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xmalereader · 4 months

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Moonknight x Shifter! Male Reader

☆— MASTERLIST — ☆

Requested: can i request a fic that's more of a headcannons post than a fic? i really love the way you write the moon knight boys and was wondering how'd they react to a protective shifter!reader who's usually quite calm and reserved(maybe a wolf just for the irony of wolves being sorta synonymous with the moon)? maybe in a world where shifters are starting to be accepted but some people are still jerks. kind of a "three times reader protected the boys and the time they returned the favor" sorta thing. if all three is too much though i totally understand, im okay with just one, your pick. whatever your schedule allows for ❤️ sorry if this is hard to understand it's a fever at 4am kinda night but i couldn't pass up the chance to make a request lul love your writing! hope you're doing well! i wish you good writing thoughts and dexterous typing times 🫡

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Fluff, slight angst, request, Steven is a sweetheart and Jake is scary while Marc is trying, short, headcannons, reader is a shifter, werewolves, society differences.

WC: 1.5k

TAGS: @luci-the-brat-boy

NOTES: I apologize for the long wait on making this request I’ve been busy on my end but I’ve finally got the time to get these completed! Thank you for enjoying my moonknight shots, writing these characters can be a bit tricky since they all have different personalities but I was able to make it work! I did make a few changes so hopefully it’s still good!

Shifters were still new to society and not many have grown used to them due to the fear of getting hurt one day if they were to shift in front of them and perhaps hurt them or kill them. Each shifter was different and due to their existence, laws were established in order to keep a balance between shifters and none shifters, but the laws didn’t really stop the hate that some people carried for them.

Steven Grant:

Steven didn’t think he’d end up dating a shifter, let alone one who shifts into a wolf the size of a car. He was shy at first since he was new to the whole shifting when it came towards his partner.

After a few dates Y/n grew comfortable in showing Steven his new form, taking things slow with the man since he was always so nervous around him until months of dating he’s grown used to him. Steven had also told Y/n about his DID and about Marc and Jake, giving him very little information about them expecting his partner to pry for more information only to reassure him that he doesn’t have to force himself.

After their confession they continued on with their dating life like normal. Until Y/n started to notice the way that Steven is treated at the museum, each time he paid him a visit he noticed how rude his manager was being to him, making him growl in anger by how to orders Steven around and makes him do the extra work while she sits back and does nothing.

Y/n knew how much Steven loved his job, but there were times that he couldn’t help but interfere with the situation.

It didn’t take long for him to track down Steven's mangers and corner them in an empty hallway, whispering them threats on treating their employees with respect and to not treat them as slaves, frightening the poor women.

“Treat them like slaves again and I’ll hunt you down on the next full moon.”

Lets just say that Steven stopped receiving bad treatment after that which only left him a bit confused and oblivious to the matter.

Y/n was always protective of Steven due to his innocence and oblivious state at times. Every time someone looked at him wrong or stopped his ancient Egypt mid rant he’d slowly turn to the person to give them the stink eyes as if saying, “how dare you stop him from talking about what he loves?!”

He had scary dog privileges…literally.

The first time that Steven actually lost it was when one of their neighbors caught Y/n coming back home from a full moon with Steven next to him. His wolf form looking a little smaller as he padded next to him quietly and tried to regain his thoughts after last nights events only for their snotty neighbor to step out into the hall and scold Steven for keeping a “mutt” around.

Y/n was close to turning around and snapping his jaws at the neighbor in order to scare them only for Steven to step in between them while glaring at the man angrily. Steven was already tired from chasing after his partner through the streets and making sure he wasn’t causing any trouble all night and his neighbors comment was his last straw.

The shifter had never seen Steven so upset, using every cuss word he knows to call the neighbor out, pointing a finger at him and jabbing them in the chest. It caught both shifter and neighbor by surprise until Steven finally cooled down and opens their door to allow them inside.

Once inside Steven slams the door behind him and leans his back against it with his face buried in his hands. Y/n had approached Steven slowly, still a small wolf and whining softly to get the man’s attention only for Steven to drop his hands and look at his partner in horror.

“Did I just do that? Oh god I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

Steven had never blown up like that before that even he was surprised by his outburst that night.

Marc Spector:

Marc wanted to scold Leon for picking a shifter as a boyfriend. Marc didn’t hate shifters he just didn’t know much about them to actually trust them yet, so when he finds out that Steven got himself a shifter of a boyfriend he couldn’t help but be a bit cautious around him.

Y/n didn’t spend much time around Marc since the man refused to be around him when it was his turn to take over the body. The shifter wanted to ignore him and let him do as he wanted, only to end up following Marc secretly whenever he went out.

The two didn’t get along quiet yet, but Y/n is still overprotective of the two of them. Yes, they share the same body but he can’t help but feel like he needs to be there to protect them both.

Only Marc doesn’t need protection he knows how to take care of himself and stick up for others, so the first few times he caught Marc being defensive or fighting back he couldn’t help but find the man quiet attractive.

Marc was perhaps the one who could actually make him blush whenever they spent time together back in Steven’s flat. Even when Marc returned back home stressed and upset, Y/n already knew how to help the man distress by shifting into his wolf form and lying on his back across Marc’s lap and letting the man scratch his belly or bury his face into his warm fur while groaning in frustration as if someone would do to a pillow. Y/n enjoyed cuddling with Marc during his full moons when he’s stuck in his wolf form for long hours of the night.

Y/n was in the cities office when he was first called out for being a shifter while renewing his passport due to Marc wanting to take them on a trip. A few strangers were waiting around for their turn and due to Y/n being a shifter he was first priority since he went through a longer process in getting a renewal which pissed off a lot of people.

Only for Marc to shout at them to shut up and reminding them the laws between humans and shifters and how not everything is fair between them, giving them a deadly glare that made them back off.

Y/n can’t help but crack a small smile when hearing Marc’s words as he focused on his passport renewal.

Jake Lockely:

It was harder for Y/n to get along with Jake since he acted like the silent but deadly brother between the three. He found Jake intimidating that he was perhaps the first person to actually make him tuck his tail between his legs.

Jake didn’t need protection and Y/n knew that since he’s seen the man beat another human to near death until he stopped him from going to far. Y/n didn’t know about Jake until one night when he noticed a change of smell in Steven and Marc’s scent, realizing that they weren’t the only ones.

Jake was suppose to be a secret, hiding in the shadows as he watched over Marc and Steven. Only the cab driver didn’t really need to protect them since they had a shifter by their side, but that didn’t mean Jake couldn’t keep an eye on him too.

Their first night together was awkward for them since Jake rarely spoke and Y/n was too afraid to ask him questions without getting the man angry. It didn’t take long for Jake to notice this that he finally decides to speak up, asking questions that’ll get him closer to the shifter.

They only spent time together during late nights when Steven and Marc are sleeping and Jake is able to take full control. Giving Y/n a chance to join him on his nightly trips and sitting next to him on the passenger seat while talking.

It didn’t take long for Jake to warm up to the shifter, not realizing that Jake had added him to his list of people to protect. Even though Y/n can shift into a large wolf, big enough to kill anyone on sight, Jake still decided to take the roll of taking care of the shifter too.

Y/n first witnessed Jake defending him when he was helping a man into the cab from a club, drunk off his ass while the shifter gets him inside the back seat. What he didn’t realize was the group of men lurking around the club, clearly drunk as they whistled at him, trying to get his attention which he ignored.

That was until one of them had the balls to slap his ass filling him with shock and ready to strike the man down, but when turning around Jake was already doing that for him.

Jake was filled with rage as he slams his fist into the man’s face over and over again. The others tried to pry Jake off, but he was faster than them, kicking their asses and forcing them on their knees and apologizing to the shifter.

