very very serious. Your first fight-- not even an actual break up-- he was face down on his couch for an hour on speaker with the two of them.

READMORE FOR LENGTH AND MILD SPOILERS

More of a phone boyfriend at first than anything at first. Not by choice, but because he's juggling hero work, his teaching job, and his late night radio gig. It's because of this that a lot of his relationships have fallen through-- he's very much "My work, my music, and you are all equally important to me!" You have to be good about having time apart or your dates being him drowsing off on the couch while listening to your day.

Even if he can't physically be there for you as much as he'd love to, he is still very affectionate and loves to blow up your phone with stuff that he's seen during the day, things that reminded him of you, or even just that he missed you and wanted to hear your voice.

Because he's always on the go, he likes stay at home dates the best. His place is a verified bachelor pad-- lots of vinyls, kind of impractical furniture, big ass entertainment center-- all sorts of things. It's nice when he gets to be able to enjoy these things and maybe make things a bit more lived in. If you leave stuff at his place like a blanket or a jacket, it's his favorite thing to make his house feel like home.

Brags to you to all his friends, family, coworkers. Guy on the bus he just met. Don't be afraid if you get introduced to his friends and they all know much more about you than you probably thought they would. It's a little embarrassing, honestly, but it's also sweet. Aizawa requests you ask him to "shut up about his lovey-dovey-sweetie-honey-pie bullshit during work hours." You half think it's a joke but he is very clearly not laughing.

Gets very quiet when he's being serious and sincere with how he feels about you and where he wants the relationship to go. His signature smile is still there, but it's just a little bit self-consciousness and a sense of true openness to his expressions. He knows he can be a little bit much-- most people have told him so-- but he wants you to know he'll only ever ask for whatever you can give in return. You don't need to do what he does, just keep being you, being his, and that's enough.

"I know I say this about a hundred times a day, but I really am in love with you. I want this to be a forever thing, no curtain calls."

Mic doesn't like to talk about the Shirakumo Incident much more than Aizawa does, but he is much more open to getting it all out and in the open to process it. He blames himself a lot for feeling like he contributed to the blasts, the power that killed Shirakumo...for not getting there in time and he feels a lot of responsibility towards Aizawa to make sure he takes care of himself and not blame himself for Shirakumo's death. It weighs on him more than he can say because it's a trauma that doesn't belong to just him, but Aizawa pretty adamantly refuses to ever bring it up.

After the hospital incident, he panda-clings to you for a good long while and just…is silent. Just breathes and listens to your combined heartbeat and focuses on the feeling of your arms around his shoulders and occasionally combing through his hair.

You being there for him when the Kurogiri reveal is one of the grandest gestures he could have asked for. Mic is always the strong one when it comes to this: he has to smile and be the funny one, the boulder that keeps everyone together now that Shirakumo is gone. You allowing him to simply relax and be makes him love you just so much more. He can finally fully feel and accept that grief, and vows to do the same to support you in whatever comes your way. He's definitely gonna protect you, his students, and his happiness this time.

[aaeya]

supreme skz hairstyles please join me at this table

chan: long and curly (PEAK: overgrown and mullet-y)

era: miroh

im not sayin anything anyone disagrees with. even chan is with me on this one. god bless his hair hes beautiful always. he looks so sexy w some volume RAAAAHHH

(go under the readmore if you want to see me go into unnecessary and unasked for detail about stray kids hair styles that gets progressively more biased as i lose my mind slowly)

lee know: long and dark (peak: BLACK)

era: pre-5star

god he’s just gorgeous and sexy and long black hair is gorgeous and sexy. he has yet to have long and black hair simultaneously but i can keep praying. also hes kind of had the same haircut for forever (its okay because hes sexy) BUT he has had a LOT of hair colors and my favorite is gods menu era orange [ERIKA JAYNE MOAN]. 5star maroon can get an honorable mention. holy fuck he looked so good in gods menu

changbin: two block or, if you’re feeling spicy, undercut

era: A) this photo is god damn everywhere but have no idea the source im a toddler stay B) he always has this hair

the most stable member hairstyle wise but im not complaining cuz he’s sexy. dark, weight on top, bangs, side part, baby you’re perfect just the way you are

changbins hair has been dark forever except for like two times (varying shades of brown and then back door) and he looked good but dark hair is just iconic and sexy for him

hyunjin: black wolf cut UUUUUGGGGHHHHHH

era: RIGHT NOW. also he had the same cut in maxident but brown

han: LONG. SIDE PART. (peak: wavy)

era: my pace, 5 star

ive never had so many things to say about a complete strangers hair you have no idea how much i'm holding back for the sake of fairness and the length of this post. the longer and messier the better. peak is my pace but not the color. he looks the best in COOL COLORS. guys am i showing signs of being obsessed with han jisung or do you think im playing it off well be honest

felix: BACK DOOR!!!!!!!!!

