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howtofightwrite · 9 months

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Clothes Followup

Hi there. Professional sportswear outfitter and part-time athelete here just chiming in on how these choices are perfectly believable, in my humble opinion: #1 SHOES "sneakers" is a loose definition. but, if the character is wearing casual/lifestyle "sneakers" like jordan lows, vans, etc., these type of shoes are FLAT (not narrow running shoes). Flat soled sneakers are often preferred training shoes for mixed arts or lifting at the gym. You could wear boots, but you're sacrificing agility. As a female, I can say that a female character likely would not inflict such a handicap as BOOTS on herself. Feet are very resilient and resistant to pain and injury. Being able to move on your feet matters a lot more than protecting them does. PASS #2 PANTS. you are not punching someone's pants while boxing. and have you watched fight club? they mostly wear jeans. they're durable, wick moisture (although it feels unpleasant), and if they're fitted properly, they're not going to get in the way of your agility. Jeans are light armor if you're speaking in tabletop rpg terms. PASS #3 SHIRT. a good tshirt of a decent quality will wick moisture, will not be bulky or baggy, and will move with its wearer. tshirts are not expensive and are the best option outside a sleeveless top or topless for martial arts. Especially if you have boobs. Boxing in only a racerback sports bra is also viable, but a tshirt will provide light protection to the skin, which is a good idea in amateur boxing. If they're WEARING GLOVES, nobody is grappling anyone's shirt so there is no risk of clothes-grabbing violations happening there. If this ring is literally underground, it's probably cold. Clothes can be shed between matches, but it's often more important to be clothed appropriately so as to prevent both overheating and chills. Becoming chilled between fights is a greater danger to performance than getting sweaty is. PASS I also have questions as to the type of boxing gloves being used. Are they full padded gloves? Light knuckle pads? Do the boxers wear headgear? Mouthguards? What areas are allowed to be hit or is it a free-for-all? Maybe you think these details are mistakes, but I disagree. Half my job is punching boxes all day. Hot, sweaty, fully clothed, wearing comfortable shoes. Lots of moving around. If I am going to punch boxes (or faces) for hours, that's exactly how I'd dress. The rest of my job? Literally outfitting people with boxing equipment. Literally selling people clothing for athletics. I am also a footwear specialist. Thank you for taking the time to read this. :) -lilkittay

So, apologies in advance, lilkittay, but you're about to get dragged. This might come as a shock, but I actually have a copy of the novel Fight Club. I just found it wedged between a copy of Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson, and the Demolished Man by Alfred Bester. I'm not going to try to figure out what lead to that sorting peculiarity. The book is exceptionally good, and if you've never read it, it's an easy (if somewhat unpalatable) recommendation. Stick it up there with books like Native Son, or Ivan Denisovich, in that it covers some really ugly subject matter, but discusses a problem exceptionally well. And, in the 27 years since the novel was originally published, it has proved itself fairly prescient. It's not about the violence, it is an excellent discussion on the underlying psychology of toxic masculinity.

Now, the last time I mentioned Fight Club, someone immediately piped up with, “you've lost all credibility.” That's their problem, but I didn't actually define it, and it is a term that gets thrown around without being defined. Toxic masculinity refers specifically to an individual who cannot engage with their own emotions, particularly painful ones, in a healthy way, because they view those behaviors as effeminate. As a result, they respond aggressively and, or, violently. That's the toxic part. You get dumped. Your pet dies. You get passed over for a promotion at work. And, instead of dealing with that in a healthy way. In any healthy way. You go out into the world and try to make someone else suffer. That is toxic.

Unfortunately, Fight Club is not the grown up version of Calvin and Hobbes, though that is an amusing fan theory, and something that holds together better in the film thanks to Brad Pitt's costuming decisions.

I'm saying all of this to point out, the characters in Fight Club have no idea how to fight.

More than that, jeans are not light armor. Motorcycle leathers? Sure, those would be light armor. In fact, I'm pretty sure they're described as light armor in D20 modern. But, the only place I'd expect to see denim categorized as light armor is a game that used, “light armor,” for mage gear, “medium armor,” as rogue's leather and chain, and, “heavy armor,” as warrior gear. Which is to say, yeah, that's not how that works at all.

The problem with jeans as armor is, they're really bad at it. Someone with a crowbar? Yeah, jeans aren't going to do anything about that. Someone with an axe? I've heard about the aftermath, it was not pretty. Against a sword? Nope. Against a knife? Personal experience says the knife will win without issue. In an underground fighting arena against someone driving a shin kick into your knee? Yeah, your jeans may look fine after the fact, but you're probably not using that leg again anytime soon.

But, that RPG comment made something click together a little, so back to footwear for a second.

Why would someone wear boots? Now, personally, I wear motorcycle boots in my day to day life. Not because I'm a rider, but because I find them more comfortable and convenient than normal dress shoes, and so long as I keep them buffed out, they pass for men's dress shoes at a glance. The interesting thing about this is that my heel has a wide, flat, block of wood under it at all times. If it was a matter of life and death, I could probably grind off a significant chunk of my heel bringing a bike to a stop without suffering any injury. Now, I bring this up, because driving 200-300lbs of force behind a sharply edged wooden mallet into your unarmored instep will not improve your agility.

In the real world, armor doesn't work like D&D. There's no equivalent exchange between mobility and being able to soak a hit. (And if you think there's an irony in substituting a term from one RPG for another... well, yeah. You're not wrong.) If you think someone's going to stomp on your foot, bring steel toed boots. What you lose in agility today, you make up for in your ability to walk without a cane tomorrow.

The paradox of humans is that we are both stupidly resilient, and horrifically fragile, at the same time. Now, at this point, I do want to say something genuinely nice to you, even if it sounds a tiny bit condescending. You've never looked at another person as 150-250lbs of ambulatory meat and considered the best way to take them apart with your hands. And you know what? That is a good thing. Embrace that, and don't let go, because never finding yourself in that kind of a place is a credit to you, and the world you've been able to live in.

All of that said, fighting another human being is not a workout. It's engineering. You're looking at an organic machine with roughly the same parts and pieces you have, and your goal is to make that machine stop thrashing around, screaming, and leaking on everything, before it does the same to you. It's not better. It's not worse. It's different, and it comes with different considerations. You don't dress to look good or stay comfortable, you dress to avoid life altering injuries if at all possible.