Y/n could only stare at Jake with wide eyes as the men whimpered out their apologizes to him.

#male reader #moonknight x male reader #steven grant x male reader #Steven Grant #marc spector x male reader #Marc Spector #Jake lockely x male reader #jake lockley #moonknight #shifter male reader #shifter #au #headcanons

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weneedatdcharacterwho · 2 months

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We need a Total Drama character who insists their relatively normal name is short for an untraditional name (May short for Mayonnaise, Meg short for Megawatt, Dexter short for Dextrose) but then goes back and forth on whether they're just kidding or if they're dead serious

#total drama #total drama island

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pursuitseternal · 3 months

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Seek some release “In the Monster’s Shadow:” Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart | E | 2.4k of delicious BDSM (and feelings if you squint)

Summary: Betrayed by her dreams, Shadowheart can’t hide much from him… not when he demands such exhilarating pleasure for her and for him.

CW: total Dom!Astarion, degradation, BDSM, impact play, sensory deprivation, cum play, praise kink, a hint of feelings being revealed.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 4…

🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤

“Spread your legs and climb on…”

The order purred from beside her, Astarion leaning forward, arm gesturing towards the strange saddle before them.

Shadowheart’s skin burned, hotter than a ray of fire, she felt his gaze taking over her skin. Her cheeks were beet red from her dream, she knew it. And he had seen it all, more than she ever would have said.

Little use hiding it now. Perhaps the truth wouldn’t be so horrible…

But then, as she passed him just within reach, he landed a blow on her already abused backside. Even through the soft material of her shift, that riding crop stung. A yelp slipped from her mouth as she flinched more in surprise than pain.

Pain she knew, an old friend. Not like the monster before her who tilted his head back, as if savoring the sound of her cry more than the sweetest music.

“I know you can move faster, princess,” he chuckled, rapping that flap at the end of the crop against his leathers. The steady tap tap of his own beating his leg sent matching pulses to her already thick and swollen folds. “Hurry it up, girl,” he growled, booted feet landing with steady and loud foot falls, giving her chase. Shadowheart hurried just a bit faster, throwing him a withering scowl, even as she braced her hands on the strange apparatus.

Almost a normal saddle, covered in black velvet, smoother than silk and supple. All save for a patch towards the stock at the front. That part, that was covered with little bristles of leather and horsehair. Already her wet and aching folds throbbed, and the sight of that instantly made her clit itch to be touched.

She could feel the sweat gathering on her forehead, watching him lick his lips from the other side of the saddle, crop still tapping his thigh as he waited. A deep breath, and she hoisted herself astride. He tried to keep her face steady as the materials rubbed her cunt in all the right places, tried to keep the grunt of effort and satisfaction quiet as she settled the expanse of leather and velvet between her thighs.

That crop bit in his fangs, Astarion descended on her, careful only to grip her nightshirt, ripping the soft, buttery material in his skilled hands with ease. “Too bad you weren’t thoughtful enough to remove it for yourself, it was a rather flattering cut on your figure, Shadowheart,” he purred, so silken in her ear. Not unlike her dreams. Her waking nightmares.

He yanked it from her body, taking that hem of it in his hands and fangs and ripping a sizable strip. A thick band of softest fabric, he snapped it between his hands, testing it. Careful not to move, not to grind and make that burning between her thighs worse, she reached her wrists out, smiling, confident she was ahead of him in his games.

“Aww,” he mocked with false gratitude. “So thoughtful,” he grabbed her hands in one of his, only to bring that crop down on her outstretched palms with a snap. “But you’ll learn not to attempt to anticipate my desires. You think you know me, Princess, but you’ll find you’ll enjoy that I’m full of surprises.”

His voice was harsh, silken smooth but cutting, not unlike a sharpened blade. “Hold very still,” he ordered, waiting.

Shadowheart paused, looking into his face as the tip of that crop tapped against his side again. His dexterous hands raised and lowered that leather wand on her thigh faster than she could think. “Well?” he hissed. “When I give you a command, what do you say in reply, darling?”

“Ow!”’ she whined, baring her teeth in ire.

“No, we say…” he promoted, hand raised again with that leather ready to flick again.

“Yes,” she grumbled.

Smack! It landed on her thigh, another red spot on top of the first. “Care to try again?” he smirked, a fang biting his lips slowly as he smirked.

“Yes…” she sneered, angry, and yet totally hot from the inside out, “…master.”

“My, my,” his brows raised in tickled compunction. “It can obey… she can learn something after all. Obedience will look good on you, Princess.” He closed the distance on her, his scent enveloping her first, deadening all her other senses to anything apart from his presence.

His proximity. He flicked her one last desirous smirk before the fabric covered her eyes, before it was cinched tightly around her head.

“Fuck you, Astarion,” she hissed, his fingers not leaving her skin.

Two long, smooth digits stuffed her mouth to silence her. “Careful, or I’ll tear another one for a gag… A shame that would be, given your dreams, you’d rather have something else keeping that dirty mouth of yours busy than cloth.” He jerked her by her mouth closer. She could tell from the intensity of his scent. “Isn’t that right?”

She mumbled around his fingers.

“Oh, nevermind, my little Shade, your body’s already given you away many times over,” his lips brushed her short pointed ear; and she knew he was right. Her body shivered and quaked to be touched, to feel his warm breath sweep down her neck. “You want me to kiss you,” he paused, barely touching those lips to her skin again, “don’t you?”

Fingers pulled out abruptly from her mouth to let her reply. “No,” she bit, even as her body arched closer. Tempted and pulled by his allure.

“Liar,” he hissed, bringing that tip of his crop on top of her thigh. A perfect shot to hit the same spot as before. Another one on the heels of the first. “And what do we say when you speak to me?” His nose brushed down her neck, breathing over the line of her artery.

“No, master. I don’t want your kiss,” she groaned, hand rubbing over the spot that stung from his crop. She was glad to be blinded to how pink it had turned.

“Don’t fret,” he purred, swishing that leather wand in the air fast enough to make her flinch and his and dread its next place of landing. “I’ll find a way to busy your mouth soon, I’m sure…”

Something cool and smooth pressed on her shoulder, that end of his crop she guessed, given the scent of leather near her face. Shadowheart didn’t mind the blindfold; the darkness was her oldest friend. It only served to heighten her other abilities, the other senses that swirled through her body. And right now, all the rest of her attention narrowed down to the ghosting dance of that leather lower and crooked over her back.

His breathing whistled through his teeth, as if he smiled too wide at the sight of her before him to shut those irritating lips. Her back arched under that leather touch as it swept from her hips to her thigh, the one that still remained a blank canvas for his pleasure. Gasping, she couldn’t hold still any longer as that flap of his crop stuck into her folds, playing in the slick and teasing her clit on its wide flap. Hips bucked unbidden, and she braced herself for a smack.

But no punishment came, only more strokes of that leather right where she burned for it.

For him.

Thoughts twisted at the passing words in her mind, trying to rebel, but failing. Failing so hard to hate the idea of wanting him anymore. She arched as that crop withdrew, dragging her slick up her thigh to sweep over the rounded softness of her ass.

“Why don’t you picture a pleasant scene while you ride, darling?” he crooned right beside her ear. “A merry little jaunt through the same wilds we once trekked. Just you… and me…”

The leather landed with a mild smack on her right ass cheek.

“Now ride,” he ordered.

First she hissed, then bucked on the stimulating fabric of the saddle, and finally she sighed her response for him. “Yes, master.”

“Good girl,” he whispered. Teasing that crop back toward the crest of her thighs, he stuck it just right that her clit caught on the windings of the tip with every buck. “What do you see?” he purred.