era: BACK DOOR!!!!!!!! also kingdom kind of

mullet!!! the MULLET. felixs supreme peak look is the MULLET. im not a blonde felix supremecist in the slightest. its this CUT. i think he looks best in black hair but he has never had the two (mullet and dark hair) simultaneously. i love black hair on him (can you tell i have a thing for black hair)

kim seungmin: you know what im gonna say. side part maxident streak. (peak: PINK) (peak: FOREHEAD [ERIKA JAYNE MOAN])

era: maxident

but wait i'm not done. because 5 star coral/orange seungmin (and all its phases) is ALSO peak. and you know what else. his curly blonde hair in that one christmas performance was ALSO peak. jype is making a wise decision by only releasing his forehead periodically because its so powerful every time hes styled with it its like a gust of wind blasts through my village and shakes the foundations of my home.

vv i know the pink streak and brown hair+forehead pic are essentially the same but he looked so good in skzfamily 3 that i had to include it.

i.n: listen to me when i tell you black straight hair jeongin is my favorite. he is the love of my life. i am NOT giving him a boring answer and if you accuse me of that i will hunt you. he has these sharp gorgeous features and when his hair is stark black it just kills me. LISTEN TO ME.

era: many but most recently 5 star (NOT kingdom/thunderous era black mullet)

vvv he is so sexy and he is my boyfriend and i am not delusional.

^remember when my goal was 1 hairstyle and 2 pics per member? what happened to han and seungmin? when did we lose the plot

do you think you can guess my biases from this

[wishing-stones]

Hii,,, hope I'm not bothering you too much. I've been a really big fan of your writing for a couple of months now. You don't have to respond to my ask if it makes you uncomfortable, I understand.

I'm someone who easily falls into paranoia spirals, and constantly second guesses whether my behaviour is socially appropriate since I have such a hard time reading a room. I have a habit of unknowingly stepping over the line when I get excited and thus making people uncomfortable, and only being aware of it if I'm directly confronted about it? Though because I absolutely hate conflict I often distance/isolate myself from the people I'm close to and find myself forming deeper emotional attachments to stuffed animals than people.

Would the guys find this to be a problem? Would they particularly care about someone being more open to an inanimate object than them, or if they need to regularly switch between reminding the person of boundaries and assurance that they aren't a selfish or awful person?

(Again, feel free to ignore this if you don't want to respond, I won't get upset if this ask gets deleted for being too much)

- ���� crayanon

Okay first of all Crayanon is adorable

Secondly, sending me asks is in no way bothering me! If I don't have the time or energy to respond to them, I often sit on them until I do (or until I come up with a sufficient answer for some of them). The only ones I wind up deleting are the ones I legitimately don't have an answer to LOL.

Thirdly, I'm seeing some self-deprecation here, and I'd like to remind you that you aren't a selfish or awful person for your neurodivergence. I prefer the company of animals, stuffed or not, to people most of the time as well. It's no shortcoming of yours that you have issues reading social queues-- especially when excited. You're far from alone in that aspect, and honestly? You can't blame yourself for crossing a boundary that you didn't know existed. All you can do is keep that boundary in mind going forward. You're not psychic, so you can't have known, and anyone who gets mad at you for crossing a line you weren't aware of... might be someone you may wish to rethink being around. This is a very annoying thing that happens with Neutotypical people, I feel. They expect you to know the exact social standards of every single setting everywhere you go when they... don't communicate that whatsoever. It isn't your fault, and this is all a very long winded way for me to say: Don't beat yourself up over stupid unspoken societal standards. It doesn't make you a bad person, and neither does wanting to avoid these situations. You aren't selfish, and you aren't awful.

With that out of the way...

Generally speaking, the guys are really good with mental health and neurodivergence in general. It's kind of a monster society thing-- since monsters are all so vastly different from one another, they don't tend to balk at anything that has to do with appearance or mentality. It's just the way you are, and if it happens to cause problems for you or them, they're still very supportive. They might nudge you towards professional help if it becomes a serious problem, but on the whole, these guys are very hard to offend by behavior.

Killer also has issues with boundaries sometimes, and needs to be corrected. With the guys, this usually comes in the form of playful violence, but you can shove him off or tell him to back up or steep off just as easily. His are hard to cross, but if you manage it, he's pretty gracious with letting you know, and if he sees you edging up on that line again, he'll playfully remind you of it. He won't get mad. The most you'll get for your troubles is a noogie.

Dust may snap if his boundaries are crossed in any serious way, but he's kind of a withdrawn person. He doesn't mean to be mean, but he'll be firm. He might get a little short and brisk to get you to back off... but he'll explain why once he's wound down from it. He might get a little rattled, but he won't hold it against you. Learning to be around new people can sometimes have a steep learning curve that can go on for years after you've met and grown close to them.