Competitive fighting does land at a meeting point of these two considerations however. The fighter wants to come out intact, the sponsors want good show, one that will draw an audience. This leads to things like fighting in a sports bra. Yes, it may be the most, “agile,” option, but if you're going to be in a fist fight, a heavy leather jacket, preferably one with fiberglass plates may not breathe, but it will take far more abuse than your body can. (Actually, I think sometimes the inserts are made out of memory foam these days, which should also take a hit pretty effectively, especially against an unarmed foe.)

This isn't a major issue, but it is something to consider, when thinking about the temperature of the arena, it's important to remember that human body heat in a crowded space is somewhat cumulative. So, a room that starts out at around 60 degrees, could easily warm up to a comfortable temperature once the spectators are present. There's actually consistent math for calculating what you should set the thermostat for in an amphitheater when it's unoccupied so that the temperature is comfortable when the seats are filled, but I can't remember the numbers, and can't find it on short notice.

You do bring up a good point, the original Anon did not specify what kind of gloves were used. I assumed those were nominally regulation boxing gloves, but those could be something like the UFC gloves from a couple decades back, that left the fingers exposed while armoring the knuckles. The armor on those gloves allowed the wearer to inflict all kinds of horrific injuries on one's foes. In an event Michi is quite happy to recount, her younger brother almost lost an eye to a skull fracture from one of those during a poorly supervised sparring bout. It's fairly credible to suggest that an illegal fight club might use those simply to excite the crowds with actual bloodshed.

Now, as someone who has worked in shipping, I know full well that sometimes boxes do hit back. However, they are the exception rather than the rule. There's nothing wrong with practicing on punching bags, but boxes aren't trying to break you. At worst, they may just want to take a nap on the floor without regard to whether you're in the way or not. Live opponents? They're looking at you as however many pounds of meat machinery, and trying to end you. Looking good doesn't make their job harder, but armoring up does.

Anyway, like I said to the original Anon, nothing in their explanation was outright wrong. A lot of it was non-optimal, but not to such a degree as to shatter belief. The mistake you're making, and I really do say this with respect, is that you're looking at it like any other physical activity. As I said, combat is not a work out. Combat as a hazardous environment beyond the reach of OSHA. You wear protective gear (if you can) because that protection may be the difference between walking out alive and (basically) unharmed, or never walking again. You wouldn't (or at least, really shouldn't) take a bike out on the freeway at 60mph in jeans and a tees, you really don't want to get in a fight wearing them either.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #starke answers #how to fight write #martial arts

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jimquisition · 8 months

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Is "save scumming" the best way to play an RPG? Is it a valuable and valid tool, or a dishonorable insult to a videogame's intended experience? Baldur's Gate 3, Disco Elysium, Bras, and Boglins may have the answer...

#save scumming #baldur's gate 3 #disco elysium #the jimquisition #james stephanie sterling

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benevolentcalamity · 1 year

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In Her Eyes [Makima x Female!Reader]

Disclaimer: I have not watched an episode of Chainsaw Man before writing this. I do plan to sit down and watch it, but I do know enough to have a grasp on Makima and some other characters. (Why does Aki's English voice sound like a Lifetime heartthrob divorce attorney)

CURTAINS!

Nobody in your life had dared to call you passive. You, a woman just making it in a world where the war against the devils can - and will - risk you being collateral damage. Bouncing around job after job as a direct consequence of the strife, the only reason you've even managed to go on is seeing the Public Safety Devil Hunters cleaning up the mess. The Gun Devil's certainly created quite a mess...

Not to say that this conflict hasn't directly affected you as well, not just in terms of your home being destroyed in crossfire. Your family scattered like ants trying to get out of this place, effectively leaving you to face the music. The irony is most saddening there, considering you're alive and... Well, that song and dance is an everyday one anymore.

Well, all that's passed over and now you're here, free of your bra and pants after a hard day at work. To be specific about the job you work now, you're a mechanic that mostly works with cars. Considering you work in the same city as the Public Safety HQ, your boss had recently decided to train all of you in how to assemble/clean guns as well.

Who knew that today would be the day you got to experience an RPG cannon? And who knew that they were an absolute bitch to clean?

I guess I'd rather work kill me than anything else... You huff.

Eventually your legs fly up, and you 'catapult' yourself onto your feet. That's quite enough of that - you have to get yourself something to eat. If you don't, you'll go to bed hating yourself, which you do not need help with these days.

So you assemble a pot, some vegetables, some meat you had in the fridge... Maybe some bomb beef udon? Getting the pot on the stove, you reach for the dial-

ding-dong!

SHIT!

Flying into a panic - you're never keen on greeting people in your underwear - you run around your apartment, eventually saying 'fuck it' and ditching your dirty clothes for a nice shirt and dress pants. A second ding-dong on the door has you shifting into a full sprint, and you wash your face of excess filth and straighten out your hair.

"Coming!" You call, and you're at the door in record time. Taking a deep breath and making last minute adjustments you grab it, composing yourself and opening it prepared to make a million apologies.

Standing there, without the faintest annoyance on her face, is a woman, slender and elegant. Bright pink hair is put up in a bun, some strands framing her face like a delicate portrait. Her lips are shining with recently applied balm, and her faint aroma of paper and perfume reaches your nostrils in a blink.

But it's her eyes that captivate you most. They're a deep, almost glowing amberish-orange, an odd but not unordinary pattern dancing about her pupils. In the time it takes your gazes to meet, she's already torn right into your insides, probing them with just her gentle yet intense stare.

It's like this for a moment, you standing frozen in your doorway, her seeming to just stare straight into your soul and back again, and then you register her head slanting to the side along a crease of her brow, and that's where you realize she just asked you a question.

Blinking out of your stupor, you bow in apology, swallowing. "Please excuse me, ma'am, it's been a long day at work and I'm tired. Can you please repeat that?"

Her head straightens, and again she doesn't look the least bit bothered. "Is this [Name] [Last Name]'s residence?" She asks. She sounds so melodic...

"I am she," You reply with a nod. "Who are you?"

Her lips curve into a perfect smile. "My name is Makima, and I am with the Public Safety Devil Hunters. Do you have time to talk?"