“Emerald trees, moonlight…” she panted as he raised it harder beneath her. The extra friction of the velvet made her positively soak the saddle between her legs.

“And?” he added, pulling that crop out. Another quick strike on her ass to make her beat faster before he returned it so perfectly in the same spot.

Another moan of bliss as heat flooded her legs, her core ignited with more desire than she ever recalled. “You…” she let the single word slip from her lips. Shame colored her cheeks even redder, she was sure. And the way he chuckled, low and deliciously dark, only made her buck harder and faster, little jerks of her hips to catch more of his wand.

“I do so like the sound of that,” he purred, and she could hear him hissing in delight, the snap and rustle of his clothing reached her ear, she guessed.

All that fabric noise was soon followed by the subtle, almost imperceptible beat of flesh in his hand. As he pleasured himself. “What of me do you see?” he growled, throat tight and teeth gritted, she was sure. Just from his ravenous tone. From the dry beat of his fist on his cock.

Two could play this game, as fun as it was. She would drag him down with her too. If he insisted on taking pleasure from her, she could draw it from him with equal fervor. Her lips smiled as she turned in the direction of his voice. Her hands slunk from where they braced on the saddle before her. One clutched at her breast kneading it and rolling it, the other she braced behind her.

Her hips splayed apart, widening more. Giving him a better view she hoped.

“I see you on the mossy forest floor,” she groaned. “It’s you I am riding, not some steed, some senseless, biting beast.”

“Hgnf,” he growled, voice drawn closer, that feral sound almost maybe inches from her face. “It’s my hand gripping your breast, isn’t it?”

“Yes, master,” she purred back, demonstrating a good hard squeeze on its softness, hard enough to make her own flesh pillow between her fingers.

“It’s my cock buried in your sweet, wet cunt, isn’t it? My hips you clutch between your heated thighs…”

“Yes, master…”

That crop left her flesh so quickly. At first she groaned at its absence. Until two long, silken digits thrust hard inside her, forcing her to lean so much further back in her seat as she kept her constant and erratic rhythm. As she rode something inside her at last, that internal friction was so satisfying at long, long last.

Her teeth bit her tongue, keeping the way his name was about to slip from her mouth as she coiled harder than before, as her muscles clenched and burned.

Bursting, she could hear the shoot of her slick coating her mount, slipping under the pressure of her thighs. He groaned just after her. As her body shook in her climax, she felt sticky, warm liquid coating her breasts. That hand pulled from her clit, ripping her blindfold from her head. Blinking, she quickly scanned the sight before her. The sight of her. The darkened leather of the saddle stained with her cum, the red welts on her thigh, matching the ones on her ass surely.

The pearlescent slick of his cum dripping down her chest, running in sticky rivulets slowly to her breasts.

And then, only then, she looked in his face.

So sharp and hungry, he leered happily at her, body caving just a bit inward. As if he fought to not collapse into her shoulders, her painted chest. His lip twisted in that devilish half-smile as she looked at his cock finally. Hard and blushed at the tip and still dripping his cum as he finally tried to catch his breath. His hand gave it a few slow strokes, each one drawing just a bit more of his spend to drop to the floor. Fingers gripped the back of her neck, that weight bringing her mouth closer as he hissed, “Now, clean it, and be a good girl.”

Better than her dream, she sucked in his length, the bitter tang, the salt of his sweat, it instantly made her wetter once more. And from the way his hips gave little rolls to try and deepen her suck, she knew that this new hold he had on her was growing into something strangely… mutual.

Her tongue lapped and licked until she could feel only velvet skin in her mouth. Until she sucked off his tip with one hard pop.

Astarion’s crimson eyes burned, blazing with the aftermath of his pleasure, softened at the corners with something unspoken, she could sense.

“What is it?” she dared to whisper.

He took a long inhale. “You’re the only one that came back for me at all, you know. After all that time.”

She froze. Waiting for more. His jaw tweaked, as if he fought to swallow more of his words, his traitorous thoughts back into the hollow dark inside him.

Quieter than her ears could barely make out, he managed one last sentence to slip in that moment. “Even if it was to kill me in my sleep, little Shade, you’re the only one.” His eyes instantly hardened again, that sneer and air of the Ascendant returning full force over his demeanor. His shoulders squared, hand releasing from the back of her neck as his eyes narrowed with wicked intent. “The only one not to fear the monster in his lair,” he chuckled.

“Astarion,” she breathed, yet unwilling to lose sight of that softness she had once glimpsed in that same face, long ago. But she was only rewarded for her gentle caress of his name on her tongue with his seed-slicked fingers clawed around her throat.

“Master,” he hissed. A snarl on his lips, and he drew her mouth to his. His kiss was forceful and hungry. Crushing and biting her lip until she tasted her own blood. Until his fingers released her windpipe as she gasped from the ferocity of it. “Clean yourself, and you can venture into the gardens at first light, if you wish. After all, you did please me so.”

His back turned towards her, Shadowheart caught merely a glimpse of his scarlet stare for a second before he vanished into mist once more.

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ay0nha · 5 months

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hello :3

i can't stop thinking about nanami being readers biggest cheerleader but on the down low...imagine that reader is outspoken and always gets introuble and because she's a girl is never taken seriously so she gets into trouble for something big and is now "shadowing" nanami to know how to be a "proper" sorcerer !!!! but nanami is pining for reader and does everything to make her "punishment" bearable...can be smut if you're comfortable! but either way I love your writing and what you can do! hope you read this!!!

uwu thank youxxx

PAIRING: Nanami Kento x f!reader (sorcerer)

WORD COUNT: 3K~

WARNINGS: angst, canon-typical things, mentions of blood, death, injury, etc, innuendos, blink and you'll miss the slight fluff, rushed ending, hope it isn't confusing, etc.

A/N: I ADORE this ask!! I got a little more angsty than I thought with it and @hatsunemitskislobotomy and I have talked LONG about the entire world that could be created around this idea. SO, I think I'm going to make a second part to this (maybe three parts total? we'll see). Thank YOU for your patience. Enjoy.

“Answer the question.”

The brief and concise statement thrown at you mimicked the ones prior. Your reluctance to answer was anticipated; everyone seated before the Jujutsu higher–ups reacted similarly. But the jury surrounding you didn’t have the same empathy for you.

“The answer is obvious, isn’t it?” You were oddly relaxed in the stiff wooden seat. The eyes on you hadn’t made you nervous but instead energized your subtle rage. “Or is our system that dull? Have you truly failed to see who is behind this?”

“Be mindful; your responses have repercussions.” The Jujutsu Commander warned. His position saved you from a scornful vote against your innocence. Yet, those who looked on weren’t too far off. “Were you or were you not responsible for what happened at the Kokuritsu Kokkai Toshokan?”

The framing of your trial was spectacular. All evidence was vindictive, and the story was so perfectly skewed there was no way to worm your way out. Your fate was already sealed.

“You lot ask the wrong questions.” Your laugh was bitter.

“Your admission. Only.” His patience was running thin, his politeness only formality as his tone opposed it entirely.

The truth was a volatile thing. Children were taught that it was essential in life, valued so highly that corrupt justice could manipulate it so finely that you almost believed it yourself.

Lying, therefore, became a habit. It came naturally as if it was second-hand nature.

The twitch of your lip was poisonous. “Guilty.”

The others murmured at your feigned candor. The whispers were silly, as anonymity never existed for those behind the walls. Every face was bared, burned into your memory by resentment.

—

Your wrists itched.

It was as if phantom threads tethered you down. When the knots tightened due to your resistance, you became a marionette for those who put you in your place. You’d move with dexterity as a puppet controlled by those ranked above you.

