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trolls-with-tails · 4 months

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Wanderer's Lullaby (The Black Falcon Sneak Peek)

By the time John Dory finished the last remainders of his chores for the day, a quick glance at the quietly ticking clock on the kitchen wall was enough to startle the revelation into him that the hour had long since dwindled away into the night.

Sloughing off the sticky, sudsy remnants of dish soap from his arms and hands under the warm water of the tap, the boy looked away from the clock, disturbed by how quickly time had slipped him by. Today had felt like a blur of bustling mechanically about, and when he tried to reach into the recesses of his mind to recall how exactly he went about the day, the voids in his memory that greeted him were…concerning, to say the least. But it certainly wasn’t unfamiliar; not at this point in his life.

In fact, ever since his band with his brothers accelerated in fame, so, too, did the weight of expectations and responsibilities grow heavier upon John Dory’s shoulders, and most days, it was enough to nearly bring him to the cusp of suffocating. Even so, he knew in his heart that he could not break, could not falter, lest he risk the foundations of everything his brothers deserved and more crumbling under their feet.

After all, John Dory was the eldest. His brothers’ protector. Their primary guardian when Grandma Rosiepuff’s health failed her and the cruel hand of fate tore their parents away from them. John Dory had to be everything for his family. John Dory had to be perfect, and nothing less.

The sound of distant laughter is what mercifully pulled him from the dark, downward spiral of his thoughts, and John Dory couldn’t help but smile, tired but fond all the same, as he tucked the last few plates back into the cabinet before padding lightly down the hallway, towards his brothers’ shared room. As he went along, he took a moment to study the many photographs hanging on the wall in frames of polished wood, and here, in the shadows cast by the night, laying out a shrouded veil over the world, captured moments of sweet family memories didn’t appear so innocent now, leering down at him through the darkness with unblinking eyes and unwavering smiles.

It wasn’t the first time John Dory wondered if he deserved to belong in these photographs, and he ducked his head low and continued his trek in uneasy silence, determined to not allow his head to cloud over again. He had his fill of enough stormy thoughts lately.

Passing by the shut door to Grandma Rosiepuff’s bedroom, where his keen ears could pick up on the muffled sound of her snoring softly away, the oldest BroZone member rounded the corner of the corridor, and, upon opening the door, was met with a sight beyond the threshold of the space he shared with his brothers that had him ready to tie all of his siblings into one big knot.

Leaning against the doorframe, John Dory planted a hand on his hip, his tail twitching by his ankles. “Anyone wanna tell me why you’re all up and out of bed, at twelve o’clock, on a school night?” Pausing to take in the fact that little Branch was in on the scheme and nowhere near his crib like he should be, he vehemently added, “And what in the name of music are you guys doing with Bitty B? I put him down for bed at eight!”

They were all clustered together around an unruly spread of colored paper, pencils, crayons, glue, and scissors, and a million thoughts as to what could possibly be so important about the setup that it had them long neglecting their bedtime flooded John Dory all at once. Did they procrastinate on a project and were now racing to make up for lost time? Was it a gift to the pretty girl that always waved and smiled at Spruce on the way to school? Or could it be they were working on a new album cover?

Before the questions could leave his mouth, Clay broke the ensuing silence with a groan, dropping the pair of scissors he’d been holding haphazardly against a pile of paper scraps. “Great. We’ve been busted, boys.”

“Only ‘cause you wouldn’t shut your big trap,” Spruce shot back, narrowing his eyes before returning to his task of diligently sprinkling glitter over swirls of glue, making a point of not looking his older brother in the eye and ignoring Clay’s indignant quailing.

Floyd, who was sitting with Branch in his lap, both of their cheeks decorated in a variety of colorful stickers, was the only one who had enough sense to look ashamed, sheepishly bouncing his giggling baby brother on his knee. “Sorry, JD. We were just…uh…” Wincing, he aimed a pleading glance in Clay’s direction, rewarded only with a mere shrug.

Spruce sighed, redirecting his focus from his work to sit back on his haunches and peel at a patch of drying glue on his palm. This time, he dared to meet the expectant gaze of BroZone’s eldest member, still leaning in the doorway and pinning them with his eyes like insects to a board, and there was resignation in the way his shoulders slumped and his ears drooped. “Alright, alright, guess it’s up to me to spill.” Steepling his fingers together in what JD assumed was an effort to save face, the purple-haired troll continued, “We were working on your present for tomorrow, Johnny.”

John Dory blinked slowly. A present? Tomorrow? For what? Brain spinning with questions, he was about to ask his brothers of such, when the epiphany struck him like a bolt of lightning.

His birthday was tomorrow.

By all the trolls, how could I forget that?

Remembering himself, John was quick to wipe away any traces of bewilderment from his expression, silently praying that none of his siblings spotted it. He had no doubt in his mind that his brothers would get on his case if they so much as suspected that his forgetfulness was attributed to his tendency to work himself to the bone, and the mere thought of his younger siblings catching a glimpse of the cracked, faulty John Dory that was behind the fortified wall of steel that was his confident, perfect persona was enough to send his stomach twisting into tight knots. It was not their job to shoulder their eldest brother’s problems; that burden was his and his alone, and he was determined to carry it with him into the grave and well into whatever afterlife was merciless enough to welcome him, so long as it meant that his beloved family never had to shed a tear in his favor. Enclosed by the Bergens at all times, there were more important, pressing matters worth crying about, and John Dory feeling a little overworked was not one of them, of this he was certain.

So on the flawless, impenetrable mask went, and John Dory straightened up from his spot against the doorframe and smiled like he knew the important date was coming up all along, like his memories and sense of time weren’t addled and misplaced from countless nights with little to no shut eye and numerous days spent tiring away at the grindstone of routine, of chipping away at his responsibilities until he’d dug himself somewhere deep and dark.

“You guys didn’t have to get me anything,” he insisted, but even so, his eyes couldn’t help but trail curiously over to what looked like a scrapbook on the floor, bound with black leather and white string and stuffed to the gills with vibrant paper. “Just making you all happy is enough of a birthday gift for me.”

Clay snorted. “Quit your babbling and take it, JD. I sustained battle scars over this.” He wiggled his bandaged fingers for emphasis.

“What Clay means to say,” Floyd cut in, but not before shooting the yellow-haired troll a meaningful glare, “is that while we know we didn’t have to give you anything for your birthday, we wanted to.” He offered his older brother a warm smile, which Branch giggled at, his small, pudgy hands reaching up to tug on the corners of his mouth.

Spruce nodded, a look in his eye that John Dory found himself nervous to fully interpret, something far too knowing and searching in that gaze of his. Was he catching on to his inner turmoil? By the trolls, JD internally pleaded that that was not the case, but his younger sibling continued to eye him in that strange, studying way before he addressed him next. “Exactly. You’ve been working really hard lately, and we wanted to give you something to show our appreciation.” Pausing to pick up a discarded bottle of glue from off the floor, he went on, “We were hoping to give it to you in the morning, but it turns out we weren’t as discreet about this as we thought. So, I guess we could add the last few details and give it to him now, right, guys?”

Clay and Floyd nodded in collective agreement, and it was the pink-haired troll who readjusted Branch in his lap and reached over him to make a grab for the scrapbook lying on the carpet, instructing John not to peek before adding the final finishing touches, the tip of his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Once the present was declared complete and John Dory was allowed to open his eyes again, he watched as all of his brothers– minus Bitty B, who leisured in Floyd’s cradled arms and blew a raspberry at the eldest BroZone member when he looked his way– made to stand and approached him with Spruce at the head, holding out the leather-bound book with a sheepish tint to his cheeks.

“Happy birthday, JD,” his brothers chorused, softly so as to not rouse Grandma from her slumber down the hall.

Something inside John Dory’s chest swelled to the brim and tightened, but it was not the cold, prickly sensation of dread he had become so accustomed to. It was a warm, blooming feeling, one that spread in tingly ripples all throughout his arms, down to the tips of his fingers, and he swallowed hard so as to not choke on the intensity of it as he reached for his present with forcibly stilled hands.

I don’t deserve this, murmured the downtrodden voice in his head that he had endured for as long as he could remember, one not so easily quashed even after all these years of dealing with it, and such a feat continued to ring true as he looked down at the scrapbook in his grasp, crafted with every intention of being granted to him, of appreciating him, of him earning it. I just do what any other big sibling would do. It’s nothing special.

After all, why would John Dory, ever the imperfect troll, deserve any sort of praise, when it was his brothers who were shining examples of what perfection should be?

Still, for all his grievances, there was little keeping him from sweeping a tender hand down the scrapbook’s spine, quietly taking in the details that his brothers spent the night toiling away on, pouring every ounce of their blood, sweat, tears, and dedicated hearts into something they believed their older brother had earned. On the cover, using the stickers of themselves that were a part of their new merchandise line, cutesy decals of his brothers’ heads were lined up in a neat box formation, with himself being placed in the center. Spirals and zig-zags of glue shone with glitter all throughout, drawn neatly and artfully around each sticker, and John had to blink hard around the threat of tears in his eyes and braced himself as he opened the scrapbook.

The sight that greeted him beyond the cover was nearly enough to break the dam restraining the waterworks right then and there. Each page he leafed through not only had Clay’s neat handwriting, Floyd’s skilled doodles, and Spruce’s painstaking paper craftsmanship, it was filled to the brim with photos upon photos of the childhood memories they made together, even pictures predating the formation of BroZone.

The first time he held Spruce’s egg; Clay learning how to do a handstand; themselves and Grandma Rosiepuff posing by a snowman they’d rolled up and decorated together; a portrait of their parents smiling with their hands lovingly clasped together; Floyd gazing fondly at a sleeping Branch in his arms; himself and his brothers all dressed up for a fashion show that they put on for Grandma; Spruce and Clay out cold on the couch together after they challenged each other to a dance-off and both stubbornly refused to give in to the point of exhaustion… It was all here, the reason he woke up every morning to fight another day, the happy moments he poured every fiber of his being into to ensure they never ended, fitted together so carefully and lovingly in this scrapbook, and it was made with the belief that he deserved the thought and care put into it.

He blinked hard, and was barely given a moment to realize that a tear managed to slip through before he was being bombarded, finding himself encircled within the embrace of all of his brothers, the very people he would conquer the world for if the moment called for it.

“D’you like it?” Floyd was the first to speak, reaching up to brush away the stray teardrop rolling down his older brother’s cheek, his smile kind but nervous, as if he believed there was a universe where John Dory would reject something so precious, something so perfect.

“Do I like it?” John echoed incredulously, a wet chuckle escaping him against his better judgment. Drying his eyes with the back of his hand, he slung his arms around his siblings and pulled them in closer, hoping that the action alone could pour out every ounce of gratitude and love that the gift stirred within him, a swell of emotions that not even his lyrically-trained mind could put to words. “Guys, I love it! Gosh, it’s…it’s perfect. Thank you guys so, so much, this is already the best birthday ever!”

“Slow your roll there, pal,” Clay piped up from where he was nestled snugly against the older troll’s side, but the grin he wore betrayed his amusement, his eyes warm and fond. “The party barely even started!”

They lingered like that for what felt like ages, basking in each other’s company and the affectionate embrace that tied them together, and it was only when John Dory became aware of the ticking of the clock in the kitchen amidst the silence did he remember how late it was, his eyes flying open with a start.

“Again, thank you guys for the amazing birthday gift, but by all the trolls, have you seen what time it is?” JD quailed, regretfully wrangling himself out of the group hug to nudge his brothers in the directions of their respective beds. Thankfully, he was met with minimal protests for his prodding, as it quickly became apparent that spending their time working on an arts-and-crafts project instead of resting up for school was taking its toll, if the way they rubbed their drooping eyes and succumbed to long, exaggerated yawning fits was of any indication.