Oh, shit! "Yes, of course. Please, come inside." You stand aside, and she does, taking off her shoes and stepping in. Closing the door behind her, you lead her further inside. "Please, sit down. I'm just in the process of making something to eat. Can I offer you any, or make you some coffee?" The general rules of hospitality are not lost on you, and she doesn't look at all put out or annoyed at your house not being clean. "I'm sorry, by the way, I wasn't expecting company."

"No, it's quite alright." She meets your eyes with that smile never fading. "A little disorganization never bothers me."

Relieved, you can't help but reflect her. "That's a relief. My job takes up a lot of my time."

She pouts in thought, tapping her index to her chin. "You're... one of the mechanics of Hishegawa, aren't you?"

You blink. "How did you know that?"

Not being able to help but chortle, she returns her expression to that smile. "Your work's popular among my group, you know. In fact, I've heard them ask for you specifically."

With your chest swelling with pride, your cheeks are dusted pink and the days exhaustion seems to fall right off your shoulders.

"I'm happy to hear that." You mean it. "I was starting to think that my work wasn't really that important."

"Well you certainly contribute a lot to the war, I should tell you." Makima takes a seat on the sofa, elegantly crossing her one leg. Everything she does seems so perfect... "But then there's your question. I've eaten, but if your coffee pot is going..."

You glance over at it. It's brewing. "Any cream or sugar?"

"No, just black is fine."

Now, something you didn't learn until your late father showed you, it is very safe to pull the pot out while the coffee's brewing. You just need to be mindful of putting it back in time lest it overflow. So you grab a sizable mug, fill it up, and bring it out, placing it in her awaiting hands.

"Thank you very much," She smiles, sipping it without even a wince. It is cold outside...

Sitting down nearby, you tilt your head. "Did you have business with me, Miss Makima?" you ask.

"Ah, yes, that." She sets the mug down and puts her hands in her lap, interlocking her fingers. "I hope you don't mind, but I did ask Hishegawa-san for your information." Ex-pardon me, what? "Nothing too invasive, however. Simply your resume and some background information - the sort of thing that pops up when you interview for something new." Oh. "From what I understand, you've been just about everywhere."

You sigh, head slumping a little. "I've had to learn and do so much training, only for it to go to waste when the devils would attack once more," You explain. "Hishegawa's is the longest job I've had, which might just be the universe giving me a break for once."

"What a shame." Her voice doesn't imply any sort of sarcasm or something like that... Rather, she's attentive, eyes not leaving you for even a moment. "And then you come home and even I can tell you're tired."

"Which proves I made a good choice, to be frank with you," You chuckle. "I'm not fit to fight devils, so I'm way better off just working with weaponry."

"On the contrary." Your brow arches as she scoots forward in her seat, uncrossing her legs. "The shifts are long and arduous, and you've adapted to them to where you can still function when you come home, correct?"

"Uh, yea." What is she getting at?

"And, you know how this sort of weaponry works to be able to clean it, right?"

"Mhm."

"So, say you do wind up being a combatant. You'd more specialize in long-ranged combat and artillery, which would be valuable even among those with contracts that can make up for what they're lacking." Her back straightens, and for a moment you're perfectly entranced. "And, the work we do is less arduous because we're not cleaning our weaponry all the time, and the paycheck, you could say, is an additional pace."

She looks right into your eyes, and for a moment there's a sensation like millions of tiny hands holding your head completely still.

"[Name]."

"Ah... Yes...?" Your voice grows faint, and she draws a bit closer.

"Join the Devil Hunters."

Your chest tightens, and for the briefest of moments almost imaginary, your very body stills. Something wraps around your heart, pulling it closer to her, almost, as though sensing your slow gravitation to her without even a physical beckon.

Is something wrong with me?

The room's gone completely silent. Even the TV, which is supposed to fill the void that pulls you into your own head, isn't making a peep. Right here, right now, it's just you, held in the allure of this strangely perfect, yet mysteriously ominous, woman. Her very presence is a spell, one even the most vigilant of ladies and gentlemen will find themselves enraptured in.

And for a moment, you wonder if she's even human.

"Your work will be much less tiring, and you'll surely be more satisfied in the day knowing that you'll have a job that won't be stolen from you by the war, and you'll have a bigger paycheck and more energy than you know what to do with. Surely, even, a boss that doesn't pick apart every little flaw is appealing on their own," She adds, voice a bit lower.

Oh... my... gosh...

She makes an almost satisfied hum, smiling, setting her empty mug of coffee aside, the sound pulling you from your stupor in enough time to register her scooping up your hand and placing a business card into it.

"Just think about it for a little bit, and in the meantime we'll be watching over you with great interest." She softly pats your shoulder, passing you by as though you're not making the most calmly disturbed expression a horror movie could never replicate. "And just let me know your answer using the number, or if you know someone that's interested in becoming one, give them a heads-up. But in the meantime..."

Just when she's at the door with her shoes on, she casts her head over her shoulder, her smile only growing.

"I look forward to hearing from you, Miss [Name]. Thank you very much for the coffee, it was delicious."

Your mouth opens and you reach for her, but by the time you've returned to your normal self she's gone.

Trembling, your eyes fall to the card in your one hand. It's a simple business card of the Public Safety Devil Hunters, with her picture on it as a face to refer to and a number, along with some other inquiries and the sort. It's perfectly legitimate, too, with an insignia of governmental approval.

The offer itself is appealing, but Makima's gaze... Refusal doesn't feel like an option, gently teased from your reach the moment she had met your eyes.

Will you abandon the course of your life for a new one, with more danger but possibly new doors of opportunity? A meaningful place to put your newfound knowledge, but a deep dive into the unknown?

You swallow.

Makima...

As though in a trance, you punch in the number as the water in the kitchen comes to a rolling boil.

#my writing #makima #chainsawman #anime #chainsaw man #csm #csm fanfic #makima x reader #xreader #readerinsert #anime x you #i have no excuses for writing this other than I wanted to

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hellmouthheritage · 10 months

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HELLMOUTH RPG est à la recherche du personnage légendaire de FAITH LEHANE.