Your exhaustion created a silly—delusional— image. Your cheeks were rosy with red paint, and your eyes brightened with Pierrot-styled tears. You performed on a stage silently, an alienated observer of the mysteries and shadows of sorcery.

You took on a second life, reciting an alert, troubled, swaying, and deliberately uncertain verse. It didn’t matter if the audience understood; they considered what you said genuine art. Then, when it all ended, the standing ovation wouldn’t bring you joy but the flowers that waited for you.

It wasn’t until the third time your name was called that you acknowledged its source.

“What do you see?” Nanami’s tone was sterile, but you knew he was fighting frustration at your languidity.

The stone walls were icy, and the lack of sunlight within the church nurtured the cold. Nature started reclaiming every pew, and the stained glass became disfigured. Its evidence of abandonment seemed uneventful—normal.

“Graffiti.” Your response was dull.

Effort was a comical notion.

Sorcery required it at times, just as breathing did. The effort now felt good, worth it. The icy air that reached the ends of your lungs stung. Yet, each breath was quieter, the effort only coming in the form of physical mechanics of pushing a warm breath back out that the air around you marked.

Although studied meticulously, its real trait was its vitality. It shifted and molded. Evolved. It made even more concrete things seem like rubber, rejecting electricity with an uncanny ability to mold into shapes unknown. It was the type of thing that could be so exciting to happen just to become something so vague that it no longer held value to it.

You felt childish, undermined really, but you knew Nanami was following orders. Yet, your core frustration came from being in the countryside. The higher-ups slowly pushed you out of the city with each mission you were attached to.

Away from real problems, you were no longer deemed theirs. That distance kept you busy with the unwanted chores of dealing with low-grade curses who were scared of their own shadows.

“No.” Another wrong answer. “Look closer.” Nanami urged you, hands tucked away and nodding ahead. “The carvings are in a pattern. Do you recognize it?”

It was an ancient incantation, one that’s effectiveness lessened by time. Most charms were for protective measures, but the spiraled swirl of lettering was fresh. You traced your fingers across the symbols, feeling their lingering heat, only freshly scorched.

“Cursed user?” Your breath was just shy of being transcribable in the air.

The temperature was dropping by the second. Something dense settled on your skin in warning. The cursed energy came from multiple points, not able to find a convergence point. Instead, its disharmony grated against itself, creating such a pressure its purpose became overt.

In hushed tones, you were careful with your words. “Something is trying to get out.”

“Precisely.” Nanami’s voice echoed lightly, as did his footsteps. “It has been entirely overlooked…” He explained leading you to the heart of the church. “...I’ve been monitoring this place for months—

“So this is where you disappear to?” You bubbled, Nanami unintentionally drawing a smile out of you. Your laughter started to grow gently. “…and here I thought someone—a man like you, of your stature, would have—well, you know.”

“I don’t follow,” Nanami answered absentmindedly. His focus was still set on following the etchings and hoping to find any residuals.

“You value your privacy,” You weighed earnestly. “I don’t blame you for handling your more intimate business away from, well, everything else.”

Nanami paused.

After a few heartbeats of hesitation, he caught onto your implications. There was no reply save for a subtle re-texturing of his breath, the gap between inhalations infinitesimally smaller, the length of his exhalations protracted.

It was nearly imperceptible as Nanami fought to smother it. It may have gone unnoticed, mistaken for concentration. However, to an experienced eye, you watched your words ripple an ever still puddle of emotions.

With a gentle clear of his throat, Nanami quelled your suspicions. “You’re the only other that knows this exists.”

“Not even those old conservatives?” You were impressed by his discretion. “Breaking the rules for me, Kento?”

It was as if you knew how your words tickled Nanami’s sides. They taunted him with childhood memories that made the tips of his ears heat. However, your words cemented that you siphoned your humor through affection.

Nanami remained practical; any endearment had to be taken at face value.

“Our visit is to resolve this before they find out.” He ignored you, reaching for his blunt blade. “Now, stand back.”

Cursed energy fluidly surrounded his stature as he conjured his technique.

With sharpened eyes, you took Nanami’s presence in. The suit he wore was filled well. Even late into the evening, he was always so poised. Professional. It worked silently, exuding from his presence alone. That magnetism couldn’t be credited to sorcery but to how he evolved, becoming pointed and moving without fault.

It channeled well into his movements; the swipe of his blade was swift in finding the wall’s weak point. Everything was so well calculated, Nanami remained standing, untouched by the debris that floated around you.

“Stay close,” He instructed, knowing curses fed off the unanticipated. “Please understand this is for information only.”

Very little light penetrated the swamp of shadows. That gleam revealed etchings of connected hands. They were conjoined by a thin tongue of brilliant flame that wound its way around the hands like a red-hot wire.

You stepped carefully, tracing the path Nanami created for you. He mumbled warnings that always came with the unknown, but his voice slowly warbled into a tune you could barely make out. The walls seemed to pull you in, their dissonance filling your senses.

“It’s warm…” You noted, the oddity furthering your curiosity. Your fingertips burned against the markings. “It’s like the cursed energy is…is it? It’s–It’s moving.”

“It’s growing.” Nanami stated. There was a feeling of regret bubbling behind his words, as if reprimanding himself for thinking aloud. “These confinements can no longer hold it.”

The continued touch burned.

You flinched, drawing your hand to your chest. The walls were upset by the action, groaning with age and anger. It was sharp and tonal, lacking an echo, its mournful cry resonating with despair.

“Do you hear that?” Your question dissipated lamely. Although words were spoken, the sounds around you overlapped. It created a deep and thunderous sense of urgency.

The noise was luring you into a past that never was. This was the moment before a ship could crash onto the rocks. Your arms felt like lead, weighing down with poisonous consequences.

The cursed energy pressed into your abdomen from all directions; the air was pushed from your lungs, your rib cage about to crack; your eyes felt forced back into your head; your eardrums swelled pounding within your skull, and then with a crack like a whip you—

“Are you alright?” Nanami watched you return to yourself. He called for you, but you were lost under the curse’s lure. It wasn’t until he reached for your palm that you sucked in air. “What do you hear?”

You felt a needle of pain in your nose like you were near tears. “It’s—crying.”

The missions on the outskirts were always more condensed. The fresh air was too pure for the deadlier cursed spirits. Their strength had little to latch onto without a dense population to feed on.

This, however, deviated at the core. It was a mistake that relied on the distance to stay hidden. It was an anomaly that should have never been touched. And yet, it found its new prey.

Nanami’s grip on you tightened with regret. “This was a mistake—

“No, wait…” Your brows furrowed as you pulled away. “There’s something in here,” You continued, hands reaching for the inner wall’s deterioration. The walls became silent, unwilling to guide you any further. “We need to exorcise this—

“This was to survey only.” Nanami checked his watch, the hands taunting the idea of overtime. A sinking feeling swirled in his chest. “Exorcising an unknown, most likely, unregistered curse is too unpredictable.”

A quick solution was never appealing when you were capable of unearthing hidden answers. That novelty fed your reputation of being offensively bold. Even now, as you moved through the unknown, you weren’t afraid of the repercussions.

Although you were still present, Nanami watched you flee. Your guard returned stronger, but he didn’t regret his words. Nanami’s eyes were pleading, and you went to chastise him, but you found something distinct there. You didn’t know what to do with it, but to muse a buried thought.

“Why did you bring me here?” The anger you carried felt foreign, rarely, if even, had you directed it towards your counterpart. “Pity? To make me feel better about being benched?”

“You know that’s not—

Years worth of vexation simmered on the surface of your skin. “Save your lecture.”