Clay clambered his way up onto the top bunk, and Spruce fell onto the mattress underneath John Dory’s, landing face-first onto his pillow.

Waiting until Floyd was seated at the edge of his bed to take Branch from his tiring arms, JD turned and was about to lay their baby brother down in his crib, when a hand catching him by the elbow halted him in his tracks. He blinked slowly and turned around to fix his younger brother with a curious stare, his intrigument only increasing when he was met with a bashful expression.

Realizing he now had the older troll’s attention, Floyd relinquished his hold on his brother’s arm in favor of picking at the tuft on his tail, diverting his gaze to the mess of art supplies scattered on the ground like it suddenly became the most interesting sight in the world. “Uh, I know I might be a little old for this, but I was thinking…” He hesitated, brows pinching in as he seemed to mull it over, until eventually, he decided whatever it was that he was going to say would be worth it and proceeded on, “D’you think you could sing that old lullaby you sometimes sing to Bitty B? You…you haven’t sung it in a while, and I miss it.”

Floyd’s soft-spoken words reached into John Dory’s chest with deceptively cruel talons and squeezed his heart without mercy, and it took all of his willpower to stifle the wince threatening to pull at his face. God, it had been a while, hadn't it? Foggy as his brain was nowadays, JD could still recall in perfect detail the nights he spent singing the very song Floyd wished to hear to all of his brothers, a melody passed down to him from his parents when he himself was a little tyke, one he continued to pay forward through his siblings in the hopes it would grant them the same sense of peace and security that it gave him. The realization that, in lieu of his ever-increasing duties, Branch was the most unfortunate out of his siblings to have heard the lullaby the least was nothing short of agonizing, for more often than not did John Dory find himself passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow lately. It didn’t occur to him until now that Branch might not be the only one missing out on the familiar song, too.

Some brother you are, that icy voice from before nagged at him again, and John Dory raced to prove it wrong. It was the least he could do after receiving a gift so special from his brothers; if anyone deserved everything they desired and more, it was his family, and the eldest member of BroZone was quick to hold up his end of the bargain.

“Of course I can,” JD replied with a too-bright smile, and before Floyd had a chance to read too far into it, he turned on the ball of his heel and padded past the messy floor– he’d wake up early to clean it up come the morning– towards the rocking chair that Grandma Rosiepuff would read stories to them from, sitting down and making sure Branch was settled securely in his arms. His eyelids felt as if they were being weighed down by lead, and his head felt heavier than a boulder, but despite his own exhaustion trying to drag him down into the depths with it, he persisted, determination to do right by his brothers guiding his voice into the soft, tranquil notes that his heart knew like the back of his hand.

“Wandering child of the earth, Do you know just how much you're worth? You have walked this path since your birth, You were destined for more…”

In an instant, Floyd’s sheepish demeanor melted away, his posture dissolving into something loose and relaxed as he allowed himself to settle against his mattress, wriggling his way under the covers and sinking into the pillow with a contented sigh.

“There are those who'll tell you you're wrong, They will try to silence your song, But right here is where you belong, So don't search anymore…”

Spruce didn’t move much even as the song started up, and for a moment, John Dory suspected that he had already fallen asleep, when the purple-haired troll proved him wrong by moving his head so he could watch the performance through heavily-lidded eyes, a pleased little smile curling his lip.

“You are the dawn of a new day that's waking, A masterpiece still in the making, The blue in an ocean of gray, You are right where you need to be, Poised to inspire and to succeed, You'll look back and you'll realize one day…”

Cradled securely in his older brother’s arms, Branch could only stare up at him in wide-eyed wonder for so long until sleep came to claim him, sticking his thumb into his mouth as his eyelids slid closed.

“In your eyes there is doubt, As you try to figure it out, But that's not what life is about, So have faith, there's a way. Though the world may try to define you, It can't take the light that's inside you, So don't you dare try to hide, Let your fears fade away…”

Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Clay peering at him drowsily over the edge of the top bunk, his head nodding off as he fought against the tempting pull of sleep in an effort to hear the rest of the song through. However, in the end, his body’s demands won out, and his head dropped heavily into his pillow. Still, JD carried on, something strangely cathartic about returning to a song long since left to collect dust.

Careful not to disturb Bitty B from his slumber, John Dory slowly rose up from the old rocking chair and inched lightly towards the crib, easing him down with a kiss pressed to his forehead for good measure.

Confident that all of his brothers were asleep by now, the teal-haired troll carried on to lay a kiss across the foreheads of each and every one of them, a ritual he never quite grew out of, even when the others themselves grew older. His heart warm and full for the first time in what must’ve been ages, JD flicked off the light and quietly crept up the ladder to his own bed, the final notes of the lullaby pouring out of him as he laid his weary body to rest, the scrapbook his brothers made for him carefully tucked away under the safety of his pillow.

“You are the dawn of a new day that's waking, A masterpiece still in the making, The blue in an ocean of gray, You are right where you need to be, Poised to inspire and to succeed, Soon you'll finally find your own way.”

Welcoming the darkness that greeted him from behind his eyelids, John Dory’s last thought before the shadowed veil of sleep wrapped around him flickered through his mind:

For as long as me and my brothers are together…we’re perfect.

(Song included is Wanderer's Lullaby by Adriana Figueroa)

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chubphoe-linkclick · 4 months

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Lu Guang's probably the type of person who ends up losing track of the time or procrastinating by getting way too sucked into a random niche topic he stumbled across.

Idk, I can imagine Cheng Xiaoshi asked when's dinner going to be ready at 9 pm and Lu Guang's only been reading about the history of nail polish production for the past four hours.

#link click #lu guang

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nexility-sims · 3 months

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Hi, there! Love your story!! Any advice for a first-time simmer looking to do this sort of thing?

i'm gonna say from the outset that you surely did not request an automobile manual's worth of expounding on such a simple question, but ... that's what i've given you :^) partly, i wanted to cover all the of the bases of what you may have meant, so there are three parts: "general advice for thriving," "specific advice for knowing when you're ready," and "specific advice for doing what i do." hopefully these are useful and not completely derivative of what other people have said recently. beyond that, i'll just say i am always, always happy to talk about storytelling, to answer questions, and to give feedback on anything and everything. thanks for the question—and the kind words, too !

ONE - general advice for thriving

JUST START TELLING YOUR STORY ALREADY. maybe it’s obvious, but the best advice is to dive in. it’s like going for the first swim of the season and knowing you’ve got to take the plunge but dreading the cold of it. once you finally submerge yourself, you’re having fun. it’s easy to get caught up in endless preparation. planning is important, whatever that looks like for you, but you’ve got to know when it becomes procrastinating. being ready to start is not the same thing as being 100% confident and 100% polished. i’m willing to bet none of your favorite storytellers, people whose stories have been ongoing for years with dedicated readers, started off confident and polished. it may not be universal, but i think there’s a common reaction when a new reader likes your very first story post: cringing because it’s your worst work but knowing it only gets better from there. storytelling is something you have to practice, and the basics of it become more intuitive and effortless as you go.

continued and continued and continued below ...

BE INTENTIONAL ABOUT WHAT BRINGS YOU JOY. to feel satisfied and stay motivated, prioritize your passions. you want to tell this specific story for a reason; you want to do simblr storytelling, specifically, for a reason. the former is likely because you’re inspired by your plot/characters. the latter could be because you enjoy taking screenshots, you enjoy writing dialogue, you love reading simblr stories, or any number of technical reasons why the medium speaks to you. there are probably things you don’t love as much—posing sims, filling plot holes, realizing your skills don’t fully line up with your ambitions. in my experience, being able to name why you’re doing this translates into being able to crafting a story around those priorities. that, in turn, means having the motivation to power through the parts you like less.

i hate making poses, so i approach my work from the perspective of, “i’m not going to get hung up on having the exact right poses, and i don’t want to slow my story down by wasting time in blender.” other people love making poses or decide having the right one is what’s important to them. being purposeful saves you the trouble of agonizing over things that aren’t actually necessary or, worse, that eventually lead you to burn out and abandon the work altogether. we have to make compromises to tell good stories—maybe you hate writing outlines but know doing it will make things easier later—and it’s invaluable, imo, to know why you’re making those choices. there are jacks-of-all-trades with infinite free time and buckets of inspiration among us, but you’re likely not one of them. don’t worry, though, because neither am i.

FALL IN LOVE WITH OTHER PEOPLE'S STORIES. this one is huge, albeit ostensibly a step removed from the immediate task of storytelling. something i’ve noticed is that people who genuinely engage with other people’s work get more love for their own. it makes sense when you think about it. ideally, if someone is taking the time to catch up on my story, to ask me questions about my characters, to demonstrate that they see what i’m doing, then i want to reciprocate that. to me, it’s actually off-putting when someone only ever publicizes or discusses their own story. that being said, it’s easy to get caught up in our work—using our finite free time to make sure our project gets done—and not allocate time for getting to know other people’s. it’s no crime or even a bad thing. yet, to me, that defeats the purpose of joining a community like this one. it also makes our stories weaker, to reference the wisdom that writers must also be readers. talking to someone about their characters, their writing process, how they stage a scene in the game (or observing those elements while reading their posts) makes me reflect on what i’m doing. paying true attention to other storytellers is a practice of reciprocity that builds community, and it gives you solid examples to learn from as you go.

FOCUS ON GROWTH, NOT WEAKNESS. relatedly, the learning element is so important! a common pitfall, especially for someone just starting out, is getting hung up on what you think you’re doing wrong and comparing yourself to others. maybe their stories are more visually pleasing. maybe their plots have better pacing and impact. maybe their characters get more engagement from readers. step one is to not compare, but i suspect most of us will cop to failing that step. step two, then, could be turning those negative feelings into motivation. if your options are getting down on yourself and abandoning your story versus pushing through and improving ... well, it’s clear to me which is the better option. step three is figuring out how to push through and improve. my advice is the above tip: make some friends whose stories you admire and who are willing to give you encouragement and feedback. most simblr folks, i find, are generous like that.

IT'S A HOBBY AND A CRAFT AND A COMMUNITY. that leads me to my final point, which is basically a bundle of generative contradictions. simblr is a hobby, which means you can’t take it too seriously. storytelling is a craft, which means you have to take it seriously to get better. story simblr is a community, which means the best way to have fun and get better is by doing it with other people. if your goal is to have a hugely popular story that hundreds of nameless followers adoringly read, then, statistically, you’re going to fail. a more reasonable goal is becoming part of a collective who are working on stories they mutually enjoy. maybe you’re in a writing group or have a beta reader. maybe you’re collaborating with another simblr. maybe you have a handful of mutuals with whom you interact exclusively through likes, reblogs, and replies. having done all of the above, my experience is that i’m most excited about my story, most motivated to work on it, most likely to get the positive engagement i want when i’m actively trying to have fun, get better, and be part of the community. from someone who is not infrequently stymied by social anxiety and perfectionism: you can’t reap benefits you don’t sow.

TWO - advice for knowing when you’re ready:

TURN YOUR IDEA INTO A CAST AND A NARRATIVE. i say narrative instead of “outline” for a few reasons: 1) not every story is event-driven, 2) the traditionally imagined outline structure doesn’t work for everyone, and 3) pre-defining everything doesn’t work for everyone either, plus 3a) frontloading too much detail is a lot of work and 3b) can dampen creativity. maybe you have a bulleted list, an illustrated storyboard, a well-organized playlist … regardless of what it is, you should know roughly what the sequence of major experiences or events is, how they’re connected, and what you want them to convey to the reader. i did a ton of winging it when i started my main story in 2021, and i did a lot more planning with this current project; as you go, you’ll figure out what kind of preparation makes the most sense for you, and that may change, too.