Sunnydale 2023 :

La nuit du 2 octobre 2001, Faith était en prison lorsqu'elle a senti son corps commencer à geler. La tueuse a crié de toutes ses forces, mais ayant la réputation qu'elle avait à l'époque, aucun policier n'a voulu s'approcher de sa cellule et lui venir en aide. Lorsque l'équipe tactique du matin arriva devant une cellule remplie de cristaux de sang au sol, ils déclenchèrent l'état d'alerte. En analysant le sang qui était dans les morceaux de glace, le médecin légiste déclara que la fugitive avait belle et bien été tuée par un froid glacial qui avait gelé son corps en entier. Les policiers de Los Angeles ont voulu étouffer l'affaire et n'ont rien déclaré aux médias au sujet de sa mort.

Le 1 juin 2023, le corps de Faith se reconstitua dans la cellule là où elle était morte il y a 22 années. La tueuse regarda autour d'elle complètement désemparée et traumatisée. Elle grelottait et n'avait pas encore conscience de ce qu'il lui arrivait. Elle frappa de toutes ses forces la prisonnière qui résidait maintenant dans son ancienne cage. La tueuse prit possession des vêtements de la femme qu'elle venait d'assommer sans aucune pitié, avec rage. Faith posa ses deux mains sur les barreaux et les écarta avec facilité comme si ce n'était que des cures-dents. Dans le couloir, son regard croisa celui d'un policier qu'elle avait connu autrefois. Le jeune homme commençait sa carrière à l'époque, l'officier ouvrit grand les yeux et reconnu la fugitive qui avait été tué il y a 22 années. Il fonça sur elle, mais malheureusement la tueuse avait toujours ses réflexes de tigresse. La brune haussa le bras dans les airs et fonça sur lui le faisant traverser une fenêtre pour entendre son corps tomber du troisième étage de l'établissement.

Faith en profita pour sauter par la fenêtre et courir rapidement pour escalader le grillage de la prison. Le bruit des voitures de police criait dans tous les sens, mais elle croyait fortement qu'elle allait réussir. La tueuse passa par dessus la grille et sauta dans une voiture en agressant le conducteur, le jetant dehors de son véhicule en pleine conduite. Elle savait très bien quelle direction prendre. La route vers Sunnydale était la seule destination envisageable. Elle regarda rapidement son reflet dans le rétroviseur et elle remarqua qu'elle avait une vingtaine d'années en plus. Elle n'en croyait pas ses yeux, elle continua de se regarder quelques secondes sans remarquer que son véhicule était entrain de dévié de la route. Elle donna un coup de volant pour ramener sa voiture sur la bonne voie juste à temps pour ne pas heurter un autre véhicule qui venait de la klaxonner.

Quelques heures plus tard, elle débarqua à Sunnydale. Une ville hantée par les monstres et par les erreurs de son passé. Elle ressentait la présence de Buffy, mais aussi d'une nouvelle élue. Après 22 années passées dans la noirceur de la mort, elle savait très bien qu'il allait falloir qu'elle se trouve un refuge où habiter sans avoir à payer trop cher, mais la tueuse avait toujours su se débrouiller seule. Faith décida de se rendre dans un lieu qu'elle connaissait bien, elle y avait passé son adolescence. Le Bronze. N'ayant pas reprise complètement ses esprits, la brune défonça d'un coup pied la porte du propriétaire et le poignarda dans le ventre sans pitié utilisant le couteau ensuite pour ouvrir la serrure du coffre-fort de l'établissement où elle trouva quelques milliers de dollars en liquide. La tueuse décida de se débarrasser du corps et de prendre en charge la grande responsabilité de propriétaire du Bronze sachant qu'elle retrouverait rapidement ses anciennes connaissances.

Faith Lehane découvrira qu'à sa mort en 2001, elle était enceinte. Son fils créé par la magie des puissances supérieures Lukas Lehane. Apprenant que la tueuse est en route vers Sunnydale, il essaiera de la retrouver pour se présenter à elle et en connaitre un peu plus sur la véritable nature de sa mère.

#faith lehane #eliza dushku #btvs rp #roleplaying #forumactif rpg #forumactif #faceclaim rpg #rpg francophone #rpg français #hellmouth #btvs #sarah michelle gellar #demon slayer #slayerdaily #buffyverse #buffy #faith #faceclaim #rpg faceclaim

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gravidtopiary · 7 months

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HRT update 0146 September 17th 2023

almost four (4) months of estradiol patches and ~ten (10) months of spironolactone AND:

- i'm shooting blanks or squibs (TMI)

- i asked my family doctor (who doesn't know much about trans health but is 100% behind it but adorably awkwardly) to poke my boobs and he did and said "well that's definitely breast tissue now!" and i did not expect it to feel so fucking validating, to take that angry little lump of impostor syndrome lurking in my soul and just step on it like a bug 🥰

- my left titty is like two/three times bigger than the right one but i've spent a few weeks yelling at the recalcitrant boob and i think it's starting to get motivated, i can feel the weird meaty stuff behind the nipple getting swole

- speaking of breasts i started having to wear a sports bra when i'm doing stuff because it hurts otherwise when stuff thumps are my nipples

- i've started cooking my own food (vegetarian mostly) and scheduling meals and keeping track of basic nutrition and boy do i feel better 👍

- i've spent the last few weeks doing intensive construction/physical labour and i'm getting muscles back again but they are NOT testosterone puffy muscles and that's mind-blowing. i like 'em!

- emotionally i've done a complete 180, the mood swings and crushing depression are 95% gone and it's so hard to say if it's hormones getting into equilibrium or my increasing physical activity or my improved diet or my improved sleep or an admixture of all of those things

- i like who i see when i look in the mirror :)

- i was following r/MtF on Reddit but oh my god those people need some mandatory lessons in feminist theory and the dangers of the beauty myth 😖 i haven't found a trans space where i seem to fit in yet but i'm patient (lazy)

- the leaves are changing colour and the geese are flying south it's gettin' autumnal out there and i'm so down

- i was working on the roof of my mom's house last week and got a sunburn without even knowing it. i miss the ozone layer 😮‍💨

- played Baldur's Gate 3 some and it's really good, i haven't enjoyed a western RPG like this in years

- kind of getting fucking TIRED of wearing an n95 mask whenever i'm in public so can we just invent a sterilizing vaccine for the stupid little coronavirus already >:(

- my hair's getting hellish long and i need to do something other than "straight brown white girl hair" but also i'm cheap as fuck and have cut my own hair using YouTube videos for the past three years so who knows

- i still slip into talking in a deeper register when i'm speaking to strangers which is annoying but everything takes time 😌

okay back to winter proofing my mom's house before the snows fall bye!