You weren’t lucky like the others. There wasn’t a defining moment that made you who you were, or something so tragic that its vengeance led to motivation. Your birth was uneventful, your existence logged by a series of numbers and your childhood consisting of mediocre memories.

Even now, the memory of arriving at Jujutsu Tech was muddled with an indifference put upon you. It wasn’t for a lack of enthusiasm, but for the way even there, with its rarity and quaintness, you were ignored so blatantly.

There was never any demureness in how you spoke out. You dissected the obvious flaws of the teachers and higher-ups, but your voice wasn’t considered the way others were. Your presence only became perceived insolence. You hadn’t cared about the threats offered, even when you were removed from the curriculum entirely.

The lack of lineage attached to your name and rare technique led to reprimands even in adulthood. Your presence with Nananmi was one of them.

Although not on an official mission, Nanami’s current company was obligatory. Where he went, you were required to shadow, to learn from your mistakes and behave like that of a true first-grade sorcerer.

After a so-called catastrophe, you were put before the higher-ups. Every grievance was brought forth and judgment determined you were unfit to even advocate for yourself. It was then, those imaginary-thin strings wound around your wrists with permanency.

You pulled at them the further you ignored Nanami’s warnings.

“This is why you brought me…” You reminded him of your punishment. For you, even this, was to keep an eye on you. “...isn’t it?”

With Nanami’s cemented frown, his intentions were further concealed. It didn’t have the capacity to speak of the trip’s impulsivity. It ignored the uncharacteristic apprehension that created knots between Nanami’s shoulder blades; new to the sorcerer celebrated for composure.

It was rash, but the innate desire clear; Nanami wanted to be behind your reprieve.

“There are rules and regulations. ” He swallowed any lingering remorse. “They don’t stop for you.”

He mistook his demeanor for bravery, but his true bravery formed by being across from you. The only barrier seemed to be Nanami’s incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist.

“Nanami Kento, the reluctant hero…” You tutted with tender sarcasm. A hand rested above your heart, the same way the elderly read the headline that exploited your name, “...how kind of you to pity a recluse like me.…”

Your words carried back to Nanami’s core, becoming distant as you furthered into the mess he’d created. The darkness succumbed to your presence, your cursed energy steady as it unknowingly created space for the spirit that lurked.

Nanami’s lips shaped your name, but all you could hear was a mild ringing, a buzz. Your anger dissipated into a murky haze, the harder you blinked the more the argument dissipated. Even if you had held onto it, the lump in your throat wouldn’t allow it to exist.

The longer you lingered with the feeling, your surroundings slowly morphed.

All you could hear was your shaky breaths, and all you could see was a faint familiarity with your surroundings. Even your stumbling steps forward felt practiced.

“Keep up…” A disharmonious voice called for you. It was airy, like a child filled with excitement. “Hurry!”

The environment was damp, still reflecting the country’s dreariness. It was a good hiding place to play, to sneak, and for you to abuse. But the fog in your mind started to swirl. The colors became deeper, more like shadows that soon transformed into familiar figures.

The curse’s magnetism was a warning you ignored, causing your pupils to blow large at the burden before you.

The scene was explicit—nothing could be saved from the carnage.

There was no use in prayers. The gore set the air with dust that could never settle; a blood-warm heat had set into your marrow, never to be forgotten; it had been dragged to your doorstep like a cat bringing in fowl.

You recognized your own body from the anguish in your shoulders. Hunched over Nanami’s body as you held him tightly, that lump formed in your throat again.

The fabricated illusion scratched at subconscious emotions and controlled your movements. Your sentimentality was your weakness. Even your stubbornness couldn’t block the overwhelming flood of anxieties and longing.

You watched yourself stuck in a loop, hand rhythmically gliding across the fabric of his shirt in hopes of softening it. To revive something that was determined to remain still. Its structure was that of a fever dream, its kaleidoscope quality provoking you to interpret it.

“Nanami?” You couldn’t tell which version of you spoke. Regardless, his name was like torture. “Nanami—please.”

Your defenses damped, your cursed energy draining the further you succumbed to the hallucination.

“You can’t leave me—” The wails you let out grated against your skin, unrecognizable as your own. “I can’t do—please, Nanami!”

There was a disillusioned passion you felt. It grounded you within the false reality. Even if your mind wasn’t your own, your body moved with muscle memory. Your cursed energy crawled from your core to your fingertips, using the little amounts to start your technique.

The blue energy extended like nails. You stalked forward until they met your second-self’s back, piercing through your back until you could feel the breeze on the other side.

The puncture flashed an image, revealing the truth of your damage.

The spell you were under broke. The veil no longer misguided you.

“Nanami—” You cursed his name as he grunted in pain. Your hand was warm with his blood. “Fuck. Fuck—” The words tumbled from your quivering lip. You couldn’t think of anything else, repeating the curse. “I’m so sorry—I—

Guilt crawled up your throat when you recognized his hold on your wrist. Nanami’s grip was the only thing keeping your strike from being lethal. Your mouth was dry, shallow breaths passing your lips with a bargaining plea.

“No, no, no—” Your vocabulary became limited the further you panicked. “Nanami—

Nanami’s breath struggled, but there was determination on his brow. The copper taste took over his tongue, any warning could never make it out in time.

Your body froze, more aware of your surroundings than your mind. It happened too quickly to realize the position you put yourself in; in a flash, you pushed Nanami to endure the hit from the curse that had forced your hand.

The moment your head snapped back against the stone wall, everything went black.

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level2janitor · 2 months

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Diceless skills

the more i run and play RPGs, the more i start to be skeptical of dice. i like dice - i like rolling them, i think there's a whole lot of areas where they make a game better. but i'm skeptical about how they're the assumed default for how you resolve stuff.

ramble about ttrpg design under the cut

the way D&D handles skills is simple: you roll a die. if it's a big enough number (modified by the difficulty of the task & how good you are at it) you succeed. if not, you fail (usually meaning nothing happens). what this amounts to is a random chance to fail.

there's storygames that use more nuanced mechanics - no null result! rolling low is less 'total failure' and more that some twist happens. that can be more interesting. (i'm not familiar with a whole lot of storygames, so this is an oversimplification based on my limited knowledge, correct me if i'm wrong)

now these generally work fine for what those games are trying to do. they use uncertainty to generate drama: oh, shit, i failed the super-important deception check to convince the guards i'm a harmless merchant, now the situation escalates. perfectly good mechanic for your standard 5e campaign.

but that kind of stopped working as soon as i branched out into OSR games.

see, dice fill a very different role in an OSR game. these systems are designed with high lethality in mind - your fighter has 1d8 hit points, a sword deals 1d8 damage, you just die at 0HP. if you run them like 5e, you start killing PCs left at right and it can be very demoralizing.

the intended playstyle is, instead, that the players circumvent die rolls through cleverness - once combat starts, your fate is in the hands of the dice, so you make plans that avoid combat or swing the odds so far in your favor that the risk is worth it. so the dice still feel like they fill a good role, making combat deadly and unpredictable on purpose to set that dynamic.

this breaks down when you use the same logic for basic task resolution. most OSR games don't have skills, but i often see the misconception that you're supposed to use raw ability checks instead or the GM makes up a success chance on a d6. these fundamentally do the same thing as a traditional roll-to-win skill system: make luck a factor in basic task resolution.

the problem is OSR games have such high stakes in the form of very possible character death that involving luck in basic task resolution can be disproportionately punishing. "you failed the stealth check, roll initiative!" works alright in 4e or 5e where combat is the game, but in the OSR that's a line you very rarely want to cross.