MAKE DECISIONS ABOUT THE LOGISTICS. it’s important to emphasize that you can and perhaps should change your mind / experiment later, but some things are nice to have settled before you start posting. among them, i would recommend several. one is figuring out if you do scripts or screenshots first. another is knowing if your story is more gameplay-based or will rely on poses. you should also have a sense of the locations you’ll need and whether those will be existing in-game lots, builds you download from others, or ones you build yourself. are you editing your screenshots visually, in canva, photoshop, gimp, photopea, etc? are you using reshade / gshade in game? are you writing dialogue, prose, or both—and are you then putting it on the screenshots or as text below them? what’s your posting schedule going to be, if you choose to have one instead of posting as you go? these are just some considerations, but i would say they’re significant. for every combination of ways to tell a story, there’s almost certainly a simblr doing it. there’s no right or wrong, only what’s right for you.

RUN YOUR PLANS BY SOMEONE ELSE. it’s not essential or always feasible, but feedback can make you feel better about the whole thing. having someone give you constructive criticism, whether on your outline or your planned posting schedule, is helpful. even more helpful is knowing someone is already familiar and enthusiastically waiting to see more of your project. an added benefit is that, if you’re nervous about how your story will be received, this can be a practice run at sharing it!

THREE - advice for doing what i do:

i describe my story as historical drama, as an anti / decolonial worldbulding experiment, as being about intergenerational family and the exercise of power. so, if you’d like to enter the royal simblr genre (or thereabouts) and do something that is—i think i can say—unique, then here’s my anecdotal advice.

HAVE A STRONG INSPIRATION BASE. if you’re not faithfully basing your country on a real world location, then you should at least have a solid idea of where your inspiration is coming from. i consider my story an indigenous story, and my inspiration is mainly histories and cultures in the western hemisphere—primarily but not exclusively in what’s currently mexico and central america, plus from what’s currently the united states and also some histories of the iberian peninsula. i’m not trying to recreate any particular nation or culture, but knowing the origins of influence both helps my creations feel more cohesive and gives me a reliable source when i need inspiration.

DO YOUR RESEARCH WHEN IT MATTERS. relatedly, you can’t be inspired by the real world—by real everyday people’s real cultures—without using them respectfully. more often than not, that means doing research. i suppose i think of it as, “if someone sees themself in my story, how is that going to make them feel?” i don’t let that thought discourage me or make me fearful; i use it as motivation to ensure i’m producing good representation. i know where my expertise and personal experience end, and i’m willing to put in the work to make sure i’m not being careless. that being said, research isn’t just about cultural sensitivity! doing your research—especially for historical settings or with institutions / processes you haven’t personally dealt with, like royalty or executive governance—makes the story stronger. you don’t have to bore your readers with reams of findings or shoehorning details into places they don’t belong. understanding the context in which your story takes place will help you intuitively and subtly render the world more realistic and immersive, write characters who are more believable and engaging, and craft plots that make more logical, interesting use of the setting in which they’re unfolding.

FALL IN LOVE WITH YOUR PROTAGONIST. this is obvious, but it’s especially true when you’re writing a story the way i do. my storytelling is character-driven in the sense that, more than the events of the plot, i like to focus on moments that develop the characters and their relationships. it’s also character-driven in the sense that i choose a character or two and let them drive the narrative. i just don’t have the adeptness for ensemble casts; i can’t handle the moving parts, and i naturally close in on a particular character’s emotional world rather than zooming out. to make these inclinations work, it’s key to really know your lead characters(s) and feel comfortable working inside their mind / heart. i’ve harped on this before, but motivation is the single most important thing you can know about a character. it puts you on the path to answering so many other key questions, from what their desires are to how their backstory shaped them to how they struggle in the present to what their next move is. if you love your protagonist, then thinking about these questions is more fun than burdensome.

EMBRACE THE MESS. there is a tendency to avoid messiness, one that is well-meaning but can undermine the story. if you aren’t comfortable with thematic gray areas, with unresolved loose ends, with lingering emotions, with conclusions that aren’t definitively happy, then i think you miss opportunities. these are all issues that have two sides: one is the dreaded plot hole or some equivalent writer’s mistake that leaves readers disgruntled; the other is challenging your readers and giving them intrigue to chew on, to dissect and debate, to feel as they read. my advice is that you can have contradictions and complexity and even ugliness in your story, but you have to purposefully put it there—or take control of it, if it arises on its own.

DO IT FOR YOURSELF, NOT FOR OTHER PEOPLE. at the end of the day, the story that you pour your heart into just won’t connect with or excite everyone. the characters, the plots, the world, the genres, the way you post, how you talk about the story ... it won’t always resonate the way you hope. being okay with that is what makes storytelling sustainable. sometimes i wonder why i put so much effort and thought into what i’m doing, especially when it seems like no one seems to notice. what i have to remind myself is that some people do appreciate it and, more importantly, the process brings me joy. to reference earlier advice, i’m putting effort into the parts that are my priorities, and i’ve made connections with a handful of people who give me the enthusiasm i need on days when simple enjoyment isn’t enough. “being okay with that” isn’t a permanent feeling; it’s a decision you, as a hobbyist storyteller in a casual community, have to make and remake.

it’s okay to do it for other people sometimes. i’m including this caveat because my current project is a collaboration that i started for an audience of one, and i do make a habit of trying to put a ton of effort into all of my few collaborative enterprises. one of the reasons i gravitated toward royal simblr is that it’s a very collaborative space, but i think the best ones really do build reciprocal love for someone else’s story. if you’re going to care what other people think of your work or make choices with their opinions in mind, then i suggest doing it for people who are involved—who know what your priorities are, who love your characters, and who understand what you’re trying to do well enough that their opinions actually do make the story better. like i said, we're here to have fun, to get better, to be part of something.

okay, that's it, whoever read this far down is an angel possibly with too much time on their hands. as i said at the top, happy to be a resource or a supportive voice in whatever ways are helpful ! ♥️

#idk what my tag is for this kind of thing but #thank you for asking !!!!!#love to share my opinions prompted <3

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agent-cupcake · 7 months

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Éphémère

I’ve been attempting to fill short kinktober prompts with the Final Fantasy XIV cast to procrastinate the larger project I've been doing. We’ll see where it goes. Most of them are AU's of some kind idk.

Pairing: Aymeric de Borel x f!Reader Kink: Semi-public / Blowjob Tags: Explicit, light D/s dynamic, alternate universe: modern Word Count: 2.7k

“What are you doing here?” Aymeric asked, his blue eyes widening with surprise upon seeing who had been knocking. You hadn’t called, although you should have. You didn’t want to risk being turned away, to be told you couldn’t steal a few precious moments from his busy life. Besides, you had a good cause this time.

Given that your hands were full, you shut the door with your foot. His office was the same as ever. It was not quite as grand as someone might expect, clearly inhabited by somebody who favored efficiency over aesthetics. The air smelled like him and the corporate scent of floor polish and new upholstery. While the blinds covering the windows facing Ishgard were wide open, those over the windows looking into the main office space were closed. It gave a very strong illusion of isolation and intimacy, like it was just you and him. Emboldened by that thought, you fixed Aymeric with as serious a stare as you could.

“I heard that you’re working way too hard, and that your staff is worried about you,” you said, having decided upon a cold open approach so he couldn’t wriggle out of your accusations. “I’ve even heard that it’s putting you in a bad mood. The men are losing morale.” You waited a beat for his response, but he just looked at you, completely befuddled. Eventually, you prompted him with a prodding,“So?”

“So… what?” Aymeric asked.

“Is any of that true?”

“True?” he repeated, his dark eyebrows pinching in the middle. “Ah, no… No, it is not.” Aymeric finally forced a reassuring smile. He wasn’t very good at faking. “I appreciate the concern, but I am fine.” You gave him a doubtful look, slowly meandering over to his cluttered desk. There was nothing to be said, you both knew that you were right. He could try to downplay it all he liked, but even Aymeric had his limits. He sighed. “I cannot afford to take a break yet. I promise to rest once this matter is resolved. Perhaps I’ll take a day off. We’ll go somewhere—anywhere you wish.”

“We won’t be going anywhere after you work yourself into a nervous breakdown,” you told him flatly.

“Please, don’t say such things. I promise that I will be fine.”

You sighed. “Either way, I brought you something to eat,” you said, setting the bag of takeout on the tiny bit of space left on his desk. “I had a feeling you skipped lunch.”

“Lunch?” he asked, brow furrowing. “What time is it?”

“Past lunch.”

“I see. I must have lost track of the time, I… Thank you.” He placed a hand over yours and smiled, a real smile, and you felt your chest clench. Even overworked and exhausted, he was beautiful. Far more beautiful than any man had a right to be. “I dare not consider where I might be without you.”

You smiled, even knowing it was a platitude. He was the most resilient person you had ever met, and one of the most solitary. Aymeric would be just as okay on his own as with you, but you liked the idea that he needed you, if only for a fleeting moment. You liked to think that there was something only you could give him, something of value.

And, just like that, you came to the conclusion that he didn’t look like he needed a meal. He looked taut as a bow string and ready to snap, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked like he needed a bit more than lunch.

“Hey, while I’m here, maybe…” you began, faltering with embarrassment as you tried to figure out the best way to phrase it.

“Is there something else?”

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make you take a break so I won’t ask. Still, I want to do something to brighten your day and honestly you look like you could use a pick-me-up,” you blurted out, speaking fast to keep your nerve. “I’ve thought about it before and I’m pretty sure I can fit under your desk,” you said, leaning forward to double check. Yeah, there was plenty of room. Three cheers for long legs. “Think of it as stress relief. Like a massage or something but, you know, with my mouth. What do you think?”

Done with your awkward proposition, you looked back up at Aymeric with as innocent an expression as you could manage, meeting his eyes as if you hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. It was always hard to predict how he might react to any given situation, mostly it was a question of whether or not his Catholic guilt and relentless sense of propriety would win out, but you pretty well expected the way his mouth snapped shut, a muscle in his jaw ticking as his entire body went taut.

And then slowly, carefully, “Are you…”

“Offering to give you head in your office at three in the afternoon on a Thursday?” you finished for him. “Um… Yeah, I guess I am.”

“I… I don’t think… That is,” he cleared his throat, “obscenity of that sort would be extremely inappropriate for a man in my position.”

“C’mon, are you going to tell me that you’ve never thought about it? Doing secret, naughty things is the best part of getting a big, isolated office with a big, roomy desk. Or so I’ve been told.”

Aymeric swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the door and back. “Even if I were comfortable with such an egregious breach in etiquette, it would be wrong of me to do so while everyone else is working so hard.”

“You’re looking at it all wrong,” you argued. “If you work while you’re super stressed out, you won’t do as well, and you act all grumpy, and everybody is unhappy. If you take a teensy tiny little break to let me help you relax, you’ll work better, be nicer, and everybody will be happy... If you need an excuse, you can blame it all on me. You can say you got lured in by the irresistible charm of a succubus who would simply not take no for an answer.”

He let out a single laugh, dry and nervous and humorless. “Is there any truth in that?”

“I am pretty insatiable when it comes to you.”

Aymeric reached up to take hold of your chin, gently pulling your face towards his so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. And you knew that look. Conflict. Doubt. Desire.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll let it go,” you said. “But if it would make you feel better, I want to. I’d do anything… sir.”

Aymeric’s expression hardened, his eyes darkening a shade, and it was a stare that demanded your submission. It was the kind of look that was usually followed with orders like remove your clothes or don’t move unless I say or open your legs or-

“Get on your knees.” Even half whispered, even though he always left enough space in his demands for you to deny him if you were truly uncomfortable, that wasn’t the sort of order you turned down.

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft. His fingers squeezed your jaw a little bit tighter, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. “Yes, sir,” you amended. Aymeric released your face and leaned back, watching as you fell to your knees. Although there was enough space under his desk for you to fit, crawling under it was kind of awkward. Good thing your skirt was flared, scrambling around like this in anything tight would have been impossible.