Axe only snaps if you get near his skull injury. Otherwise, he's pretty chill. If it's a social boundary, he isn't bothered too much, and will remind you that it's there calmly. He'll also warn you off of it if he feels you're creeping toward his or anyone else's boundaries, and praise you with reassurances if you remember these on your own. It'd do you well to remember that one of his biggest boundaries is to not startle him awake, since... that's less one for him and more one for you, so you don't get hurt on accident.

Cross will gently bodily move you if it's a physical boundary and just... say your name correctively if it's a social one. He'll explain his boundaries, but prefers reminding you rather than telling you. He thinks that you'll remember these on your own soon enough if he just... nudges you away from them. He's pretty understanding, even if he looks stern. Baggs takes note of these behaviors and works with you on them. Little memory exercises to remind you of where general boundaries might be, offers different methods of mindfulness, and takes everything in stride. Even if you cross his, he's patient and explains gently. He also likes the subtle sort of nudging you in the right direction-- making your own associations and your own corrections are far preferable than straight directions. It allows you to build your own habits and reminders that are custom-tailored to you.

Nightmare has arguably the hardest time with this because he is not pleasant when a boundary of his has been crossed. He'll get a little sour, but still remind you carefully of what that was and why he didn't like that. It's really not you, it's him. He gets cranky and bitter when bothered, but... he also has to remind himself that no one here is psychic and can't possibly know what he's thinking. He likes to lead you into conclusions yourself ("Do you remember what happened last time?") rather than actively correcting it, and does so as gently as he can. This bothers you deeply, and he can tell. He doesn't want you agonizing over a simple mishap that, in the grand scheme of things, matters very little.

As for being closer to stuffies than to them...

...They might get a little jealous, but the most that nets you is them sitting with the plush so that you have no excuse but to spend time with them. Oh no. Fortunately, they can be pretty still and quiet if you don't feel like people at the moment. Just hanging around quietly is enough.

[coraniaid]

A couple of months ago, at the start of my S2 rewatch, I talked a little bit about how Willow was slowly becoming an increasingly more key member of the Scooby Gang, at the expense of Giles and Xander. Now that I've reached The Zeppo, it feels like a good time to return to that discussion.

Let's try to quantify things a little bit.

Obviously, speaking time data alone doesn't tell you everything about how important a character is, and Julian Freedland's audio time stamp data doesn't always perfectly reflect which character is really speaking (in particular, it has some trouble with body swap episodes like Witch and Who Are You? and -- most relevantly for us -- The Killer In Me). But those caveats aisde, I think looking at some hard numbers can still be illuminating here.

The chart below shows both Willow and Xander's average speaking time over the course of the show (based on a rolling average of the last dozen episodes, but always ignoring the largest and smallest values in that 12 episode run).

[I picked a 12 week rolling average partly just because it was decent length of time to smooth out random noise and partly because it means starting the time series at the end of Season 1; I removed outliers the way I did to avoid overstating the importance of episodes like The Zeppo and Doppelgangland. If you're interesed in what the chart would look like without either of these smoothing efforts, click on the readmore below.]

Thus presented, I think the trend seems pretty clear. Up to the end of Season 2, Xander clearly has more average speaking time than Willow. Then, early in Season 3, that reverses: Willow starts to get a bit more speaking time and Xander gets quite a lot less. In fact Xander won't have as much average speaking time again until Season 7, whereas in both Season 4 and Season 6 Willow will have average speaking times much higher than Xander ever managed during Season 2.

And the data fits with how I'd summarize the state of things on a more subjective/qualitative level too. In Season 1 and up to perhaps the mid-point of Season 2, Xander really was treated as a more important character than Willow by the writers. He was presented as a possible love interest for the main character (however unserious that seems in hindsight), he was arguably the focus of several episodes (Teacher's Pet, The Pack, Inca Mummy Girl) where Willow was only the focus of one (I Robot You Jane). In fact, in the first sseason, Willow's main character trait -- otherthan being good with computers -- was that she was hopelessly pining over Xander. But as Season 2 progressed Willow became more assertive, moved beyond her crush on Xander and got a boyfriend and then, around the end of the season, she started to get more and more involved in magic, something that will come to define her character both this season and for the rest of the show. Willow grew and progressed as a character: the writers found more and more things for her to do. On the other hand, Xander .. didn't really get that sort of character growth. In a lot of ways, the Xander of mid-Season 3 really hasn't changed much from the Xander of The Harvest.

So in some ways The Zeppo is Xander's swan song. Even as it begins to suggest a new, more sympathetic version of the character -- one not defined so heavily by his unrequited feelings for Buffy or his (honestly not very compelling or plausible) relationship with Cordelia -- the show as a whole is quickly losing interest in him. Willow will continue to grow in status and narrative importance -- she'll come out as a lesbian next season, continue to grow in power as a witch and arguably even temporarily assume co-protagonist status in the show's sixth season. But Xander, as now reimagined, won't get to do that. He'll always be the Zeppo of the group.