(this is also why old-school D&D isn't my OSR of choice, since the thief just makes a bunch of tasks into die rolls with abysmally low success chances you'd never want to rely on)

instead the expectation is the GM is both generous and transparent with task resolution. most things should be a success or not doable; if something has notable consequences or is iffy enough to require a die roll, the GM should tell the player what is at stake before they commit to taking the action. (die rolls still have a place in terms of risk management but i feel they should be opt-in.)

this has worked pretty well in my games, but i missed skills as ways to differentiate PCs and allow specialization into different areas. it's a lever for customizing your character that i really like about D&D, helping two members of the same class feel distinct. so the best skill system i've found that still works well in this environment is this one borrowed from Joseph Manola:

Spending a skill slot on something means you are really good at that skill, and will always succeed at attempts to use it (emphasis mine) except under severely adverse conditions. If you have the Climbing skill, for example, you can automatically climb any normal surface you encounter, although doing so quickly or quietly might still require a Dexterity check.

it's a houserule i put into my Grave campaign for my home group and a core mechanic for iron halberd, and everywhere i've put it, it's run smooth as butter.

it feels like it slots into the OSR playstyle so, so much better than the old-D&D thief skills. die rolls are almost a punishment, so why bake them into the task resolution players use when playing as intended? the diceless skills are instead a reliable tool in your toolbox, and problem-solving with them should be rewarded.

i've also worked out what i think is the ideal number of skills for an average PC - two. less than that feels highly restrictive, while more than that feels like you have everything you really want for most PCs (thus devaluing PCs that spec into having more than two). i let players drop an attribute by 1 for an extra skill or vice versa, to allow for some PCs to be more skill-focused than others.

other variations on this idea include Dice Goblin's time, gear, skill system. i like this one because it's easy to houserule in a way for a player to double down on a skill - spending 2 skills on the same skill just lets that skill count for 2 requirements instead of 1.

overall they've been fun to use and players feel good using them. they do lose that drama aspect, but i find it easy enough to create tension in other ways in an OSR game. i might even try putting them in a non-OSR game because they've just worked really well.

#iron halberd #osr #ttrpg #game design #nsr

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hunterssm00n · 5 months

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NSFW ! Max hc's

I got it bad, baby, I got it bad / Oh, tell me you love me

*cw include stalking, yandere behavior, obsessive behavior, somnophilia, mention of non-con, and dark themes* MDNI - 18+

౨ৎ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

well first things first, he’s got a thing for voyeurism, in which he’s the voyeur.

if he’s the landlord of the building, he’ll find ways to sneak around in the walls and watch absolutely everything. if he doesn’t own the building, then it will be more of a situation where he’s actively stalking; wearing his hood up to disguise himself, following closely but not too close, peering through the windows at night

he’s the definition of peeping tom.

it turns him on to watch without being detected, but at the same time he’s ashamed of those forbidden desires. honestly, he is quite a lonely man, and longs for a ‘normal’ relationship

however i think he’s too set in his ways for anything to ever be ‘normal’ with him

but even though he feels shame towards himself for his impulses, he can’t help but act on them.

he’ll be sitting in his chair inside the walls, jerking his cock and trying to keep quiet while he looks through one of the discreet holes he drilled into the plaster, huffing and softly cursing as he jacks off. when he cums it splatters the insides of the walls, which he’ll later shamefully make himself clean up so the interior doesn’t start rotting from the hot liquid

or he’ll be under the bed, one hand covering his mouth while the other palms himself through his pants, knowing he can’t open his belt because the buckle will jingle- and the hardwood floor digging into his back hurts like fuck but at the same time he doesn’t care, the pain adds to the pleasure, as does the thought of getting caught

i hc that the thrill of getting caught is actually something that excites him, as well as worries him

what this guy really, truly wants is acceptance, and to be loved like he loves: wholly, all-consumingly

in bed he’s not focused on his own pleasure at all- that comes secondary

he’s not selfish when it comes to giving pleasure- and honestly it gives him pleasure to be giving pleasure (the best kind of partner <;3)

he’s not focused on his own needs, and even if he winds up cumming he’s got the stamina and the drive to go again and again

his favorite position is missionary, because eye contact and kissing and he just wants alll the intimacy

slow and sensual is his preferred rhythm, but he’s down to get rough if asked (although he probably wouldn’t feel comfortable being overly rough)

good. with. his. hands. he’s a landlord/maintenance guy, so carpentry and doing renovations is something he’s familiar with- aka, those hands are capable of many things. long, dexterous fingers that can stroke and reach just about anywhere; rough calloused palms that rub and caress. good gawd.

amazing kisser; he loves some long, sensual make out sessions

he’s not very loud during sex at first, just because he’s so used to having to bite his fist and silence himself inside the walls, looking through the peepholes. but once he’s comfortable he lets out some pretty sexy moans and groans

loves eye contact during sex; he is just all about the super romantic, intimate lovemaking aspect of it

he’s also horny most of the time; his love language is physical touch and affection

praaaaise

he is all about praising and worshipping during sexy time

you’re so good for me, baby, so good

i love how perfectly you take me, we fit together so well

you’re so god damn beautiful, most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen

just all around sweet and loving.

however, nobody is without their… darker urges

for him, before the relationship is established (and maybe even after), he can’t help but sneak into the bedroom at night, knowing that he shouldn't be there, knowing that he’s the only one awake, knowing he’s not supposed to touch…

he's totally into somnophilia, and i hc that that’s one of his biggest kinks. honestly i think that might even be canon.

he would be into non-con somnophilia as well as consensual. morally, he'd like to say that he prefers consent, but in his twisted brain, he doesn't actually have a preference. he feels terrible about doing it without consent, but he honestly can’t help his urges; they’re too dark and strong for him to fight. he gets off knowing that he's in control, and what better way for him to be in complete control than being the only one awake?

he also would totally be into filming the act of sex, and/or taking pics during the moment. this would also either be consensual or non-con. again, he can't help himself. he also sets up hidden cameras around the apartment (or exterior of the home if it's not in his own building) so he can see what goes on when he's unable to physically be there.

he loves to look back at the photos/videos throughout the day, when he's in the middle of an apartment renovation, or taking care of his grandfather and he's just about had enough of the old man's bullshit. the pics/vids remind him of what's waiting for him at home (because he's moving in; it's gonna happen)

౨ৎ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

AN: I do not own the The Resident franchise or any of its characters. I also do not own the song ‘Tell Me You Love Me’ by Demi Lovato. The photos above are from pinterest, and have links attached to the original posts.

#jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #max the resident #my drabbles #my writing #mine**#negan #twd negan #negan smith #my work #fanfiction #jdmorgan #the comedian #watchmen #hunterssm00n #the resident 2011

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the-griffons-saddlebag · 1 year

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⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Magmarath Molten Blaster Weapon (crossbow, light or heavy), very rare (requires attunement) ___ Molten veins glimmer from beneath this magic weapon's volcanic body. The crossbow magically creates and loads its own ammunition whenever the drawstring is pulled back, forming a bolt of condensed lava each time. On a hit, it deals 2d8 fire damage, instead of the weapon's normal damage. You still add your Dexterity modifier to this damage roll. The ammunition crumbles and turns to ash immediately after it hits or misses a target or if it's removed from the crossbow. The crossbow has 5 charges and regains all expended charges daily at dawn. While holding the crossbow, you can expend 1 of its charges using an action. When you do, the crossbow magically projects an explosive mote of fire, which vaguely resembles a fiery mephit. If the last target you hit with one of the crossbow's lava bolts is still within the weapon's normal range, the mote magically strikes that target and explodes. Roll 4d6. The target takes fire damage equal to the total, and each creature within 10 feet of the explosion (not including the target) must succeed on a DC 16 Dexterity saving throw or take fire damage equal to half the total. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