“Is that okay?” he asked. “Should I move back?”

“No, sir. This is…” You breathed out, steadying yourself. “Perfect.”

Knowing you had a time limit, you undid his belt and the button of his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down. Aymeric was kind enough to shift his hips so you could push his trousers down and out of the way. Wanting to savor things at least a little, you traced the outline of his dick through the dark boxer briefs, feeling him harden beneath your touch. Aymeric’s hips shifted and he cleared his throat, prompting you to slip your fingers beneath the waistband to pull those down too.

He wasn’t hard yet, but the choked noise Aymeric made and the way his hips jumped forward when you began to stroke his cock made you think that he wanted this at least almost as much as you did. He caught himself quickly afterwards. Always playing the stoic.

You realized early on in the relationship that, power dynamic notwithstanding, Aymeric was not the type of man to demand things of you sexually, at least not for his own pleasure. There was an element of trial and error to figure out what worked. It was all pretty complicated. So was he, for that matter. Pretty and complicated.

Continuing to stroke the base, you paid your respects, kissing and licking your way across his cock. Every inch of him was perfect, though you could admit a preference for this particular part. Perfect, and, as you liked to think in your wildest moments, yours. Alternating between using just the tip of your tongue and the flat, you traced the veins running the length of his dick, following one along the underside until you reached the head, lavishing extra attention at the point where they met. You knew that got him, one of his hands finally finding its way to the top of your head. Humming happily, you did it again before pulling back to swirl your tongue around the swollen crown. His fingers curled against your scalp, not grabbing or pushing, but very insistently there.

Now that Aymeric was fully hard, you couldn’t help but think about what he felt like inside of you. How full, how complete you were when he fucked you. The mere thought of it was enough to make you moan shakily, wrapping your lips around his cock and pushing forward, sucking and licking enthusiastically in the hopes that he would be able to feel your arousal. Your appreciation, your affection, your adoration.

That wasn’t something you ever told him, not with words. You knew better than to distract him with too many of your feelings. He was so busy all the time, distant in a way that often left you cold. Not because he was cruel, or unfeeling, but because he lived in service to others, to lead, there was only so much of himself that he could give. Scraps, moments, little fragments of the most magnificent man you’d ever known. And he had been clear about that from the start. You made peace with it. For such a self-sacrificing man, the very least you could do was live in his service. If it was Aymeric, you didn’t mind so much.

Finding a pace and rhythm that worked took a moment of experimentation, getting your hand and mouth to work together. Plus, you were trying to be quiet, and clean. That’s how these office affairs went, right? Top secret stuff. Aymeric’s hips pushed forward, throwing you off.

“You needn’t hold yourself back,” he told you, his voice slightly muffled from above. “The walls are quite thick and-” he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I know you can do better.”

You hummed in understanding, although it probably didn’t sound like much with his cock in your mouth. It was one of Aymeric’s many contradictions. No matter how neat and put-together he always was, nights with him often ended with you teary eyed and dripping with sweat, your thighs slick with cum and saliva leaking from your open mouth, blissed out and sloppy. He wanted to know that you were enjoying yourself so much that you’d be reduced to a swooning, helpless mess. And still, he insisted he wasn’t any sort of sadist. Pretty, complicated, and terribly repressed.

You gave him what he wanted. It sounded obscene, wet slurping and your little choked moans stifled by his cock, the slick back and forth of your hand working the base, the movements smoothed by your saliva. It was already messy enough to be dripping down your chin and onto your skirt. Probably onto his expensive trousers. He had spare suits at the office though, it was fine.

“If you’re going to hump my leg, move your skirt out of the way,” Aymeric said. Embarrassing, although he said it with a measure of warmth.

You stopped, pulling off with a slick pop and a shaky laugh. In your haze, you hadn’t even been aware of what your body was doing. “Ss-sorry, sir. I didn’t…”

“That wasn't a request.” You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine the imperious set of his sharp features, the way his perfect lips blushed dark pink and parted when he was turned on, how his inky dark eyelashes would flutter open so he could look at you with those gorgeous eyes.

You whimpered, a sound you couldn’t help. A bit awkwardly, you hiked your skirt out of the way, shuffling a little closer so you could better grind against his leg.

“Good girl,” he murmured softly. Sweetly, using the hand on your head to pet your hair. You shuddered hard, raising your chin and opening your mouth. Aymeric met you halfway, his hips pushing forward while you moved down, your saliva-slick hand jerking him off in tandem with each bob of your head.

Now that you were actively trying, the pressure between your legs was intoxicating. You wondered how much he could feel with the heavy fabric of his trousers in the way, if he was aware of how hot you burned for him, how wet every little catch of his breath or groan he couldn’t hold back left you. The friction wasn’t enough, but it was good. At this point, he was practically hitting the back of your throat with each thrust, and you couldn’t tell who was guiding the pace. It was all you could do to sneak in a breath here and there, to remember to use your tongue, to try and keep your voice down as you well and truly lost yourself in the hazy depths of lust and need, shamelessly grinding against his leg.

Aymeric clearly wasn’t concerned about volume control at all, the office was filled with wet squishing choking noises and your muffled moans. His breathing had become erratic and you could hear the low groans he tried to fight back. You wanted him to come. Desperately, desperately. You wanted to make him feel good, to make him relax, to narrow down his world until it was only you and him and the pleasure he could derive from you. You wanted him to throw you onto his desk and fuck you until you were screaming, to claim you because, God help you, you were his. Not just for a fleeting moment, a single afternoon, a day off, but always. Every second of every day, his.

“I… can’t…” was the only hoarse warning you got before his hips stuttered, his hand holding your head in place as he came. You braced yourself to take it. For any other guy you wouldn’t have, but Aymeric...

Aymeric. Every part of him was perfect, you would take anything he gave to you.

He moaned so prettily, even if he tried to muffle it, the sounds stuttered and choked. You swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, desperate to prove yourself, to take whatever he saw fit to give you. To be his good girl.

And then he stilled, his hand relaxing. His cock twitched in your mouth, and you pulled back with an unseemly amount of saliva. Like you thought, most of it was on your skirt. Not to mention your sore knees, stiff legs, and the lingering taste of cum in your mouth that was not nearly as pleasant when the act was finished. You needed to get up, the moment was over. He needed to get back to work. But, selfishly stealing a few more precious seconds, you rested your forehead against Aymeric’s knee, and he petted your head, and you let your eyes close. Just for a moment.

#aymeric de borel #ser aymeric #ffxiv aymeric #aymeric de borel x reader #ser aymeric x reader #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #not sfw #this is very wholesome guys #he deserves it

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unlimitedtrees · 10 months

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making character sprites as a one-person indie game developer

(huh. turns out this post on cohost didnt have a “read me” section”. o well. i will put the read me section Here, before any of da actual text. click it if u dare !!)

so, i've been meaning on making a Big post talkin all about how i actually Make my games and my processes n such ,but also ive been procrastinating on making it for so long that i thought i might as well just make One part of that post now .. and its about making the Character Sprites for my games .

So. these images are the (mostly) full sprite sheets of the three characters from my game UNITRES Dreams, taken directly from the big giant 'charactersprites.png' image that i used for nearly every sprite for Most of the game's development. some quick things to make note of: First off, Trees (the first one) was one of the earliest things i made for the game, and had their sprite sheet redone Twice since then.. this first picture doesnt contain the latest sprite sheet as the new sprites were done on aesprite and im too lazy to make a sprite sheet out of them right now.

Secondly, the Second character (the pink one), had two different designs, being completely redesigned as i didnt like their first design all too much. their redesign's animations was done in aesprite, but i made a sprite sheet out of em before so i was able to just put them here. Lastly, the Third character (the blue one with the big silly hat) remained mostly unchanged as their original sprites and design were pretty good, but they needed to be cleaned up and given better colors so i ended up polishing all of their sprites.

Anyways. it's going to be hard for me to explain my actual process, as i am Bad With Words, but i will try my best.. So. for Most of my time as a game dev, I've used Paint.NET for Everything. This includes backgrounds, tilesets, and every animation ever in all of my games. For my character sprites specifically, i usually start with making the color palette (which is a whole different process where i mess around with the RGB values until i get a specific color that i think looks pretty ... its hard to describe). When making a new character, i usaully start with an Idle animation, just so i have a good base to make all the other sprites on. I just make a sketch of the character, then i do the flat colors (as my games dont have line art), and once i have the colors i start doing the rendering , where i try to pull off a sort of Sonic CD-esque , celshaded style while Also including a bit of anti-aliasing and other modern pixel art techniques to give the sprites more Depth and make them look Sharp. Idk. it's hard to describe my process in words ... i Did make a video Years ago showing off my process, but its old and my editing in that video isnt the Greatest.

So., that's my process Lol . the only thing thats really changed is that Now i use Aesprite for making the Actual Animations , as making animations with Paint.NET is Really Difficult and Annoying , as i have No Idea how the animation will Look until it actually appears ingame .. which results in the early versions of each character's animations looking a little weird (such as Trees' first two versions, the first version of the Pink character, and the Blue character's animations.. .though the blue character isnt as bad as the other two and i kept their animations mostly the same in the final game LOL).

Something that people have kind of criticized about UNITRES Dreams' animations is that some of em dont exactly ... Look Good. a lot of animations are pretty Inconsistent , with characters like Trees having inconsistent sizes in some animations and the movement in animations such as the Pink character's walking animation and various other animations (Especially the ones made in Paint.NET) looking Unnatural.

And Well .. here's the thing about making animations and sprites for something like this. When you're the Main person making an indie game, you have Tons of different parts of the game that need to be worked on while having Very little time to work on others. On Top of making every single animation for UNITRES , i had to make every single Tileset and background for every single level, On Top of making the Level Layouts , Programming , and even making sprites for things like the UI. And you have to constantly Test the game to make sure everything works and things Look good.

So. i had very little time to work on the sprites, and i Knew this. Something you have to consider is that, not only are you making the animations for the main character , you Also have to make Tons of animations and sprites for Literally Every Other Aspect of The Game . this includes Enemies , Level Gimmicks , NPCs, And the UI .. so you end up having to work on Thousands of sprites by yourself in such a short time.

I ain't the best animator , nor the best sprite artist . But , for this game I chose an art style which is Kinda simple and comfortable for me, which made making things like tilesets and backgrounds so much easier for me. The character sprites specificially only use a few amount of colors ,but also i tried my best to give them as much depth and make them as Colorful looking as i could. Also , something you might notice is that all of the playable characters dont actually have a whole lot of animations .. each of the characters only have the Exact amount of frames and animations necessary for them to Look Good moving around the levels. Aside from a few Gimmick Specific animations that arent in the sprite sheets i posted , there arent many Extra animations or animations with Tons of Frames that i wish i could have added .. and it Kind Of Sucks . Having to split my time across Three Different Characters , i had no time to make any animations Too Crazy or Too Smooth , and i couldnt include any extra animations that could add a bit of personality to the characters ... In Fact ,the Idle "animation" isnt an animation , its just a still frame. I didnt have time to even make a simple waiting animation !!

It Is What It Is. For what its worth , Ithink Im pretty proud of the animations i did for UNITRES Dreams. while i think ive become a much better artist and animator since then, i still think some animations and some of the frames look really good ..just looking at some of the still frames is really nice .. so i think i did a good job, especially for a game that was made in 2 years and is Free. And Hey, while the animations in UNITRES Dreams may not be the best or have the most smooth animations , i Did get to experiment with making more smooth animations for TREES' ADVENTURE. while ,now, i think some stuff could use some work, i am Really Proud of how some of the animations look .. ididnt get to make Too Many extra animations (there still isnt even an Idle animation), i Did get to make some cool extra animations , such as individual animations for your Jump that are based on how fast you're moving . (the original post on cohost had a buncha gifs of da animations but im Too Fuckin Tired 2 post em here LOL !!!)