On the other hand, perhaps I've got it backwards.

Perhaps the reason I remember the Xander Harris of the final two thirds of the show more fondly than I do the Xander Harris of the first third is simpler than I'd liked to admit. Maybe he's just easier to like because he isn't allowed to speak as much.

For completeness, this is what the chart above would look like if we didn't remove outliers:

And this is what it would look like if we looked at speaking time in individual episodes rather than taking a rolling average (note, in particular, the big spikes for The Zeppo, Doppelgangland and The Replacement):

Note also a common trend visible in all three versions of the chart: neither Willow nor Xander really get to say much at all in the second half of Season 7.

[morelikebaldursgay]

Name: Dirge

Pronouns: they/them

Race: Human(?)

Age: Chronologically 40s; appears physically in 20s

Class: Level 6 Paladin (Oathbreaker, formerly Oath of Devotion)

Background: Haunted One (The Dark Urge)

STR 18 // DEX 8 // CON 14 // INT 8 // WIS 16 // CHA 12

Proficiencies: Medicine, Intimidation, Insight, Persuasion

Appearance:

Dirge is a large (around 6’7”), buff person who appears to be a human in their mid-twenties. 

They have a square jaw, an aquiline nose (crooked from being broken at least once at some point in the past), eyes so dark a brown they are almost black, and black hair that is currently in a somewhat messy buzzcut.

Their medium olive skin is covered with slightly lighter toned scar tissue, most prominently on their face—the rest of their body, of course, is usually covered with armor. They also have a lot of freckles. 

They have scars on many places they shouldn’t have logically survived severe injuries to, including the scar on their neck, which is covered by one of their tattoos. They have two tattoos, although they’re really two parts of a whole: dark, dried-blood-red flamelike tendrils that cover their neck and encroach on their chin, and a teardrop of the same color on the middle of their forehead. 

You can’t tell this from looking at them, but they are AMAB and have gynecomastia. This isn’t really that important for their appearance but it matters to me <3

Personality:

Due to their Urge, Dirge has extremely little faith in their own decisions and judgment, and partially due to their autism, they like having clear-cut rules to follow. As a result, they initially outsource most of their decisions to their paladin code. As they journey (and after the Alfira Incident), it becomes clearer that they can’t just rely on that anymore (partially because they literally don’t fit within that rigid framework anymore), and they have to learn to make their own decisions. 

Surprisingly, they are a very good leader. Part of this is due to the fact that they simply have a natural charisma, but part of it is also due to the fact that—because of their lack of trust in their own judgement and because of their kindness—they are really good at listening to others and taking their input into consideration.

They are generally a very kind person, and—even though they can’t always easily read them—care deeply about others’ feelings.

Despite their trust issues, they will pretend to trust others to make them feel better.

They simultaneously fear and desire closeness with others. They fear it because they are afraid of hurting others, feel they don’t deserve closeness, and are terrified of being betrayed. Despite this, they have an incredibly deep desire to be loved (which feeds into their excessive people-pleasing tendencies) and to love.

As a result, the more they like and trust someone, the less likely they are to enter a relationship with them, as they will feel a) the other person is too good for them and b) betrayal—from either side—will hurt more the closer they are. This is one of the reasons they end up with Astarion, instead of Shadowheart, or literally any of the other party members (who are all attracted to Dirge, funnily enough). 

Also, they are very good at noticing small clues and signals and individual pieces of evidence, but very bad at putting them together.

Backstory:

(Readmore for length of this post as a whole and some Dark Urge spoilers.)

Dirge (at the time known by a different name, given to them by their adoptive parents, that they don’t remember) was adopted by a childless couple in the Lower City as a baby. 

For a time, they were happy (or as happy as one could be in the Lower City, or really in Baldur’s Gate in general)—they were friends with the other children, and they had two loving parents (one of whom played the lute).

The only unusual thing about them was that they never got sick, and healed quickly—and without infection—from every injury. Their parents had no explanation for this, but were too tired to think about it much, and grateful for the trouble it saved them besides.

At around the age of 7, they began having strange dreams, and started feeling full of tension, their whole body buzzing for something they couldn’t identify. Frightened for reasons they didn’t quite understand, they pushed this down, hoping if they ignored it enough, it would go away—like how their parents told them to deal with bullies.

It didn’t.

When they were around 8, they came to to find their parents dead, killed by a knife that was in their hands, blood everywhere, and someone they would eventually learn was Sceleritas Fel telling them that this was their true self, that this was who they were—

They ran.

Afraid of what they would do if they were around people, they kept running (stopping only to sleep and drink water) until they found an area within the Woods of Sharp Teeth they deemed sufficiently isolated.