#illustration #digital art #dungeons and dragons #dnd #d&d

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stealeroflemons · 1 year

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VROOM VROOM EAH #20

what the eah kiddos would be like as drivers because I said so (and jsut imagine that getting your license is a normal thing in this universe)

Briar does not have a license, all her friends drive her everywhere

Faybelle "stop signs are a social construct" Thorn doesn't like driving typically because "flying is better you dumbass"

Maddie hits potholes on purpose and drives on the wrong side of the road

Lizzie doesn't follow the speed limit because "no one tells the future queen of Wonderland what to do"

Ashlynn uses a solar power car because she's afraid of gas emissions and what it does to the environment

Sparrow is the WORST driver you've ever met and will not stop blasting rock music at full volume

Dexter always drives slightly below speed limit and freaked out the one time he ran a red light by accident

Daring and Darling have competitions to see who can run the most red lights in an hour

Humphrey tried driving once and hit a lamp post... he broke his arm and never drove again

Jillian totally drag races for the thrill of it

Hunter drives one of those big bulky trucks and has camo themed seat covers

#eah #ever after high #briar beauty #faybelle thorn #hunter huntsman #ashlynn ella #humphrey dumpty #lizzie hearts #maddie hatter #jillian beanstalk #daring charming #darling charming #dexter charming #sparrow hood

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dismissivedestroyer · 2 months

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Extended Universe: Violet is starting to feel really bad about what she did...

Dexter: Oh. Yeah. The missing posters. The ones I totally knew about. Yea. I'm that guy.

Dexter: [HOLY SHIT SHE HAS NO IDEA. I AM SO LUCKY.]

Dexter: ...(Sigh) Listen here- Uh..."Lady". I've had a VERY long couple years, I don't even know how i'm still here, really-

Dexter: -And you're the only person i've been able to have a semi-normal conversation with in God knows how long. So hear me out now:

Dexter: YOU don't tell ANYONE about me, I leave your house, and we both go our separate ways, and forget we ever met one another.

Dexter: Is that alright with you?

Violet: Well, but- What are you going to do after you leave? Where are you gonna go?

Dexter: ...Shit- didn't think about that. I suppose I'll try to get my old body back... But I have no idea where it ended up...

Dexter: Plus, I can't imagine a walking, talking doll will go unnoticed...

Dexter: AH, DAMMIT! And what if those red creeps get to me?! I'm screwed!!

Dexter: Is there...really no way for me to get back to my old life?

Dexter: After EVERYTHING i've been through?!

<Previous

>Next

#spooky month #spooky month extended universe #spooky month art #spooky month dexter #dexter erotoph #spooky month oc #sm dexter #dexter doll #spooky month au

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pink-eye-liner · 1 month

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Hello, so I was just at Tumblr and someone was saying that there are not enough Dizzie fanifcs and I couldn't agree more. So I wrote one (will be more then one in the future) So let's all read this and act like Kitty's diary does not exist :)

The sun was going down meaning that it was time for Daring to go back to his room. For some reason he was feeling all soft and fuzzy inside. Was it because he had won the bet he made with Sparrow?

Yeah, probably, what other reason could it be?

Truth be told, he actually forgot about the bet while he was up on Legend's back with Lizzie.

Daring had to really think about what would make Lizzie swoon, he had never needed to work so hard for other girls, all he had to do was smile at them and they would fall to his feet. Lizzie wasn't like that, she was much more harsh and harder to impress, to the point where he felt the genuine need to 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 impress her, and it was worth it when he did. Because for the first time he heard her laugh, and the sound of it would put any melody the Pied Piper has ever produced to shame.

He carried this feeling as he practically skipped to his dorm room with a massive smile on his face. Daring stopped on his tracks when he heard the sound of an obnoxiously loud electric guitar paired with an equally obnoxiously loud voice that could only belong to one person.

Sparrow saw him in the distance and immediately ran towards him with Hopper following behind.

"SO?! HOW. IS . IT. GOING?!" Sparrow asked (sung)

Hopper noticed the happy go lucky vibe Daring was emitting and wrapped an arm around his shoulder "You seem happy, did you actually do it?"

Hopper and Sparrow looked at him with anticipation, Sparrow looking a bit more nervous as he noticed that Daring did in fact look very happy.

The smile on Daring's face slowly started to fade as he was reminded of their bet, and that if he lost, he would have to wash Sparrow's grimnastics uniform after swamp swimming. Just that though alone made him shiver. At the same time he was reminded that Lizzie wanted to keep what they had a secret.

Daring's silence made Sparrow think that Daring did not in fact succeed and yelled (sung) in his face "OH! I BET SHE TOTALLY REJECTED YOU!"

Daring brought his hand to his face and placed it on the spot that Lizzie kissed, then her smile flashed in his mind along with the reminder his promise to her that he wouldn't tell anyone.

So, swallowing his pride, Daring looked at Sparrow and Hopper and said "Yes, you're right. She did in fact reject me. I lost"

Sparrow shredded his guitar with happiness and jumped up in the air screaming "ALRIGHT!" surprising Daring for a second.

"You know what this means, Daring" Hopper said.

"Yeah yeah..."

The next day, after swamp swimming, Daring sat in front of their school with a large container full of soap and water, washing away at Sparrow's grimnastics uniform (including his socks, gross) as other students looked and laughed at him.

It was both humiliating and degrading to say the least. Sparrow sing-yelling jokes and taunts at him only added salt to the injury.

Then out of he corner of his eyes he saw Lizzie walking to school, she spotted him then gave him a wink before she continued to walk inside the school.

Daring sighed dreamily as the soft and fuzzy feeling returned to him for a bit as he remembered their 'date' yesterday.

With a small smile now on his face, he wonders if he could talk to her after this public show of humiliation. Hopefully she considered his invitation to go on another date with him cuz he knew 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 where to take her.

Some hours later, Daring was in his and Dexter's dorm room standing in front of one of his many full body mirrors now wearing his normal clothes again, checking every inch of himself to make sure that he was perfect before he went out to look for Lizzie.

Dexter was minding his own business doing his thronework (homework) but he couldn't help but notice that Daring was acting weird. Yeah he was starring at himself in the mirror which was completely normal, but- the way he was checking himself as if he's restless was what made Dexter worry a bit "Is something wrong, Daring?" He said "You seem... Stressed"

"Oh don't be ridiculous little bro" Daring said before letting out a nervous laugh "What would I, Daring Charming, have anything to worry about?" Daring then proceeded to aggressively brush his hair.

Dexter raised an eyebrow at his brother, who in return gave him a smile way too wide for it to be normal, before fixing himself in the mirror again.

Dexter just shrugged and returned to his thronework, giving himself a mental note to ask Daring's friends if anything had happened recently.

Turns out, Daring didn't need to look for Lizzie since they shared the next class together more specifically- kingdom Management.

He couldn't bring himself to focus on what their teacher- The white Queen- was talking about. I mean how could he when there was a gorgeous red and black haired ferocious wonderlandian princess sitting in his far far right four rows in front if him?

Daring ended up just starring at her from afar. He's never realy bothered to look at anyone besides himself before, but looking at Lizzie Hearts now, Daring found himself wanting too look at her instead of himself.

While Daring was starring at Lizzie, she suddenly looked over her shoulder and took a short glace at him, their eyes met for a mere second before they both turned their heads the other way in a panick, their blood rushing up their faces turning their cheeks red.

Lizzie caught Daring starring at her and Daring caught Lizzie stealing a glance at him.

Daring put his hand above his chest and tried to calm down his beating heart. He glanced at Lizzie Hearts again and saw her head burried in her notebook while writing profusely.