So Yea . the moral of the story: making video games is kind of hard and time consuming , Especially when you're like , the Only one working on them. just make sure to plan ahead and try not to overwork urself .. make what you can and do it when you can. Thats what i think , anyways.

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starfall-spirit · 5 months

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AN: So, what if my patience is fried and I decided to post a couple of days ahead of schedule. Again, Happy Holidays to those who celebrate, but especially to @eat0crow, my giftee for the @acotargiftexchange! I have been plotting this from the moment I was given a name and have been so excited to share this fic with everyone. To those of you who enjoy mythology as much as I do, here's chapter one of my ACOTAR Secret Santa submission, the embellished retelling of Perseus and Andromeda.

Just before we get started, thank you so much @thelovelymadone and @reverie-tales for being amazing betas and soothing my doubts about the fic. Y'all are the best! 💕

Read on Ao3

Ancient Myths Retold Masterlist

Summary: An irksome trip to the Summer Court on matters of business and assistance against a threat at sea takes an interesting turn when Rhys discovers the solution to Nostrus' problem no longer lies with his army, but a female sacrifice, bound at high tide in hope of appeasing the beast terrorizing Nostrus' shores. He certainly never predicted the rescue mission would result in an accepted mating bond.

Chapter I: The Damsel & the Serpent

Rhysand

Rhysand had never felt so close to falling asleep at a meeting, and growing up in his father’s Court of Nightmares, that was saying something. At least there, brutality kept things from being uneventful. But here in the Summer palace, there was nothing to turn his stomach but overseasoned trout and the High Lord’s too-sweet wine. It was times like these he truly dreaded his looming title and birthright.

Suppressing a sigh, he maintained his mask, nodding along and smiling when necessary whilst making the remarks expected to establish he cared about the nonsense Nostrus was set on arranging. Small talk and an offering of reward for the high demand the male was procrastinating. Forces from the strongest army on their continent to subdue the creature butchering his soldiers and citizens. There was no bravery or gall in cooperating with the cruel court from the north. The male was just covering his ass and calling it an alliance.

But then, wasn’t that the truth of most deals?

Still, his desperation was clear, if the setting around him was anything to go by. High quality tapestries hung from each pillar making up the veranda they dined in, Not the typical everyday decor of the court. The dining table was set for something much grander than a business dinner, when one considered the fine linen tablecloth, crystal glasses, and polished silver.

If his father were present, Rhys was certain he’d be so amused by the effort he’d spend the evening toying with his Summer counterpart.

“Rhysand, I suppose I can’t beat around the bush forever. Would you consider—” Nostrus paused in his inquiry, his attention diverted by a member of his inner circle approaching the edge of the veranda. There was a nervous glint in the captain’s eyes as he scurried over to whisper in his High Lord’s ear, his voice almost quiet enough for Rhys to miss the short message delivered. “The Archeron girl has been captured. High tide is less than two hours away.”

Something twisted in Rhys’ gut, his protective instincts rising as he watched the High Lord’s jaw tighten. Apparently they wouldn’t be discussing the looming topic of the aid Nostrus needed so desperately. “Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he swiped his napkin over his mouth before standing. “If you’ll excuse me, Rhysand, perhaps we can finish this discussion in the morning. I have something rather urgent to attend to.”

“Of course, Nostrus. Tomorrow.” The moment the Summer males turned their backs he was past the flimsy mental shield the captain maintained. One glimpse was all it took to explain the tension the message brought. As Nostrus had wined and dined him, his second in command was sending an innocent female to her death. Rhys didn’t recognize her, and he’d been bred to accept any and all brands of cruelty, yet he’d sooner slit his own throat than let them succeed in killing her.

He winnowed back to the guest room he’d been shown to earlier that day, finding his brother snooping about, as he expected. “Uh oh, I know that face,” Cassian said, smirking. “Who do I get to punch?”

“No one yet. I only know half of what’s happening. First and foremost, this will be a rescue mission. The punching can come later.”

Cassian paused, setting the trinket he was fiddling with back on the dresser. “Rescue? Rescue who, Rhys? What happened at that dinner?”

“A girl they mean to drown at high tide, a little over an hour from now. I need you to create a distraction.”

He grinned wider than ever. “How big a distraction?”

“Big enough to drag a High Lord away from the female he intends to murder this fine evening. And get us home before he can think about retaliating or sending blood rubies for stealing her away.”

Cassian nodded, and despite the utter glee he found on his brother’s face, he knew he was in the mindset of a general. That ability to flip from fool to soldier so seamlessly was what put him above the others he'd grown up with in Windhaven, and another reason he would be in a position of command when Rhys eventually filled his father's shoes. Cassian tapped the siphons he had put back on his hands, nodding sharply as the dark armor rolled over his body, better to hide his position in the late evening. “You go find your damsel, Rhys. I’ll handle the diversion. Give me twenty minutes.”

He appreciated the fact Cassian hadn’t pushed for more information, or tried to talk him out of this. It was certainly crossing lines, meddling in another court’s business, but he had seen too many innocent people die for those who consider themselves more powerful. He didn’t need any more information than what he gathered in that glimpse behind the captain’s shield. It was enough to know staying out of the equation would damn him more than any meddling would.

He’d grant the female sanctuary, if she wished, and he highly doubted Nostrus was strong or stupid enough to push any harder, water beast be damned. At least, he hoped.

He winnowed to where the waves would reach highest, pausing when he heard the familiar voice of the Summer Lord. "Has running ever done any good?" The female beside him clenched her jaw, holding the High Lord's gaze. A brazen thing, Rhys could already tell. One who didn't apologize for actions she deemed appropriate. She didn't appear to be one to beg, either, even as the cold iron clamped down over her wrists and ankles and the ocean tide lapped at her bare legs. Simple enough for Rhys to unlock with a little magic. "Did you really think you could free yourself of this?" Nostrus pried, trying to get under her skin.

"I think it's pathetic you resort to this, killing innocents rather than face the beast born of your selfishness."

The sea serpent sated by sacrifice, one Summer citizen at a time. Rhys didn't bother denying his curiosity any longer, slipping into the female's mind. Deep down she was terrified, understandably, but above that was simple frustration. Her attempt to best the beast herself had only intrigued the creature, and she'd been deemed the next offering. She had run, to her shame. But when the entirety of her potential was to be fed to a monster or married off to another sort, running had seemed like the best option. Rhys withdrew after that, his attention returning to Nostrus who had ignored the jab, watching the waters begin to rise and churn. "High tide draws near. Any last words, Lady Archeron?" She turned her face from his grasp. "Pity. Here I thought you the most clever of your family. Very well."