#transition #mtf trans #trans #spironolactone #estradiol #trans women #middle aged trans #trans pride

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thegayestofagendas · 1 month

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I have a few things I think could be better with bg3 in regard to gameplay, but understanding the heartbreaking world of tech limitations, I reserve this conversation to offline.

However one thing I will say is I wish I could toggle undergarment top on and off.

Unless I've made a mistake, my character is flat-chested. Their chest looks flat at least. But they have a bra with their under garment. Even if they had boobs, I think it's be cool to let ppl decide to have them free.

Overall, it's a small thing, but it really made me sad because I could choose the body that made me happy, but it feels like it still gets the "female-presenting nipples" treatment and the kicker is I play a dragonborn, they've got no visible nipples!

I'm probably never gonna get HRT or top surgery because I know that no matter what it probably won't give me results that would satisfy me and why fight for it and risk of for such a low possible personal reward?

So I live it through RPGs, and how wonderful that RPGs increasingly have diverse and flexible customisation! And don't get me wrong bg3 did great on everything else for me. But when it's so good, the little things, the small oversights, they still sting.

So anyway, fun fact, my current bg3 character doesn't wear underwear because it makes me feel terrible whenever I see them with a bra on.

And I guess since I talked about them, here's a screenshot. I guess you can tell me if I made a mistake and I accidentally gave them imperceptible tits. To me their chest looks flat with and without a shirt on.

(Ps. I posted this exactly as a thread on bluesky yesterday, if you see it there, it wasn't stolen, it's my thread and I figured tumblr was also a good audience for it)

#nineth enby plays video games #baldurs gate 3 #nineth enby talks of gender #gender diversity in video games #diversity in media #nineth enby bluesky crosspost #nineth enby original

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yeehawbvby · 2 years

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Falling Away With You | Ch. 13

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Dog boy and farmer girl make up!! :)

Author’s Note: TW // very brief mention of death and attempted suicide

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

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Summer is here and it is hot. I’m not going outside today.

Since (reluctantly) getting myself dressed earlier, I’ve been just laying in bed, stuffed Eggy under one of my arms, playing video games. It’s been a while since I’ve just let myself lounge around for a whole day, and I’ve been hankering for some Legend of Lonk lately.

I wonder if anyone around here is into games. I know Abby is. Allegedly, she struggles so much with Prairie King because she’s more of an RPG type, which I can relate to. But who knows if I’ll ever be close enough with her to play games together?

Just when I’m about to finish up a cutscene, my phone vibrates. Probably a text. I decide to ignore it for now, until realizing it’s still going. Ughhhhh, I hate unprompted phone calls. I pause my game and set the console aside.

“Hello?”

“Hey, (y/n)…” fuck, it’s Sam. “Sorry to bother ya.”

“Oh, uh, not a bother at all. What’s up?” I sit up, repositioning Eggy to my lap and hugging her.

“Can we meet up somewhere? I wanna… you know. Talk about… uh. You know. Stuff. If you’re willing, of course. If not then don’t worry about it, it’s cool.”

I sigh, quietly. I do miss that puppy-man. And if I’ve been canoodling his best friend, then I should swallow my pride and stop avoiding this. For all of our sakes.

“Yeah, I’d like that actually. You wanna come over?”

He sighs too — a big, relieving one. I almost forgot how animated he is. “Yeah sure, when’s a good time?”

“Whenever you want, I’ll be around all day.” My overwhelmingly hospitable instincts kick in, “Just let me know when you’re headed over. I can make us some cocoa or lemonade or something, if you want.”

“It’s a little hot for hot chocolate,” he laughs, sorta shyly. “But it does sound good.”

“Fuck, true,” I mentally smack myself on the forehead. “I can make it cold,” I offer. “Or at least try to. Never done it before.”

“That would be great, it’s okay if you don’t feel like it though. I don’t wanna burden you too much,” he trails off.

“Sam, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

I hear a nervous laugh on the other end. “Yeah, I guess. Alright. Uh. I guess I’ll head over in a few minutes?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.”

“See ya in a bit then, (y/n).”

“See ya, Sam.”

Fuck, this is gonna be so uncomfortable. At least he seems as nervous as I feel.

Letting out a huge groan, I roll – literally roll, from mattress to floor – out of the bed to find a bra and some less bootylicious bottoms to put on.

Something tells me Seb’s talked to Sam about what we’re about to discuss, so I’m sure Sam knows by now I’m not interested in him the way he might’ve thought. I gotta stay cautious, though. Some dudes are fuckin’ creeps who’ll see a little bit of extra skin and think it's free real estate. Experienced that too much in the city.

I’d doubt Sam being like that if I knew him beyond the surface, but I’ve been so unsure of how to feel about that gumball since The Incident.

I pick out a pair of long gray bike shorts, and throw a sports bra underneath the white, grandpa-esque tourism tee from Ginger Island that I had on already. The ladies are staying hidden, today.

Now, the cocoa… I follow my usual routine, except I leave out the creamer and opt to put the mixture into a pitcher rather than mugs. If I put it in the freezer with some extra ice – better throw in some more mix, so it won’t get watered down – so it’ll hopefully be chilled enough by the time he’s here.

Aaand now we wait. I sit back on the bed, scooping Cannoli into my lap while my eyes dance around the room. I really need some more furniture in here. At least an extra chair, if I’m gonna keep having people over. Maybe a desk to work at?

Fuck, wait a sec! This would totally be big enough for a kotatsu if I put the table in the kitchen or outside instead. My weeb ass has always wanted one of those. I’m sure Cannoli would love it, too.

After a few more moments of interior design contemplation, I get up to pee. Naturally, the moment I sit down, I hear a knock at the door.

“Fuck…” I murmur. “Sorry, one second!” I yell as loud as I can muster. Hopefully he heard that.

I speed-run my little bathroom break and jog to the door, without drying my hands. Shit, what if he gets grossed out by how moist they are? I shake my head, then shake my hands a bit and pat ‘em on my shorts before opening up.

“Hey–” I’m cut off with a squeak from my own throat as Sam fucking engulfs my body into a hug.

“Dude you have no idea how bad I feel,” he word-vomits on me. “I’m so sorry!”