They lived there for a few years, desperately lonely but more desperate to not see another person. Their skin buzzed and their fingers twitched with a hunger animals could barely slake.

When they were around 12, someone else came to their corner of the woods. A knight, a paladin, who had come looking for the source of the sightings of uneaten, marred animal corpses—and of a child. They tried to drive him away, but he was gentle, and eventually they told him the whole sordid tale, partially to somewhat lighten the weight they carried and partially to try to drive him away. 

Instead, he told them who he was. He was a member of the Order of the Morning Star, a paladin order devoted not to the gods but to people—to the hope of what they could do, both in terms of bettering themselves and bettering the world, if they refused to give that hope up.

He coaxed them to return to the Order with him, and they did. It was difficult, and they still isolated themself from others, but with their stubbornness and some emotional management practices taught by the Order, everything seemed to be going well.

Until one day, when they were around 17, it all became too much, and they slaughtered every single member of the Order. This is where they got their neck scar—from a knight’s blade.

Sceleritas Fel came once again, and, completely hopeless, they decided that if they couldn’t be what they wanted to be, then at least they could be the “best”, most excellent version of what they were, submerse themself in their purpose, and enjoy it. 

The rest of their backstory is just more-or-less canon, and also I haven’t developed it that much, so I won’t go into it here.

I will note that the only reason their name is Dirge is that, when they introduced themself to Shadowheart on the Nautiloid, they went “shit I can’t introduce myself as the Dark Urge” and so just slammed “Dark” and “Urge” together to produce “Dirge”. 

If you read this far, you deserve a reward, so here's my Dirge playlist:

[crinkled-emotions]

Day 1: Nights spent by the toilet, rubbing A's shoulder

We're finally here! I kinda felt like maybe I wouldn't get to this point but here we are, ready to publish day 1!

The way these are going to work is very similar to my other fics: they will vary in length, the warnings will be the first thing you see (where applicable) and then the fic itself will be under a readmore. We're starting with a bang, but there are a couple different types of fics coming with multiple ships and, of course, some Dagger time!

This particular fic was partially inspired by one I wrote last December - find it here!

Warnings for this fic: emeto

-

Rapping his knuckles on the bar table in front of Phoenix and Bob, Payback immediately had their attention.

“Bagman’s out the front pukin’, might want to go check on him.”

“Why not you?” Bob replied. Payback sent him a look and Bob sighed.

“Well it can’t be me either; I already lined up a game of pool with Fanboy and Rooster.”

With that, Bob got up and followed Payback into the crowd, leaving Phoenix on her lonesome. For such a big team, no one really minded having a moment to themselves. She glanced around the Hard Deck, taking in the rest of her team. Coyote was nowhere to be found which was odd; he was usually one of the first to suggest a team outing on a Saturday night, shortly followed by Hangman. Considering how much they fed off each other’s shithead energy, no one was really shocked that Penny had them thrown overboard at least once a month... maybe twice, if they were really leaning into their naughty adult children act (terrorising Rooster at the piano). She’d barely seen Hangman tonight, but a glance from Penny and Maverick told her they had information she could use. As she walked past she gently touched Rooster’s shoulder. She always did it when passing him- he did it too. They used it as a way to check in with each other more than anything.

Up at the bar, Penny offered Phoenix a bottle of water and a gentle smile.

“I saw Seresin looking a little green earlier; do you want Mav to come with you?”

“Hey!” Maverick protested, but the corner of his lips twitched upwards. Phoenix shook her head.

“I’ve known Seresin since before either of us were legally allowed to drink; we’re fine. If Bob asks tell him I’m taking Hangman home.”

“Sure thing.”

Penny walked off to serve an incoming customer, but Maverick paused for a moment.

“Are you sure, Tasha? I was only joking-“

“-it’s better that you don’t, he’ll crawl out of his skin,” Phoenix reassured, “it’s nothing personal.”

“I understand. We’re here if you need anything.”

Never had Phoenix met a CO like Maverick; though, to be fair, she wasn’t sure there was anyone like Maverick. Paternal but firm and with a quick temper. She’d been one of the only people allowed to know the full story between him and Bradley; it felt like a privilege and she continued to treat it as one.

-

“Hey; what’s going on? Did your drink get spiked?”

Natasha had seen Jake in a lot of compromising positions over the almost ten years of knowing each other; from her roommate’s bed in the academy to the stomach flu of ’09 that had taken out him, her and Bradley all in one swoop. It’s still a topic all of them refuse to talk about. Sitting in the dirt around the side of the Hard Deck, Phoenix barely blinked as she reached to help him up. Jake grimaced.

“Wait, don’t move me yet. I didn’t get spiked; I think it’s a cold at worst. Relax, Tasha.”