"I've got a few for you, Nostrus." The girl snapped her gaze over her shoulder and his breath caught. She was truly the most beautiful female he'd ever laid eyes on, blue eyes shining beneath the moon, her golden-brown hair curling with the sea mist. A soft, blooming pressure began to grow in his chest, building, morphing into a glowing thread of gold. Wide-eyed, lips parted, Rhys knew she had recognized him as well. Imagined the future they were one step from loosing. "Get your hands off of my mate."

~~~~~

Feyre

Mates. It seemed like a rather insignificant detail in a situation where she was chained up as a sacrifice, and yet it was all she could focus on. Lady Luck must truly hate her if this was her fate. Meeting the most stunning man she'd ever laid eyes on—who looked deliciously feral with the need to protect her—and yet she was set to die only moments later. And she thought marrying a High Lord's son was the cruelest challenge she'd face.

Nostrus gave her mate a pleased smile. "She is a citizen of Summer until she meets her betrothed at the altar. With her as such, I still have the authority to demand that she... aid her court when necessary. But I'll tell you what. If you can get those chains open before the hunt begins, I'll let you sweep her off to Night. You would of course be responsible for breaking the news to her parents and fiance, but that's really of no interest to me. Good luck."

Her mate let out a soft growl as Nostrus winnowed away, but quickly refocused himself to assess the aged metal binding her to the rock. "They're warded or charmed or something," she said softly. "I have simple magic, enough to unlock things. If it were that easy to escape, the serpent would never eat."

"Hey." He gripped her chin, raising her eyes to meet his at last, the peculiar violet of his eyes made all the more beautiful in the dark of night. "Tell me your name."

"Feyre Archeron."

"Feyre." Gods, the way that rolled off his tongue. "Feyre darling, no matter what happens in these waters, you will not die today. I won't allow it." She scoffed. Well, one certainly couldn't deny his hubris. "We'll talk about my hubris when the beast is dead, love."

"How did you—daemati—I knew you couldn't be entirely perfect."

"Feyre darling, you wound me." Before either of them could resume their banter the sea began to churn, an otherworldly shriek piercing the air that had her wishing she could cover her ears. Her mate, still nameless, to her displeasure, raised his weapon just before the sea monster broke the surface, rows of razor-sharp teeth bared as it reared up, catching the scent of its next meal. "It's Rhys, if you must know!"

"Get out of my head!"

He chuckled, winnowing and lunging faster than she could blink, drawing another ear-rupturing cry from the serpent as his sword found a weakspot between a cluster of dark scales. By the Mother, she felt worthless here, not that a bow and arrow would do her much good against a creature like that. Iron seemed much more suitable in this fight. Rhys really was marvelous to watch, his pattern of winnowing and striking had originally been an effort to distract the creature from her vulnerable position, but he had actually started landing solid blows, the churning waters—now level with her breasts—stained pink as the beast's blood was diluted. The rest happened in bits and pieces, yet all at once.

Twin blurs of gray raced over the body of the water serpent and up to it's massive head, summoning another roar, claws sinking into the soft flesh of it's glowing eyes. Wounded and with only its scent and poor hearing, if her research promised anything, the serpent had lost its advantage.

The spell of her rising hope was broken as slimy, webbed fingers closed around her arms. She screamed at the feeling, drawing Rhys' attention. An unaffordable error, as the tail of the beast whipped across its body, throwing Rhys several yards to the left and under the waves. Gods, if he'd hit his head they'd both drown. A moment later he broke the surface to her relief, his attention torn between Feyre and the recovering creature he meant to fight with his sword, and apparently, shadow magic.

"Our repayment, Lady Feyre," one wraith hissed. "For your kindness at the Tithe." Miraculously, the four cuffs fell open.

"Thank you."

"Our sister's debt is repaid."

"Swim to shore!" Rhys barked.

"But—"

"You have no weapon and your mind is not clear. I won't be focused either knowing you're in danger. Find my brother, on land. He has Illyrian wings and bears red siphons. He will help you."

Knowing she would only be a hindrance in this state, she obeyed, even as guilt weighed heavier and heavier with each step. She'd just reached shore when the massive tower at the center of the city—their most ancient monument—rained down in a blast of stone and sand, a red wave of killing power the only culprit in sight.

This Illyrian was a dead man walking.

She watched, wide-eyed and fearful for him as he took flight, the towns-people still in chaos. Only a moment later he landed beside her, scattering sand in every direction as he smoothed his shoulder-length hair back. "Judging by the fact you look just washed up, I'm guessing you're Feyre. The bastard finally found his mate," he marveled.

"Go help him." His eyes widened. "You have a weapon. Go help him kill that—" One last crash of the waves revealed the creature sinking beneath the water, presumably dead at last. "He actually killed it."

Seconds later, Rhys winnowed to shore, landing between them. "The city monument?" he blurted. "You realize you will never be welcome here again, don't you?"

The Illyrian smirked. "That's alright. Too warm for my tastes anyways. I much prefer the north."

Rhys shook his head, smirking right back. "Come on. Let's go home."

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

#acotar #feysand #fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fic #acotar secret santa #acotar gift exchange #gift fic #mythology #retelling #perseus #andromeda #Greek mythology #when i tell you this event has tortured me and my desire to share snippets i am not exaggerating one bit #at the mercy of the stars #atmots #an au that explains why exactly Cassian is banned from entering the Summer Court

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blood-mocha-latte · 6 months

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paper, kneel, garrulous, bashful, impinge - a baberoe drabble

for an ask from @whollyjoly <3 || request an edit/drabble || sometimes, you just think of the church scene in the breaking point episode of band of brothers and think hm, baberoe

The choir stops singing after about two hours.

Gene listens closely the entire time, not so much to listen to the sound of the melody but for the words; for any trace of his Grandmére, his Mére, Renée. For the language of home.

They sing, and they sing, and then they stop; filing out of the church to rest in the ruins of their town, marred by war like a victim of smallpox is scars.

A young girl, the last one to file out of the large, wood-chipped doors of the candlelit church, turns to look over her shoulder at them, one last time. A blonde braid swings over her shoulder as she does. Gene accidentally catches her eye and nods to her. She nods back, face solemn, eyes dark. She can’t be more than twelve.

The echoing singing is replaced by the soft murmurs of exhausted men, and Gene slides down the wooden pew, over to where Lip sits, slouched over, blood still crusted in his hair and brow.

“Sir.” He greets softly, and Lip jolts, only slightly. It makes Gene almost relax, slightly; the idea that the man who’s been with them for the longest and the bravest finally feels safe enough to let his guard down.

He looks up from a piece of paper, a stubby pencil held in one hand, and Gene nods, tangling his fingers together in front of them, a long-forged habit of warmth that isn’t exactly needed, anymore. Lip nods back.

“Doc.” He says. “How’s…” He somewhat trails off, eyes shifting to take in the men, lounging across pews, sleeping on each other's shoulders. He huffs, looks back down at the paper, and crumples it up before shoving it into his pocket. “Well, how’s everyone? How’re you?”

“Just fine.” Gene says, and doesn’t feel like elaborating. He nods to the pocket. “What’re you workin’ on?”

Lip blinks before humming, dropping the hand holding the pencil into his lap, staring down at it. “Nothin’ much.” He mutters, thoughtful. “Just… just a list. I made one for Captain Speirs, but.” He rolls the pencil across his palm. “I figured I’d make another.”

Gene watches his profile, wonders if he should bother patching up the cut that runs jagged across his temple and decides against it. It won’t need stitches, anyways, and he can always clean and bandage it in the four or five hours they have before they have to move out.

He can do that, now. Procrastinate. Not much, but enough. Enough to be comforted by it.

“Try an’ get some rest, Sir.” Gene murmurs, and slides as quietly as he can out of the pew and down the polished, wooden steps. Lipton hums, and Gene knows that he didn’t really hear him.

He wanders rather aimlessly, after that, pacing the lengths of the pews only once before coming to a stop at the end opposite Lip. He leans against the short wall that supports the stairs.

He should be exhausted, he doesn’t know why he isn’t. He’s just… warm, chest soft with a relief that’s tainted by apprehension. Sore and aching, but not caring. He never truly cared about that, anyways. Not when it’s him, that’s sore and aching.

“Heya, Doc.” Says a soft voice, and Gene knows who it is before he turns around to look.

“Edward.” He says, and feels the side of his traitorous mouth quirk up when Heffron groans, overexaggerated but still exhausted.

“Awe, you’re killin’ me, Gene.” He says, and Gene huffs, quiet enough that Heffron can’t hear, and turns around, resting against the wall. Heffron rests against the pew, slouching backwards, knees spread. His grin is crooked, bright. “Patch me up, and then kill me anyways. That’s just cruel.”

Gene, against his better judgment, doesn’t tamp down the smile Heffron’s words invoke. He trods up the few steps to the pew Heffron rests at quietly. He doesn’t bother sitting at the pews, already crowded by men laying on them like beds, by men who need them more than he.

He kneels next to Heffron, instead, before leaning against the pew and crossing his legs under him. “Yeah, well.” He says softly, and doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t know where to go, from there. What to say. Heffron hums, like he does.

“Ya know, back in Philly, my sister got all these fancy ass books. Ass-tin, or somethin’. Jane. ‘Ya know?” Gene hums. He leans his head back against the wood of the pew, lets the light of the candles comfort him. Heffron shifts, as if leaning closer to him as he continues. “Well, it was only… maybe a week, before I enlisted? And I was ramblin’ about… somethin’ stupid. I don’t remember what. But it was pissin’ my sister right the fuck off, see, ‘cause I kept talkin’ over her.”

Gene huffs, and resists the urge to close his eyes. He can imagine that. Can imagine Heffron with a sister, with a family. Talking a mile a minute, so fast and with accents so thick that Gene wouldn’t be able to tell what in the hell any of them are saying. Heffron shifts again, and Gene can hear his breathing, soft and steady, if a bit rapid.

“Anyways, you know what she called me? This one foot nothin’, eleven year old kid?” Heffron didn’t wait for Gene to respond. “She called me garrulous.” Heffron puts strain on the word, and laughs softly afterwards; that same laugh that Spina has. That Bill had, when he was here. It has to be a Philadelphian thing, Gene thinks. The soft, cackling laugh like your mouth is coming right off your face.

“Garrulous.” Gene says, trying the word out. He doesn’t know what it means, exactly, but it seems nice. Heffron chuckles again, and Gene doesn’t jump when the back of his hand brushes across the shell of his ear, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of Gene’s jacket.

“That’s how you said my name.” He says, softly. More hesitant than anything he’s said before. Almost bashful. “The first time. That’s how you said it. All… all slow.” Gene blinks, and, finally, gives into the urge to close his eyes. He almost leans further into the hand, but stops at the last second.

“Slow?” He asks, and Babe hums, tapping light fingers against his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He says, then pauses. “Like… like you’re tasting what you say. Really thinkin’ about it.”

I don’t think. Gene thinks. I just run. And move. And find. And—

“‘S one of my favorite things about you.” Babe says, voice so quiet it’s like he’s telling a terrible secret. Gene wants to curl against that voice, never wants to open his eyes again.

They’re in a church, under the benevolent eyes of Him, and although that never stopped anything from happening before, Gene feels like it would, this time. The soft tapping, five points of near-holy connection between him and Heffron, Edward, Babe, seems to say something.

Seems to say, it’s gonna be fine, eventually. Seems to say, the scars you dream of won’t haunt you’re waking moments, sometime soon. Seems to say, don’t let the bright stars and dark night be ruined by the sinful impingement of blood.

Gene likes to think that he can feel Babe’s rough fingertips gently against the bare column of his throat, across his temple before he drifts off; lightly but more restful than almost all of his time in France.

He’ll get up, soon. Probably in an hour or two. Keep a careful eye on the men. On Babe.

(Babe, Babe, Babe—)

For now, he lets himself rest on holy ground, with a near-holy man talking softly over the absent echoing of lost screams in his head.

#rie writes #click on words for definitions ;)#also once again two hours earlier! i'm so good with clocks #UGH i loved writing this #it's not as fluffy and domestic as i was gunning for!! i hope that's okay lmao #baberoe #eugene roe #doc roe #babe heffron #carwood lipton #<- i mean he's in it #band of brothers #hbo war

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ireallylovepupplies101stuff · 27 days

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Gods AU Oneshot: Stories and Weapons

Summery: Studying was never demi-god Cuphead's favorite thing to do. So MAYBE he can try getting his pipsqueak servant to help make it less boring.

------------- “Cuphead, you’re supposed to be studying.”

“This is studying!”

Pausing with his work, Bendy gave the demi-god a skeptical look. “Really? Because to me it looks like you’re procrastinating by distracting me.”

Rolling his eyes, Cuphead grabbed a clean rag and sat with Bendy. “If I help you finish cleaning and polishing these weapons, then will you tell me what life is like in the mortal villages? Technically it’s not procrastinating since I’m supposed to be studying mortal cultures and societies.”

Well, it was hard to say no to that tempting offer. Smirking, Bendy handed Cuphead a large, rusty shield. “Deal.”

Cuphead tsked as he took the shield and got to work. “Give me the biggest pain to clean, why don’t you.”

“You asked for this. Now accept your end of the bargain and listen up.”

Grabbing a sword to clean, Bendy spoke. “Life in the mortal village for me was, interesting, to put it lightly… Always worrying about starving and feeding my brother tends to keep a guy on his toes.”

That, caught Cuphead’s attention. He stopped from scrubbing at a stubborn spot to stare at his servant in surprise. “Wait, what? But what about your parents? You couldn’t have been the only one taking care of your brother.”

Bendy sighed and explained. “I don’t know who my parents are. I was orphaned at a really young age. My brother and I found each other when living on the streets, and we became each other’s family. Remember that wolf I hugged goodbye before I moved here to work for you? That’s my younger brother Boris.”

Oh…

That was a lot to take in. Though that did explain why the wolf was so upset over Bendy leaving. “What happened to Boris’ parents? Is he being well cared for in your absence?”

Slowing to a stop with his work, Bendy glanced out the window of the weapon storage room with a sad thoughtful expression. “I don’t know, Boris doesn’t remember his parents either… And his well being is actually why I’m here. The village promised to take good care of him if I let them give me to you.”

Cuphead didn’t know what to do with that information.

He never stopped to think about how Bendy and other servants basically gave up everything to work for him and other gods. Now that he was, it gave him a rather uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his gut. Especially knowing that Bendy wasn’t working for him 100% willingly.

“... Do you, want to go back?”

That seemed to catch his servant by surprise as Bendy turned to look at him with wide eyes. “Wait, you’d LET me?”

Scowling, Cuphead avoided making eye contact as he focused on the shield again. “I’m not the nicest god here but I’m not going to smite you just because you don’t want to work here.”

“No, I mean, are you even allowed to do that? Let me leave? I never heard of a person quitting when working as a servant to the gods.”

The Demi-god scoff. “I’m an adult, and my mom is one of the most respected and all powerful gods out there. What’s the worst someone can do? Tattle on me to her because they think I’m stupid?”

Still looking a bit skeptical, Bendy clearly seemed to think about it, before his shoulders slumped slightly. “I appreciate the offer Cuphead, but the village… Boris and I didn’t have the greatest reputation there because everyone just saw us as a wolf and a demon, not the people we are. If word reaches them that I left you, I’m worried about how they’ll react. Especially since Boris is still there with them.”

… Cuphead was debating on looking into this village that kisses up to his mother. He’s beginning to wonder if they’re worthy of any of her blessings for watching over warriors or for warm summer days.

If they’re not worthy, maybe he could also look into finding a way for Boris to move here to live with Bendy so he wouldn’t have to deal with the village getting what they deserve. The wolf is too young to work as a servant, but if Cuphead could pull a few strings then there could be a chance Boris could be a rare mortal living among the gods.

Clearing his throat, Bendy held up the sword to inspect his handy work. “Sorry, we got a little off track. You wanted to know about mortal life and I gave you a bunch of personal information and problems. Last thing you needed was to learn my sob story about being an orphan raising my brother.”

Shrugging a little, Cuphead considered something before speaking. “It’s fine, your brother sounds nice… Mugman and I never really got to know our father.”

Cuphead could DEFINITELY feel Bendy’s eyes on him now. He felt his face heat up from revealing something so personal. “It was a long time ago. I just brought it up because you talked about your personal stardust. Just- forget it, this was stupid-”

Putting the sword down, Bendy put his full attention on Cuphead. “No! It’s okay. You can talk about it if you want to. I’ll listen.”

Why the hell was he spilling his personal stuff to his servant? Cuphead should just change the subject, he wanted to know about mortal life to avoid reading those mind numbing boring books! Not talk about his dad!... Yet he was the idiot schmuck bringing it up, and now Bendy’s full attention was on him.

“...I have a few vague memories of him. He’d carry me around on his shoulders at night as I tried catching the fireflies, and he gave strong protective hugs. Mom said he was a warrior she met when exploring the mortal villages disguised as a mortal herself… He was killed in battle the day Mugman was born. Mom never told him she was a god and regrets that every day.”

Feeling a hand rest on his shoulder, Cuphead finally looked up. Bendy stood by his side, with a gentle smile on his face. “I’m sorry you lost him. Thank you for telling me though.” His face heated up more, not at all used to opening up like this to someone other than Mugman. Cuphead huffed a little. “Yeah whatever. Like I said it was a long time ago. Now can we talk about the stupid mortal life stuff? This shield is a pain to clean so what you know better be worth it.”

Chuckling, Bendy let Cuphead’s shoulder go after a quick pat and started talking as he picked another weapon to clean.

#au #bendy and boris in the inky mystery #babitim #bendy and the ink machine #batim #quest bendy #quest cuphead #the cuphead show #cuphead #gods #bendystraw

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maleyanderecafe · 1 year

Note

I wonder if it's ok to ask but are there any yandere games you're planning on doing a review in the future ? (I'm looking for some to play but it's hard to find them)