I stand there in shock for a moment. I expected more of a serious, awkward conversation. A weird business meeting, of sorts. Should’ve known that the big guy would do things differently. I’m still unsure of whether or not I can really trust him, but I'm willing to try.

“You big dummy...” I mumble into his boobs before squeezing him back. “I was so worried that you hated me.”

“I thought you’d hate me!”

“We’re both dummies.”

“For sure.”

Realizing I’m still talking into his big ol’ honkaroos, I tilt my head out for air. In a southern drawl, I declare, “We’ve got some stuff to discuss, pardner.”

“Mhm, mhm.” He pulls away, albeit still at arms-length and holding onto my shoulders.

“Pop a squat, I’ll grab the cold cocoa.”

“Cold-co?”

“Oooo I like that,” I shout from the kitchen.

I can’t help but smile at how easy this is so far. Sure, we’ve got some feelings to work out, but I’d let my anxiety get the best of me for the past few weeks for sure.

“Do you want a mug or a glass?”

“Do you have one of those fancy wine cups?” he asks. I peer back and he’s leaning over from the chair at the table. Cannoli missed him too – he’s already curled up in Sam’s lap.

“I’ll check.” I back up, peering around the cabinets, hoping the space gives me a better angle to see the top shelf with. Grandpa had to have had those… fuck, I don’t feel like climbing. “Actually,” I exhale, “can you check?”

Keeping Cannoli in his arms like a baby, Sam strolls in, looking confused. Then, the lightbulb goes off. He laughs at me and scruffs my hair, reassuring me with a jovial “Sure thing, little guy,” before easily spotting and taking a wine glass from the back of one of my higher shelves. Fucking tall people.

“Damn it.”

“I can carry you on my shoulders sometime,” he offers. “That way you can, you know…”

“I hate you.”

“Not that much, if you invited me over.”

“Whatever, fucko.”

He snickers, watching as I prepare our drinks. When I start pouring the creamer, he questions it.

“Trust me,” I assure. He just shrugs, letting me do my thing. “You want whip?”

“What do I look like, some sort of monster? Of course I want whip.”

“More of a big, fluffy beast than anything.”

Sam scoffs, “I’ll take it over a goblin or shadow brute.”

I hand off his drink, scooping up a pair of swirly straws. I am an adult. “Want a straw too, beast boy?” I offer while holding one out towards him.

Taking it from me, he responds, “See, I can get behind that! Makes me sound like a Teen Titan.”

“That show kicked ass,” I point out as we walk into the other room. “I used to have the fattest crush on Robin.”

We sit down on my bed, both of us cross-legged, both of our backs against the wall. Cannoli fills the space between us. Our mediator.

“I was down bad for Starfire, myself.” He takes a sip, and I inspect for the signature eye twinkle. Theeere it is! Another chocolate beverage well done. “Holy shit this is so good.”

“Told you to trust me!”

He playfully rolls his eyes. “Oh! And Blackfire fucked too.”

“Dude, she was so hot!”

“But so mean…”

“Yeah, and you’re saying you wouldn’t want her to be mean to you?”

He inhales dramatically, contemplating. Then Sam mutters, shrugging, “I’d thank her for beating me up,” before dejectedly sipping some more of his drink.

“Seeeee?”

“Shut up, jeez. I didn’t come here to be perceived.”

“Eh, you kinda did.”

A short silence. “Crud. You’re right.”

We both laugh, and it simmers into another silence.

“So.”

I turn towards him, leaning my shoulder onto the wall now. He mimics my movement, placing his already empty cup (?!) onto my nightstand and hugging my pillow to his chest. It looks like we’re having a slumber party. This is the best position for sharing some hot goss.

“So…” he sighs, his eyes roaming me. I blush as he either inspects me or checks me out – not sure which it is. “I’ve got some explaining to do, huh?”

I nod and shrug, “I guess.”

He gnaws at his bottom lip, looking down at the pillow, trying to decide on his next choice of words if I had to assume.

“Well, Sebastian told me that he already let you know I was catching feelings, so I don’t have to explain that.”

“Yeeeah… he fill you in on anything else?”

Sam nods. “I’m happy for you guys, by the way. Dunno what’s going on, but it’s cool you two are like… you know.”

“Thanks, Sam,” I shyly smile, scooping my plushie into my arms. God, Eggy takes up so much of me. It’s fine though. She is my protector. “I’m sorry that you kinda got fucked over. You’re really cool and you deserve to be with someone who makes you happy, but,” I shrug. “I just don’t feel the same that you do. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “No, really, it’s all good. I’m usually better with the ladies anyway. It’s about time Seb has better luck than I do.”

“Pfft. All these Pelican Town girls really swoon for ya, don’t they?” I say that half-jokingly. He’s crazy good looking, and he’s nice, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he did well for himself around here.

“I mean, I thought I had a thing with Penny for a while, but that went nowhere.”

“Aw, really? That would be so cute!”

“Would’ve been cuter if she felt the same way I did.”

“Oof,” I scrunch my nose as I wince. “Unrequited?”

“Nah, she just wasn’t as into me as I was into her, I guess.” He sighs, “It’s starting to be a common theme for me.”

“Heh, whoops,” I apologize as I abandon my cup of coldco onto the floor and hug Eggy tighter, hiding further into her.

“It worked out for the best. We had different dreams for the future, and whatever.”

“What about Abby?”

“I love her, but more like… as if she were my annoying little sister.” He laughs, “Besides, she’s obsessed with Sebastian. It would never happen even if I wanted to try.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. How’s she feel about me and him, uh…” I pause. Seb and I aren’t dating, per say. “Messing around?” I cringe at my own words. “Gross. Wait.”

Sam howls, “Yoba, you nasty girl.”

“Shut up! I don’t know what we are, we aren’t dating, exactly!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you… Uhh. She hates you.”

We lock eyes. He’s wincing but I’m stone cold. “I expected nothing less,” I truthfully admit.

“She’ll come around.”

“I fucking hope so. I don’t exactly love the fact that one of the first people I tried to properly interact with here has made such an enemy out of me.”

“Abby’s young and dumb, but she’ll warm up to you eventually. If not when she’s over it, it’ll happen whenever she finds someone else to occupy her. She dated this chick Sophia once, that was the most tame I’d ever seen her.”