Another thing Phoenix learned very early on in their frenemyship; Hangman will understate everything going on in the hopes it gets him left alone until he’s ready to accept help (read: most likely requiring hospital treatment or, at the very least, a cleaner with a strong stomach... cooking dinner ended up requiring both once).

“Yeah, sure, and I haven’t done this for you before. Do you know where Coyote is?”

“He’s not here.”

“I know that; where is he specifically?”

In response, Jake just shrugged and Phoenix determined if she didn’t laugh, she’d probably smack him. Hefting an arm around her shoulder, she pulled him to stand. Immediately he snorted and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Okay, man, out with it.”

“Have you ever thought of suing the county? Y’know, for putting the sidewalk too close to your ass- ow! Hey, I’m sick!”

That time, he did get smacked.

With his keys in hand, Natasha guided (read: dragged) Jake back to his truck. Climbing into the driver’s seat she sighed and reached for the handle to pull it forward; for someone who had just lost everything they’d eaten over the last 24 hours, Jake seemed to find this rather funny from the passenger seat.

“Fuck you, Seresin.”

That shut him up for the time being. They only had a short window to get him home before the nausea would take over and Phoenix wasn’t down for pulling over for him to hurl on the side of a street.

-

In the end they barely made it back to his place. Phoenix had barely pulled up before he threw himself out the passenger side to gag rather dramatically on to his driveway. She rounded the back of the truck to put a hand on his back, wincing at the warmth radiating off his body. Jake shivered, turning to look at Natasha.

“This sucks.”

She snorted.

“It does, even more when it’s not because you had tequila the night before. C’mon, you aren’t doing anything else but going to bed tonight.”

“No, wait; I don’t think I’m done.”

“You’re empty, dude. Anything further and you’re gonna tear your throat.”

Jake winced, sucking in a breath.

“Promise you’re not gonna laugh?”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

Jake might have laughed, but it was shortly followed by a grimace. Using her body weight like they’d taught her in basic, Natasha hauled him up to stand.

“Let’s make this quick,” Jake said. Natasha winced.

“Gotcha. Bedroom or bathroom?”

Jake stayed quiet. Natasha got the hint.

-

With Hangman curled up in the bathroom for the time being, Phoenix took the opportunity to take a quick inventory of the kitchen and medicine basket on top of his refrigerator. He had Tylenol but no Advil; everything in the refrigerator was either expired, meal prepped or not useful in this situation (read: a carton of milk). She huffed, glancing over her shoulder.

“Hey Bagman, you do know what a cheat day is right?”

No response. She couldn’t blame him.

At least he had a thermometer; she’d guesstimated he had a fever but confirmation would be a good start. Finally, she located bottled water in the mostly empty pantry and she grabbed a couple to put by the couch. After a couple minutes of searching she paused in her steps when she heard the retching start again. Phoenix cursed under her breath and jogged back to the bathroom. Doordashing those missing supplies could wait.

“Jake? You good?”

“Fine,” he groaned, “just nauseous.”

He was so past the point of nauseous. Tentatively, Phoenix took a seat on the bathroom floor by his side. Her hand hovered over his shoulders for a moment, eventually making contact with his shirt when his arms came up to brace himself over the toilet.

“You know what you need?” She started after a moment. Hangman turned to glance at her over his shoulder.

“A hug?”

“A toothbrush.”

Despite the fact that Hangman was miserable as fuck and Phoenix could feel her skin starting to crawl considering the stench of puke in the room, they both snorted.

-

For the first thirty seconds of being awake, Phoenix couldn’t remember where she was or why she wasn’t in her bed. Instinctively she went to glance over her shoulder just to make sure she didn’t have someone else in her bed, only to meet the back of the couch... wait. That wasn’t her couch. It was Hangman’s. She’d crashed there after finally managing to get him into bed, promising to listen out in case he needed help in the night. By the time she’d gotten him to bed he’d brushed his teeth, had a couple sips of water and downed Tylenol, and was ready to pass out until the cycle restarted.

Sure enough; it had indeed started.

Phoenix got up, heading through Hangman’s room and into his ensuite. Crouched over the toilet, Hangman looked like he was not having a good time between the sweating, shaking, and the... y’know, the retching probably didn’t help. The offer of comfort came a lot easier to Phoenix that time, kneeling by him to calmly rub his back when he winced.

“You alright?” Phoenix asked. Hangman hummed, reaching up to wipe at his forehead.

“Killin’ me.”

“Well, work should be quiet on Monday if you’re dead. Maybe I should go, leave you to die in peace.”

“Don’t go.”

Oh. That was new.

“Sit back. I think you’re good for now.”

Phoenix reached for the face towel sitting on the end of the sink, dunked it in the water, and then handed it over.

“You and me; we take this to the grave. Clear?” She said. Jake nodded, groaning as he turned to rest his head on her shoulder. Natasha went quiet for a moment, then she checked for a fever again.