Oof, man there is a lot. Since the #yanjam is still in session, there's been a lot of different entries slowly being added (I'm wondering if I can even finish my game, hahaha. I hope so.) as well as a general influx of r18 visual novels as well. I can give you some that I'll be doing in the future that you can check out.

I'll be separating them with r18 games and regular games since r18 visual novels are basically it's own genre at this point.

R18 Yandere Visual Novels

Yandere Island/Weathering Feelings by @mari-0w0 - my friend Mari's two games. Weathering Feelings is mostly just a quiz currently, but will include three different therapists you can date, while Yandere Island has a demo out with up to one day currently out.

Ai-yo Kogane san by @crystalcrynight - a pretty expansive game considering that it's only one day so far. About Mizuna waking up and losing their memory, with Gold who claims to be their best friend.

Duality by @dualityvn - about dating two yanderes that share the same body, Keith, a florist and Tenebris, a blue monsterish looking guy. I'm finally being fed with sub yanderes, thank goodness.

Broken Colors by @inkly-heart - I was waiting for this one to come out and boy does it deliver. Even as a demo it's very well polished, but I've always been based since I've liked their artwork for a while.

Bared Teeth by @baredteethvn - as well as the other game currently in development called @flavorfeelvn whenever it comes out. Currently a bit short, but it's a cute game so far.

Sterile Desires by @sterile-desires - I've been sort of sitting on this one for a while after my first playthrough cuz boy was I not expecting whatever happened to happen. I promise I will finish it and actually write a review on it. It's pretty good so far though.

Honey Hotline by @ringringringbananafone - as well as other games that they've made (though the yandere in those are nonbinary, but still fun to play). Fone is a pretty cool yandere and he has a cute cat, enough said.

...and like a lot more I have yet to play. Pretty much every male yandere game in the yanjam I will likely write a review on, and if you see me following your game blog, chances are I'm waiting on a demo or have a review of your demo floating around in my drafts. And if not.... Don't worry. I will find you. There's no escape.

Yandere Visual Novel

The Science of Staying Awake by @tsosagame - a surreal but really cool game and also finally I'm being fed pathetic yanderes again. The yandere in this one is actually pretty terrifying in some ways despite being a pathetic mess.

Please Don't Hate Christmas by rice love coffee - this one is completely Christmas themed which I thought was pretty cool. Since it was translated from Chinese, there is a lot of SNOWFLAKE ISLAND that you get to read, which is fun.

Colorful Mirai: Spooky Edition by Honey Bunny -this one is actually a spin off of the Colorful Mirai games and (from what I can tell) contains two yanderes. Very well made, and I enjoyed it a lot.

Froot Basket: Dark Chocolate by @xxmissarichanxx - the prequel to Froot Basket: Valentine in the pov of the yandere himself. They really outdid themselves with this game and I'm waiting for the walkthrough to make sure I got as much out of the game before writing a full review.

Tentador Leches by Karmic Punishment - as well as In Your Nature, whenever it comes out. This one is a bit more ambiguous, but I thought it was at least a pretty fun time.

Dawn of the Damned by @melancholy-marionette - I swear, Marionette, I have been playing your games, I've been procrastinating on writing recs for them. As per usual, a fun game with male yanderes in it, what more could you want.

Pretty Boy Panic by @bingzi-pancakelord - creator of Pocket Lovers! about having to deal with a bunch of guys that live around your apartment, who are yandere for you. I finished Li's route and then promptly kept getting distracted, so I'll need to play through the other two's routes soon.

Even besides the ones I know have yandere in it, there are also a bunch I have to actually play to make sure there is one since I like to make sure that there is one. Sometimes it's just guessing, but it does occasionally pull out a pretty cool game! Anyways, I hope this is a good list for you to start out on. I'm just going to sit on my 70+ drafts and hope that I can finish my game in time.

#male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #asks #lists #i forgot theres also games in my asks that I have to play through that I didn't add to this list whoops

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hesawifebeaterdanusethegun · 3 months

Text

Okay so I decided on a name and this is the final version of the story. Part 1 and 2 are pretty much the same as they were, but it felt weird to post part 3 without posting 1 and 2 first so I'm just starting all over.

The Scientific Method

Part One

Part Two

She looked down at the crumpled newspaper want ad in her right hand, an umbrella clutched in her left. It had been raining since Saturday, it was now Monday and showed no signs of stopping.

Help wanted – receptionist/personal assistant

Pay negotiable

Inquire at 1106 South East Drive, 3rd floor

A sparse ad to be sure, but the only one she’d found advertising a job she thought she’d be able to do, and it was close to home. Pocketing the ad, she took a deep breath and reassured herself before heading through the lofty art deco lobby to the elevator. The metallic gold elevator cage blended perfectly with the décor and shone dully in the dim greenish light of the cavernous room. She noticed all this while procrastinating her entry to said elevator.

“Third floor, please,” she told the operator. He nodded, closing the gate with a loud clunk. He pulled a lever, and the car began to rise shakily. She half hoped the elevator would never make it to the third floor. She tried not to think about how badly she needed to land this job. Her last job hadn’t worked out too well, she’d worked as a waitress at a local restaurant, and the customers (and her boss for that matter) could be a bit forward in their dealings with the female staff.

The elevator door slid open shakily and she stepped out, trying to hide how nervous she was. She was in a long, sterile hallway, at one end of which, just past a line of uncomfortable-looking low-backed chairs was a large desk, presumably the desk the aforementioned and as-yet-to-be-hired receptionist would occupy. She wasn’t sure what would be expected of her as a personal assistant, but she hoped she could handle it.

She looked left and right, seeing a door on the other end of the hall, just adjacent to another door set into the wall and wondered which to try first when she heard the sound of uneven steps through the door facing the length of the hallway. She approached the door hesitantly.

Whatever this man was like, if he offered her the job, she had no choice but to take it. She’d accumulated quite a bit of debt trying to keep her head above water, even while she was working as a waitress, she never seemed to make enough to break even, let alone put money away for a rainy day. So she took out private loans to make ends meet. Now that money was due, and she was desperate to come up with it.

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber, read the frosted window set into the light-colored wooden door. She knocked.

The door opened partway at her knock; it hadn’t been latched. It led to a large circular room that seemed to double as lab space and personal office. A large, polished hardwood table sat on the right side of the room, covered in papers, scientific equipment, and various bric-a-brac. It seemed to serve as a desk of sorts.

At the back of the room was a line of full to bursting bookshelves haphazardly organized, atop which various glass tubes and beakers rested. At the center of the room was a large round maze, she assumed built for some sort of small animal. She’d read of some experiments like that before.

The left side of the room was home to a large hutch made of wood and chicken wire, a man standing in front of it with his back turned. He turned at the sound of the door.

He was a little taller than she was, with short blond hair parted neatly in the middle. He wore small round wire rimmed glasses and a white lab coat buttoned up to the collar. He was gently petting the small white rat he held in his hands.

“Can I help you?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Yes, I’m here about the receptionist ad in the paper? I hope I got the right floor.”

“Oh, of course.” He gently returned the rat to its hutch. As he approached, she noticed he had a limp, heavily favoring his right side, and he had a prominent scar over his right eye.

“Daniel Schreber, pleasure to meet you.” He shook her hand. His grip was much stronger than she would have expected. Realizing she’d taken a beat too long to respond, she mentally shook herself, not letting her anxiety get the better of her.

“I’m Katherine, nice to meet you, too.” She smiled, hoping she looked less nervous than she felt.

“Perhaps we should conduct this interview someplace more comfortable.” He spoke in a strange cadence, seeming to often be out of breath, she assumed an effect of whatever injuries had resulted in his scar and pronounced limp.

She nodded as he gestured toward the door as if to say, “after you,” though she wasn’t sure exactly where they were going. They stepped out of the lab/office together into the sparsely lit hallway beyond. He turned to lock the door before leading her to an unlabeled door in the hallway to the right of the lab. He then proceeded to unlock this door and held it for her.

He noticed her looking at the key in the lock and smiled sheepishly.

“I’m afraid I was a victim of a break-in years ago and it’s made me a bit more fastidious when it comes to security,” he explained.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said, genuine feeling for the man’s misfortune evident in her voice. This didn’t escape his notice, very few things did. Her empathy for a complete stranger was touching and somewhat endearing.

He’d already made up his mind to hire her, he was as desperate as she was to fill the position, it had been weeks since he posted that want ad in the Gazette, and every applicant had turned down the job, not that there were many to begin with.

He knew he could be off putting, what with his appearance, his speech, even the way he moved, but he hoped this one would take the job anyway. She seemed not to notice or care about his limp or the way he spoke, and seemed completely unfazed by his scars. He found it refreshing and liked her immediately.

He led her into a small room, richly decorated with dark polished wood paneling and soft lighting. The only furniture in the room were two red upholstered chairs and a plush leather couch.

“You’ll have to excuse me for using this room, this is where I see my patients, but it’s also the most comfortable room in the office.” He smiled thinly, the left side of his mouth turning up farther than the right, his crooked smile transformed into more of a smirk. She thought about him being hurt during the break-in he’d mentioned and a fresh wave of feeling for the man swept over her. She’d always been too sensitive for her own good when it came to others, often at the expense of her own well-being.

“Please have a seat,” he said as he took one of the upholstered chairs for himself. She sat in the other across from it, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse for a moment before stopping herself.

“Before we go any further, I want to be honest with you Katherine, this job is yours if you want it. Somehow, I haven’t had the best of luck filling this position,” he smiled awkwardly if a bit sadly. “I can pay you a decent salary, but I keep late office hours. I hope that’s alright.”

She tried not to show the great relief she felt. The job was hers if she wanted it. And it sounded like it might actually pay enough to get her out of the hole she’d dug herself financially. This was better than she could have hoped for.

Some details of the job were discussed, and after another handshake she was on her way home with a job to report to tomorrow and the understanding that she may be expected to act as more of an assistant than receptionist in the future, for additional pay of course. As she left the building, she noticed the rain had stopped.

Part Two

#sci fi #my writing #dark city #doctor daniel schreber #kiefer sutherland #kieferposting #the scientific method

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coldshrugs · 1 year

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liability

characters: alma greene (not a detective) media: twc word count: 766 rating: G; there's one swear. we're here for the mother-daughter trauma

The last rays of sunlight stream into the warehouse bedroom, lining the furniture in rose gold, not quite reaching the few boxes stacked by the door. Alma leans against the window, unwilling to leave just yet. Unable to reconcile the loss of a home she can barely claim.

It feels strange to leave while the rest of Unit Bravo are on patrol.

Instead, she procrastinates by fidgeting with the lanyard around her neck and the Agency badge that hangs from its end.

The badge is metal. Lightweight but sturdy, and beautifully etched with seven symmetrical moons, three of which have been polished to a reflective shine. She holds the little rectangle up in the dying light and sees her brown eyes staring back.

They’re red-rimmed and puffy, but that’s nothing unusual these days.

This should be a happy time. She should be elated. Unit Bravo have wrapped another successful case, and she’s been invited to step further into this realm of weirdness. For thirty years, Alma has lived in the space between “maybe” and “why not?” Nothing has ever come as easily to her as accepting the odd, the hypothetical, the unknown. She was made for this.

When the veil between worlds lifted, the ache to belong to it was all-consuming. A longing that pushed past her body and sharpened her focus. Fear of being used as a commodity for these beings (or an “asset” to the Agency, as they so politely phrase it) could be justified or suffocated in the name of finding her place in the world. If she worked harder, if she pushed herself just that much more…

As her dream finally solidified into something tangible, attainable, the unignorable loneliness did not dissipate as she expected.

Alma turns the cold metal between her fingers, inspecting it again, tracing her name printed on the back in English and then again using that mysterious alphabet she has yet to learn. No matter how tightly she holds it, it does not warm in her hands. Her chest throbs at the memory of her mother’s words.

“I’m your handler now.”

There was a time in her life, long ago, when Alma didn’t feel like Rebecca Greene’s project. Somewhere between the deaths of her father and grandmother, when Rebecca stomached her daughter’s face for the weekend before dashing back to her real life. Then it was Alma, alone.

Any pretense of warmth faded with the frequency of Rebecca’s visits.

Sparse instructions were left for her each week, things the housekeeper shouldn’t be bothered doing: clean your room; do your laundry, but separate the clothes into like groups; put the dishes in the dishwasher (this was always underlined); do your homework, email your grades to me on Friday; shower and braid your hair before bed. God forbid she be unpresentable even while out of sight.

She was not parented–she was briefed.

Rebecca has always favored glacial professionalism over motherhood, and Alma has always been a liability.

Why, then, has Rebecca donned the mask of tearful regret and boldly placed the onus of reconciliation on Alma’s shoulders?

Her mother begs for connection, and Alma acquiesces. Some painful secret, or omission, or blatant lie comes to light, and Rebecca cries, insisting it was for the cause or, worse, for Alma. Alma cries, too, sorrow and confusion bleeding into anger the longer this goes on. They play this game, again and again, rebreaking the bone until there is no way for it to heal.

One salient snap is all Alma has left to give.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying again until a heavy tear lands on the badge.

“God, this is so fucking stupid,” she mutters, wiping furiously at her sore eyes.

She wants this.

But… not this way.

Alma backs away from the window, setting her mind to a task before she gets angry with herself. The boxes need to be taken to the car. She’s already kept Tina waiting at her newly-reconstructed apartment longer than she intended. The place is likely to be in shambles again by the time she arrives.

Her phone sits on the top box. With a sigh, she moves it to the pocket of her cardigan, but before her hand is free, a tiny, hateful thought strikes.

She holds the phone up to her face, squinting through bleary eyes. Quickly, she changes her mother’s information from “Mom 🥰” to “Agent Greene.” It is a small, secret act of defiance–one that doesn't matter in the long run. The first cutting of an intricately woven thread, but one that provides a much-needed spark of satisfaction.

One by one, she takes the boxes to her car. Doing the work on her own, how she's always done.

#twc #alma greene #bye don't look at me

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legendofzoodles · 1 year

Text

The Chain and Time Management

From this ask

Time has been a productive functioning adult for a while now, he knows the rules of life, and you just need to get it done. Luckily he has an amazing wife who can divide the tasks with him: cleaning the stables, changing Epona's horse shoes, changing the sugar water etc. However, Time has a habit of taking more than his fair share of tasks and will often blitz through them without taking breaks.

Warriors is the multitasker. He's a busy guy with a lot of stuff to get done in any given day: put together next month's training schedule, finish his armour, finish that report on monster sightings east of Hyrule field etc. And he time manages by condensing as many compatable tasks as he can in the smallest possible time frame. Leading to ingenious plans like polishing his armour in the bath with one hand and writing a draft report with the other.

Twilight is sensible, he takes it a step at a time. No need to plan when you've got the next task already cemented in your mind. No fuss, since he's happy to drop whatever he's doing to help someone. No stress, he paces himself, takes breaks when he needs to and just gets on with it.

Sky is pretty lazy. He doesn't manage his time at all. And most of the time he never has to; the only way anyone's gonna get him to do anything that isn't tending to his dear loftwing or spending time with Sun, it's by physically dragging him out of bed and dictating his schedule like a helicopter parent.

Legend prioritises. He'll always choose the most important ones first and work from there. Having gone on so many adventures alone he’s used to being kept busy, preferably juggling a few small little responsibilities while chipping away at a much larger endeavour. Through experience he knows how to keep a good pace, and enjoys completing tasks.

Wild, sets time limits and when he doesn't get everything done he'll throw in the towel and get it done tomorrow. Maybe. He has a habit of procrastinating when he knows he’ll get away with it.

Flora: Why is there a pile of weaponry in your room?

Wild: Oh, I was polishing them, but I ran out of time after the first sword.

Flora: How long did you give yourself?

Wild: About an hour.

Flora: It took you an hour to polish one sword??

Four is the planner, and a very meticulous one- even having scheduled times for organizing schedules. It helps him feel in control. He doesn’t have to worry about doing too much or doing too little when he’s laid it all out before. Plus, as a blacksmith who has many a meticulous order to work through, with new drop-ins on the daily, he needs that structure to stop him from feeling overwhelmed.

Hyrule’s never really been one for time management. If something needs doing he’ll do it, from menial chores at home to a royal errand list, but he’s never been in a situation where he’s had too much to worry about. So, during the infrequent periods things do get stressful, he’ll allocate some time for himself. Break up an assigned mission for a quiet day in the woods or in his cozy cave-house experimenting with new potion recipes.

Wind collaborates, if stuff needs to get done, he’s getting it done with the crew. Not only is it easier that way, but it makes it more enjoyable. He used to make games out of house chores with Aryll, like pretending he was a water painter when mopping or pretending the dishes could sing, all while keeping them productive. Tetra calls the shots on her ship, but often Wind’s the one to delegate tasks and will usually take part because it’s fun.