“Girl must be a frickin’ angel.”

“She really was so nice.”

“Was?”

“Well,” he clicks his tongue, “she was hospitalized for a suicide attempt last year. She lives over in Grampleton, so we never really saw her around here much in the first place. But none of us have seen her at all since that happened.”

“Holy shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be okay.” Sam repositions a little, petting Cannoli for emotional support. “She’s supposed to be inheriting her parents’ vineyard, past the beach, actually. Don’t know if she’ll ever be back to do it.”

“Oh, that’s what that place is?”

“Yeah, have you ever heard of Blue Moon?”

“Shit, I have! That brand is all over Zuzu. It belonged to her parents?”

Sam nods, sadness still washing over his features. “Yeah, but they died in a car crash. Happened a little before Sophia had to… ya know. Go away.”

I recoil a bit, thinking about how tough shit probably is for that poor girl. “I hope she ends up okay. That sucks so hard.”

“Yeah, me too.” He puts the pillow back behind him, and slaps his palms onto his thighs, keeping them there. “Anyway! I don’t like all this sad junk. Back to business.”

“So you were really gonna kiss me that night, huh?” I blurt out.

“Yeesh. Right to the point.”

“Sorry.” I apologetically shrug.

“You’re fine, uh… maybe I was?” We look at each other, silence filling the room. I lean over to finish my drink before placing the empty cup back on the ground, and then purse my lips, waiting for him to correct himself. “Fuck. Yes. Yes I was.”

“You know that would’ve been, like, crazy uncomfortable considering I didn’t want to kiss you back, right?”

“Yeah…”

“I don’t want to kiss you, Sam.”

Although, his lips are super nice…

No.

Stop it.

“Oh my god,” he giggles.

“Thanks for not kissing me.”

“Oh my god!”

“No, like, seriously, thank you.” I put my hand on his knee, chuckling. “You have no idea how much weirder I’d feel having you in my house right now, had that happened.”

“Yeah, no problem, whatever! I get it, you don’t like me! I’ll just pine for a… taken?” Sam tilts his head and squints an eye, thinking over the word. “Taken!” He nods, confidently. “A taken lady, for forever.”

“Come on, dude!” I playfully whine, swatting Eggy’s arms in his direction. He flaps his hand in unison with each fuzzy, stuffed paw slap. “To be fair, you’re totally hot. I’m sure if you asked that Victor dude to take you to a Zuzu bar, you’d get laid in no time.”

“You think I’m hot?”

I deadpan at Sam’s face to find him giggling and blushing like a fucking school girl. Sigh.

“Yeah, I do. You’re like, atrociously hot.” I roll my eyes, in spite of the smile on my face. I'm not lying - he really is, like, so fucking hot honestly. “Don’t make it weird.” I point at him, one of the plushie’s paws still in the same hand.

“That’s so cool oh my god,” he giddily exclaims.

I groan into the back of Eggy’s head. “Sammm!”

“Right, sorry!” he scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t wanna just get laid. I have Palmela for that stuff.”

“Who the fuck is Palmela?”

Sam grins menacingly, waggling his fingers at me, not saying a word.

What?

...Oh.

OH.

Palmela! Seriously?!

“Dude, gross!” I cackle.

“Heheheheh.” He evilly taps his fingertips against those on the opposite hand. I give him a fake-dirty look. “But seriously, I want someone to cuddle, to go on dates with,” he sighs. “Anyone, I don’t even care about gender. I just want someone to care about and feel loved by.”

Aww. I frown. Everyone who wants that deserves it. Especially this fella. Wait… but if he’s not straight…

I excitedly snag one of his hands in both of mine. “So small,” he whispers, thoroughly inspecting my hands. I ignore that comment.

“Sam, have you ever had a crush on Sebastian?” Wide eyed and menacingly, I flash my teeth.

His own eyes widen. He looks down, then back up to my eyes, and then off to the side…and now he’s blushing!!!

“Sam, holy shit! You have!”

“We dated…” he whispers, twitching a brow. Ayo?!

“Samson Henry Johnson, you sly dog!”

“Dude, shut up! We were, like, kids basically, it’s no big deal.”

“What do you mean by kids? How long ago was it?”

“We were in high school.”

“Bro, that was only, what, a decade ago? Little longer maybe?”

“Sweet Yoba above…”

“Is it a forbidden topic, or do I have full permission to be nosy?”

“It’ll be forbidden if you keep being annoying about it!”

I pout. “Boo, you whore.”

“Wouldn’t not kissing and telling make me less of a whore?”

“Metaphorically speaking, yeah, but…” I shrug. Then, I have an epiphany. “Oh my god wait, did you guys, like, touch tips?!”

“Alright, it’s forbidden!”

“Fuck!”

__________________

I lied. I am going outside today.

After continuing to fill each other in on our previously failed love lives, Sam and I decided to take a walk up to his ex’s house to present the renewal of our friendship. Formally. Bells chime as we enter the gigantic cabin, announcing our arrival. Smells sawdusty – I guess Robin’s been busy.

“Hey, you two! If you’re looking for Sebby, he’s in his lair,” Robin advises.

“Thanks Robby,” I chirp, as my tall companion and I pass her station.

“Robby?” she laughs. “Gross.”

I crinkle my nose. “Ugh, yeah, sorry. Didn’t have as nice of a ring out loud as it did in my head.”

“You’re tellin’ me!” Robin shouts once we’re out of sight.

Continuing the assholery, as Sam raps on Seb’s door, I sing, “Sebbyyy.”

A loud groan echos on the other side. “Stop calling me that shit,” he voices as he nears the door. When he opens it, he does a double take. “Ah. I see The Conversation went well.”

“Hell yeah!” Sam boasts, tossing a strong arm around my shoulder and navigating me inside. “This little lady and I are good as new.”

“And you came here to celebrate? Of all places?” the hot, emo cave goblin inquires.

“Hell yeah!” Sam echos himself. “Swimmies and sippies season is here,” he chimes, waggling his eyebrows. “Are you down?”

“Can it wait until it’s cooler out?” Seb asks, returning to his desk and typing away. “Like, later tonight, maybe?”

“Absolutely! Who’s buying the sippies though?”

They both look at me, expectantly. I’ve been lost this entire time.

“What in the actual fuck is a swimmies and sippies?”