“I have an idea. Get up, asshole, I can carry you I just don’t want to.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

-

Of all the things Natasha had expected Jake to do, she didn’t even think about getting all of five minutes into the shitty late night show she’d left on low only for Jake to toss a pillow on to her lap and rest his head on it, pulling her hand into his hair.

“You good?”

“My stomach hates me more right now than it did in flight school.”

Natasha snorted in amusement, her hand remaining on his shoulder.

“If you promise not to hurl on me, you can stay there.”

He slowly drifted to sleep. Despite the fact that her thighs were probably going to die if he slept long enough to start feeling better, Phoenix figured there were worse places for him to be.

-

[focsle]

So, 19th century whaling stuff huh? (purely on recommendation from a reblog from ltwilliammowett) Got any recommendations for visual references about the different kinds of whaling ship at the time? Looking for stuff that could of existed around the 1870s towards the 1890s

I’ll unpaywall a longish essay I wrote about a year ago on patreon about the general design of whaleships, that includes images as well as ship register lists that describe them. It’s written from the angle of design decisions I made for a graphic novel, but reading beyond the artmaking conversation I share information about how whalers tended to be shaped and the identifying features they carried.

For additional visual references I’d check out the photo collections of the New Bedford Whaling Museum and the Charles W. Morgan at Mystic Seaport. The photos from the NBWM are early 20th century, but the ships within them are older. Mid 19th century vessels were used well into the late part of the century and into the early 1900s with very little change, though by that point the industry was fully on its way out the door. The sketches in whaling logbooks or on scrimshaw are also a good way to get a sailor’s interpretation of the vessels. Whaleships and Whaling by Albert Cook Church and Sperm Whaling from New Bedford by Elton W Hall (that is a collection of Clifford Ashley’s photographs from his time on the whaler Sunbeam) are good visual books too. ANYWAY, onto the Essay under the readmore, if you’re so inclined.

Melville described Captain Ahab's ship the Pequod as having an “old-fashioned claw-footed look about her." It's a description I always hold in my mind whenever I draw a whaler. Melville, of course, added more whimsy to his iconic vessel, ‘a cannibal of a craft, tricking herself forth in the chased bones of her enemies’. With sperm whale teeth in the place of belaying pins, blocks made of sea-ivory instead of wood, and a whale’s jawbone in place of a tiller. While whalebone blocks and belaying pins were absolutely made on occasion, whaleships in general were not so unique from one another.

In looking at the long list of Ship Registers out of New Bedford, 1796-1850, it seems that if you saw one whaleship you more or less saw ‘em all.

Photo of the bark Sunbeam hove to at sea, 1904, Clifford Ashley. Via New Bedford Whaling Museum.

Typically 19th century whaleships were three-masted ships or barks, and many ships were eventually re-rigged as barks in the latter half of the century as it required a smaller crew to handle. Whalers tended to be squat and broad, built for stability rather than speed. They were going to be at sea for years, with big cavernous holds for hundreds upon hundreds of barrels of oil, as well as equipment and provisions set to last many months without resupply. Thus, sturdiness was the primary focus in their design.

A cross section of the bark Alice Knowles from G.B. Goode's The Fisheries and Fishery Industry of the United States. Look at all that needed storage space!

With square sterns and a typical ratio of 1:4 for beam to length (as opposed to sleek merchant ships that often were more of a 1:6), describing them as a ‘tub’,--as many whalers grudgingly did when speaking of their floating home--is rather fitting (though perhaps a bit uncharitable). On average, whaleships were 100-115 ft in length, 25-30ft wide, with a tonnage ranging from 180-400.

They were built with few frills. Rarely did they have galleries or figureheads, instead having a simple billet-head or doing without the flourish entirely. My biggest indulgence was giving the Valor a bit more of an elegant prow, which I might regret a little bit since now I have to draw it all the time.

Billet-head vs figurehead...

A distinct lack of fanciness!

I wanted to draw a lady tho. The one of……three women in GTW. Does she count?

Sometimes whalers were painted with false gun ports along their hull, a traditional holdover from when they had to worry more often about wartime enemies in the late 18th century. The hope was that the paint job in combination with her chunky appearance would lead to her being mistaken for a small warship at a distance and thus spared harassment. Even when no longer really necessary, the design often made its appearance.

Drawing in the logbook of Captain James Coffin of his ship Washington, 1841.

I quite liked the look of the psuedo gun ports, and decided to give the Valor the same as an embellishment for some extra contrast.

The most identifying feature of a whaler was the tryworks—a large brick oven with heavy iron pots located aft of the foremast and in front of the main hatch. They were built with a pen that would be filled with sea water that flowed freely beneath a checker-board laid brick base to keep the extreme heat from setting fire to the ship. The tryworks would have to be rebuilt for each voyage, so there was sometimes a rather joyous moment at the end of a long trip when the crew would tear the structure apart and toss it in the sea.