~~~

Thanks for reading!

And I love the prompt anon!

Masterlist

9th place in the LU character design ranking

Character analysis posts:

Hero of the Sky, Hero of Time, Hero of Twilight, Hero of the Wild, Hero of Warriors

Parkour team - LU drabble

How each member of the chain laughs - LU headcanon

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reborrowing · 6 months

Text

this silly vampire idea kept rolling around my head so that's how I chose to spend my free time tonight. it's not really edited or polished, to the point where idk that I'd even call it finished, but here it is anyway. will I develop it more or will this get it out of my system? who knows.

I was very fuzzy, very suddenly.

No, not me. Or, I was, but...that was normal, I think, it was... My thoughts. My thoughts were fuzzy. Indistinct. I couldn't think straight, I wasn't—where was I?

I'd been flying. I didn't want to spend any more time on the ground in this wretched city than They required of me, I remembered that well enough.

They?

I was they, wasn't I? A swarm of me, of bats, or...

What city?

It was dark, even darker than I liked, and a frigid mist hung overhead. I went to push to my feet but not of my limbs would cooperate. My chest burned.

Why did it hurt? Had I been attacked? Were there hunters in this mystery city? Was I dying?

My heart raced, whatever the cause. But before I could solve any of my worries, the light disappeared and something went to smother me.

I really would do anything to put off writing that report.

Not that I was doing this to procrastinate, of course, I was being a good person. I'd been out for a late-night walk (not procrastinating—I needed that candy as a focus incentive) and found a bat crawling across the cold pavement about a block from my apartment. Even without getting too close, I could tell it was pretty badly injured. Its left wing was crumpled and out of sync with the rest of its movements.

What kind of asshole would I be if I left it there like that?

A dozen warnings about rabies echoed in my head, but none quite loud enough to give me more than a moment's pause. I used my hoodie to catch it. It didn't seem to struggle much and once I got it wrapped up, it gave up completely. I wanted to think that it knew I was trying to help it. Mostly I hoped it hadn’t died in my hands before I even had a chance to call the wildlife center.

I dumped a scattering of clutter out of a closet shoebox, swearing to myself that I’d deal with the mess later, and gently placed the bundled-up bat inside. I tentatively pulled back one edge of my sweatshirt to steal a look at the little guy. It was breathing, at least, if not conscious.

The wildlife center told me I’d (more or less) done the right thing so far, and told me to drive it down there as soon as I had the chance. I turned off the car radio for quiet as suggested, but couldn’t help whispering reassurances to the little guy as I drove. I guess it wouldn’t understand me, even if it were awake to hear me, but the silence in the car unnerved me otherwise, especially as I left the bright lights of the city for the preserve on the outskirts.

Inside, a friendly-looking man took the box off my hands. He didn’t tell me to stick around, but he didn’t tell me to leave either, so I stayed. I had other things I didn't want to do, after all, and it would be nice to know what was going to happen to the bat.

I wasn’t expecting to get my box back, but the man stepped back into the lobby with it tucked beneath an arm. His smile looked forced now, as he thrust the shoebox back to me.

“Ma’am, we’re very busy here. I don’t know what you were thinking, but please, don’t waste our time,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I opened the box and fell silent. The bat was gone. It had been replaced with a small, pale doll.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I asked.

“Like I said, we’re very busy. If there’s nothing I can actually do for you…?”

I put up a hand and apologized for…I didn’t entirely know what I’d done here, but there was clearly no injured bat for him to help me with. I closed the box and awkwardly shuffled back out to my car to try and figure out what had just happened.

When I next woke, my head was clearer.

I was sure that I’d been captured by some manner of capture because God almighty, that light was blinding. No reasonable vampire would ruin a room with such a miserable lamp, save those few with a soft spot for their thralls’ visual needs.

I was still blinking back tears to try and adjust to the artificial blaze when someone scoffed and the light disappeared altogether. An unknown force threw me to the ground. I tried to collect myself several times before I realized the room itself was shaking, at which point I simply settled into the fleece around me as comfortably as I could and waited for the chance to face my attacker.

There was an especially rough quake that shoved me up against the wall, and then the earth was still at last. I flinched as a sliver of light appeared overhead only to be mercifully bathed in moonlight.

I didn’t recognize where I was, not even what sort of building this might be. The ceiling was distant and carpeted. There were windows all around, as if we were in a poorly shaped dome. Even the box I’d been transported in was strange. The wood was unnaturally smooth and I saw no hinges for the top side that had been pulled away.

As I was considering the low wall before me, a cloud passed over the moon and cast me in shadow. At least, I assumed that was the source until she gasped. I twisted to face the noise and gasped back. A massive woman, larger than some buildings, gawked down at me and at once, the pieces fell together. I had been not only captured, but cursed. I doubted I would be more than a half foot tall, were I to measure.

Her scent engulfed me as she leaned even closer, intoxicatingly sweet. The steady rhythm of her heart was near enough it almost enthralled me. I wanted her. And I would have her. But first, my dignity.

I opened my mouth to demand she turn me back and release me, or, if she couldn’t, return me to the one who could. I intended to order her to serve me as I deserved. The words died in my throat.

My charm, my magic didn’t even make it that far. I needed to see my victims’ eyes if I wanted to bewitch them and I couldn’t bear to meet hers. I faltered after less than a half a second. but her whiskey stare combined with the sheer size of the behemoth looming over me was too much, too intense. My knees buckled; I was as helpless in her gaze as she ought to be in mine.

“What are you?” she whispered.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #vampire g/t #honestly just trying to get back into the rhythm of writing I did so little w covid and all that #amwt

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