“Ahh, much to learn, young grasshopper,” Seb calmly states.

“Stop calling me that.”

He chuckles. “Every once in a while, we grab a bunch of drinks and go swimming at the bathhouse. You know, the one up by the train station,” he explains, as I nod. “Hence… swimmies and sippies.”

“I came up with the name!” Sam beams, as he sits on the couch. Of course he did, I think to myself. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

I head pat him for a change. Feels good, man. “Of course it does.” Sam leans into my hand, so I continue rubbing his head. He’s literally a giant dog.

“I nominate you to buy,” Seb peers over at Sam. “Not fair to make the newbie do it.”

“You seemed on board with her getting the drinks a second ago!”

“Yeah, I also thought she knew what swimmies and sippies is at that point.”

I nod, happily, giving the blonde’s scalp another pat before seating myself in front of Seb’s other computer. “Your fault for not filling me in on your plans, buddy.”

“Man!” He whines. “Fine, I’ll go do that.” Sam gets up, stretching his arms up and behind his head as he makes his way to exit the room.

“Grab your cooler and some ice, too. There’s not much fridge space here.”

“Anything else, fuckers?”

“Snacks?” I add.

Sam looks to me and sighs, loud and exasperated. “Drinks, snacks, ice, cooler,” he counts on his fingers. “Got it.”

“Thank youuu~,” Seb calls as Sam leaves the room, flipping us off before swinging the door shut behind him.

Chin in hands, I lean my elbows on the desk.

“So… I’ve got a question for ya.”

“What’s up, baby?”

Yoba, my heart can’t take him giving me pet names. I blush and hide my face further into my hands. Fuckin’ loser.

“You guys were quite an item back in the day, yeah?”

He stops typing and snorts into a laugh. “Fuck. He told you about that?”

I hum and nod. “Did ya fuck?”

“Yeah,” he responds coolly, looking awfully tickled. He must not get to talk about this much.

“I knew it!” I practically screech. “That’s so precious. I wonder why he wouldn’t give me any deets.”

“Sam’s not as, uh,” Seb taps his nails onto the desk as he leans into the opposite hand. “In tune with his sexuality.”

“Ah. Explains why he forbade me from talking about it, too.”

“Look, ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer what I can. But keep it quiet, yeah? Lotta homophobes hidden around the valley.” Seb frowns. “And, Sam’s not homophobic towards other people by any means, but he’s still got some internalized shit to un-learn.”

“Ah. Lame, but understandable,” I nod, taking solace in knowing he at least is comfortable enough that he basically came out to me today. “My lips are sealed, sir.”

I motion as though I’m zipping my mouth, tossing away the “key” after, ‘cause I’m not a monster. In the meantime, Seb groans. I tilt my head inquisitively and he looks my way. His eyes are dark and intense, like he’s invading my fucking soul oh my god.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

He continues to stare at me, eyes narrowed… Oh!

I gasp, “You naughty bastard! You like that, don’t you?”

“Guilty,” he shrugs, sipping his coffee.

Aaand, just like that, I’m activated. “Sebastian.”

“(Y/n).”

“How much work do you have right now?”

His eyes dance around the screen a bit before looking in my direction. “Enough. Why?”

“Ughhhhh.”

“Were you scheming, (y/l/n)?”

“Who, me?” I ask, flicking my wrist as I lilt out my words, all southernly-sounding. “Why I’d nevah!”

Except I totally would, and was. Was gonna like, I dunno… offer a dick suck? Or something. It's easy to forget with how long our tension has been going on that we haven't actually done anything like that, in person at least.

“You're a horrible liar, (y/n).” Sucking in through his teeth, Seb continues his typing. “If I didn’t have so much to catch up on before tonight I’d bend you over that desk right now.”

Ooooh my god please do, ~sir~. I squeak. Ugh.

“Is that a threat?”

“Sounds like you want it to be.”

He imitates a squeaky toy to prove his point. I (rightfully!) give his shin a kick, and he just laughs and flicks his foot back towards me.

He isn’t wrong though. I want nothing more than that, actually. But, like the little shit I am, I instead respond, “Bold of you to assume such a thing.”

“What, is it not romantic enough for our first time?” he jests. “Or are you just challenging me for fun, you little perv?”

“Classified information.” Quick (y/n), change the topic! “This thing still work?” I ask, tapping the monitor in front of me.

“Yeah, you wanna use it?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” When he gives me a nod of approval, I stand up to reach the power button, pressing it and hoping for some RGB as it boots up. There are some — all red — and the poor thing sounds like it’s struggling. “When’s the last time this thing was turned on?”

“Years ago, don’t remember exactly when.”

I hum, and am met with a black screen and white writing. “Oof. Says something about an improper boot device?”

“Shit. Umm,” he stops typing to think for a second. “Turn it on again, and go to the boot menu, in the BIOS. The right one should be somewhere on the list.”

I follow his directions. “The Windows one, I’m assuming?”

He nods. “Good girl.”

MMMMMM. If I had a tail, it would totally be wagging right now.

I inhale sharply, trying to contain myself. “Fuck you.”

“Bad girl?” he suggests, raising one of his brows.

“I don’t like it, but sure, that’s better.”

The computer finally starts up, and I'm surprised to find that it’s not locked by a password. This thing looks empty, though. Must’ve moved all his games and junk to the PC he’s on right now… I do the only reasonable thing to do in a situation like this: open up a browser and download stuff. MapleStory, maybe?

“Hmm, you’re right. I don’t like it either.”

“Good! So don’t use it, forehead.”

“My forehead is beautiful, thank you,” he quips. “What if it was in a different context?”

“What, like,” I clear my throat, “Oh, you’re a bad girl…?” I recite, the attempted deep voice cracking as I speak.

Seb heartily laughs. Adorably. Ughhh. “Yeah, like that.”

“Dunno, never been called that in that way before.”

“Mmm, that’ll be a fun experiment.”

“There is no reason that should’ve been sexy, and yet…” I trail off.

He chuckles evilly, and I flick the scrunchie on my wrist at him.

Picking it up from his lap, he holds it up briefly and says, “Cool, thanks.”

Seb proceeds to (attempt to) put his hair up. Considering how choppy and uneven it is, it ends up being a wonky side-ponytail.

Unfortunately, he’s still hot.