Along the port side, three whaleboats would be slung on the davits. Fore, aft, and amidships. A fourth whaleboat would be located on the starboard quarter.

Screenshot of my desktop background that's some deck plans of a whaleship cos I got sick of digging for the reference every time I had to spatially orient myself when drawing a panel!

Deckhouses were built aft to house the galley and storage lockers, and there was also a ‘hurricane house’ built over the helm to protect whoever was steering during foul weather. Spare whaleboats, as well as harpoons, spades, lances, and other whaling gear would be stored on top of this cover or on hanging shelves beneath it.

A view of whalers and the afthouse, on the bark Greyhound. Via NBWM.

The final identifying feature of a whaleship was a pair of cross trees, a platform with hoops at the top of the mast where men would be stationed to look out for whales.

The ship that I’ve referenced the most in my design of the Valor is, of course, the Charles W. Morgan because she can still be visited! The last surviving wooden whaleship, she had a long life of 37 voyages (and a couple movie roles in her sunset years) spanning from 1841-1921 (and one more voyage in 2014! Heartbreak of heartbreaks that I was not on it!). She’s  now a crown jewel at the Mystic Seaport Museum. I was honored to meet her.

She had some lovely authenticating details that I was happy to put into my own worldbuilding, such as a reference to this gimballed bed. It was designed to always stay level even as the ship rolled, installed by one of the Morgan’s captains to try mitigating his wife's seasickness.

Another favorite detail of mine was how natural daylight was drawn into the cabins and forecastle via deck prisms. Set with their bases flush with the deck above, glass deck prisms were designed to bring light down below.

I remember being surprised at how effective they were. In the photo below, the yellow light is artificial, but the blue light is coming solely from the deck prism. This was on a dark rainy day.

As such, I really enjoy always thinking about how these prisms are lighting the areas below on the Valor.

During my visit I remember thinking that this old surviving whaleship looked quite comfortable and cozy.

Look at that.

Such homey little flourishes.

Look at how cute.

I’d live here.

That is, until I thought about the reality of this work and world. The fo'c'sle helped bring that reality forward. There wasn't anyone else on the ship and it was a cold spring day, but upon stepping into the space I could feel the humidity that had gathered there.

I could imagine the noise of it, the smell of it, the heaviness of the air that came with 20 men sharing such a space, eating and smoking in it, crushing cockroaches in it, dumping their wet gear in it, vomiting in it, keeping a communal urine barrel in it, reeking of blood and oil and smoke and ash as everything mouldered in the damp for for three to four years. The dimensions of the fo'c'sle was enough to set my imagination a’going. It was a perfect reference, and for the comic it just needed to be populated.

For the sake of having somewhat readable panels, my boys are lucky to have been given a much more spacious residence. But still, I try to build out the claustrophobia of the space. And this is just the first night. As time goes on, I’m looking forward to besmirching this place.

Superimposing the reality of a whaler was also necessary in drawing the decks (and will become even more so when I get to the whaling scenes). Now, as a museum, the ship is pristine...

But I must always remember the description given by a 19th century whaler grumbling that while cutting in a whale, ‘everything is beshit’. Documentary footage as well as photographs, coupled with the words from dead men's journals and one’s own imagination of the hellishness of the work is how I begin to paint the decks of this whaler, especially during the work of cutting in.

(warning for sensitive images below of a lot of blubber)

Photos by William H Tripp, 1925. Via NBWM

Photo by Albert Cook Church. NBWM.

This 1904 image, as described by its photographer Clifford Ashley, 'Rectangular blocks of blubber (lippers) are used to scrape up bits of blubber and slush from the deck so nothing is wasted'. Via NBWM.

But the place that made me feel the closest sense of reality on the Morgan was the blubber room. The deck prisms didn’t reach here, and in some places the beams were so low I had to duck my head.

This was where large 15ft sheets of blubber would be dumped below via the hatch, for men to hack them up into smaller 6ft ‘horse pieces’ and then pitch them back up on deck to be further minced. I couldn’t help but think of the movement of the ship in the dark, of the slabs of blubber filling the space, slick with oil. I thought of how much oil would be tracked across the deck and how slippery it’d be, and how a man would have to keep his head cocked to one side for hours to work in there. I thought of how he would get to the fo'c'sle through the blubber room and how the work would be tracked all over the ship and find its way into every bunk. How it would be absolutely inescapable. I thought about the hot sick closeness of having no air down there, the heat from the tryworks radiating mercilessly from above, a crick in your neck, your double-edged boarding knife handle too slick.

Being there and overlaying that work within it was one of the closest times I felt to time travel. And as I try to make the Valor feel alive, to feel real, I always try to capture what I felt here in every panel, and push each one just a little more to get as close as I can to that place.