He realized that she was flustered too, that made him smile.

Then the realization that he had been flustered dawned on him. This was particularly strange for Daring. He was used to making damsels all shy and flustered, not the other way around. Although technically Lizzie was no damsel.

When Class was over Daring went to up Lizzie and tried to act casual about it.

"So... Lizzie... Hi" Daring said while pointing finger guns at her, he mentally slapped himself because what the actual hex was that?! If he had been Hopper then he would have turned into a frog just now

"Oh, hi Daring" Lizzie giggled before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear "Umm, what were you doing washing Sparrow's grimnastics uniform in front of the school today?" She asked.

Daring scratched the back of his neck while letting out an awkward laugh which made Lizzie raise a brow "Oh nothing just- guy stuff"

Lizzie put her hand in front of her mouth as she let out a laugh "Did you loose a bet or something?" She joked.

Daring stopped himself from physically recoiling that that, did she know? If she did then he can't imagine a world where she wouldn't get angry and never speaking to him again. That though alone was worse then living in a world without mirrors. But Lizzie wasn't currently angry meaning that she doesn't know. "Haha... Yeah, yeah I guess you could say I did"

Lizzie cleared her throat and stepped a bit closer to Daring which earned a blush from him "So... About that second date... I might take you up on that"

Daring burst with excitement and hastily grabbed her hands which made Lizzie's face equally as red as the heart on her left eye "Great! Meet me that the book ball field after school"

Lizzie heard him but was too starstruck and flustered looking at their intertwined hands to reply.

Daring noticed and immediately let go, putting his hands behind his back and looking away "Okay- alright so-... I'll see you later" Daring scurried away to prepare for their next date.

Meanwhile Lizzie had to stop herself from jumping up and down in happiness as she put her hands over her mouth and let out a squeal.

#eah #ever after high #lizzie hearts #daring charming #dizzie #this is just the first chapter #I'll be posting the updates on AO3 #after i write them #lizzie x daring #daring x lizzie #My AO3 is MyUnstablenessIsConcerning

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abe-reporting · 1 year

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*Oh, yeah, right. Kind of a weird sight to see. Though he doesn't like how scared he looks. Abe was the last person he wanted to hurt.

Dexter reaches into one of the pockets on his overalls, and pulls out a sticky note, as well as a pen. He writes down what he has to say.*

The universe decides when I have something important to say. Nothing to say, no mouth.

And no, I won't hurt you. I can't fight for the life of me.

-Dexter

Cautiously, Abe moves a little closer so he can read the note, squinting his eyes. He wasn't about to dig around for his reading glasses now. Well, it certainly wasn't the weirdest thing he's dealt with or heard of...

"...huh." He says quietly, relaxing a fraction as he raises an eyebrow. "If you say so. And, no offense, but I really wasn't worried about you hurting me. Just caught me off guard, is all."

#what is it? (asks)#totally normal dexter

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fictionobsession · 9 months

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Learning Hurts

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Tav

Summary: Tav totally wanted to learn how to handle a dagger.

Word Count: 2,232

Warnings: knives, blood, maybe ooc astarion sorry, not beta'd

A/N: This is my first time writing a full-length fic in... a minute, so please forgive anything that doesn't make sense lolol but the Astarion brainrot would not leave me alone so you get this, you're welcome or smth

The sun was just beginning to set on their little camp as Tav leaned back, hands folded behind their head, watching the routine the group had so easily fallen into. Gale was ordering Wyll to bring him various ingredients that had been left around the camp. Karlach was arm-wrestling Lae'zel for the hundredth time, the latter sporting a triumphant grin at her unbroken winning streak. Shadowheart was using the time for her nightly meditations. And Astarion, never helping or socializing unless explicitly asked, was sitting outside his tent sharpening his blades.

Tav didn't stop themself staring at the way he inspected his work, running a long, slender finger along the deadly edge. They didn't try to tear their eyes away as he twirled the dagger, paying close attention to the way the firelight danced across the metal. Astarion balanced the dagger on one finger, flipped it once, twice, like he wanted to be sure it hadn't lost its balance somewhere along the way. Flip, twirl, catch. Flip, catch, turn. Tav was mesmerized by the dexterous movements of hand and knife, not noticing the smirk that had found its way to the rogue's face, or the sudden increase in complexity of the knife's ministrations.

“I can teach you some tricks if you really find it that interesting.”

Tav's gaze snapped up at the smirk they heard rather than saw, and caught the teasing glint in those lovely red eyes across from them. Tav cleared their throat, trying to sound at least somewhat normal, cringing when their voice still came out as a squeak. “oh, uh, yeah? Yeah! The knife work is very interesting. That sounds fun!”

He motioned to the space next to him, but Tav was rooted in place, looking back and forth between his eyes and the gesture.

“Come on, darling. I won't bite unless you ask me to.”

Tav felt their mouth run dry, and they swallowed hard, trying to contain any reaction they most certainly did not have to that particular statement. They knew they had failed, though, when they heard the snort of laughter Astarion graciously attempted to disguise as a cough – an attempt that may have worked if not for the crinkles at the corners of his eyes giving him away. Tav glared at him in what they hoped was at least a vaguely threatening way before taking a deep breath and moving to hover in from of his tent, a respectable distance from the man himself.

The elf rolled his eyes, an unfortunately common sight for Tav, handing them his off-hand dagger and promptly closing the respectable distance. “Alright, darling, we're going to start very simple, since you're just as like to stab yourself as the enemy half the time.”

It was a joke, or at least mostly a joke (excluding that one time), but Tav's face went hot with embarrassment anyway. They held the dagger like it might try to jump from their grip, knuckles white from the pressure. Astarion raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for Tav to figure it out. They loosened their grip a bit, rubbing a thumb over the lightly worn leather on the hilt, the texture grounding them and letting some of their anxieties disappate. They tried a few different ways to hold it, almost cutting themselves more than once, before Astarion found himself reaching out to adjust their grip. Both pause at the contact, but Astarion quickly waved it off with a murmured excuse. “Wouldn't be much of a teacher if I let you hurt yourself in the first five seconds, would I?”

He took a step back, pulling out his own dagger and showing off a quick grip change that looked like a simple flick in and then out. Tav recognized it faintly as the way they'd seen him reposition after a stealth attack on an enemy. Not that they were paying attention to his hand positioning in combat, just simply watching for timing for the rest of the group, of course. “It's important to be able to switch like this so you can react to enemies from multiple directions without adjusting your whole stance,” he explained as he demonstrated a few more times. Tav started to move slowly, clumsily, tucking the blade back and down, then out again. They kept at it, increasing speed as they went, until they got it pretty close to what Astarion was doing. They looked up, pleased with their progress, just in time to see an unfamiliar expression swiftly disappear from his face. If someone didn't know better, they might've described it as fond. Luckily, Tav knew better. “Sorry that took a minute, I know it should've been easy. Could you show me how to do the flip thing you were doing earlier?”

Astarion's brow furrowed at the request, and he was already shaking his head before the question was finished. “Absolutely not. You can barely do this, and I will not be responsible for - “ he noticed the pathetic, begging, ridiculous eyes Tav was giving him. Normally, he would've been unaffected by anyone's big doe eyes, but something about Tav at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to say no. “Oh, alright. But when you hurt yourself, I will not be feeling sorry for you. Are we clear?”

Tav nodded fervently, afraid he'd change his mind.

“I said, are we clear? Use your words, darling, or I'm putting these away.” A quick gesture with his knife, that playful gleam in his eye. Tav knew he was trying to get under their skin, make them uncomfortable enough to walk away from their little lesson. But Tav, stubborn as they were, would never give him the satisfaction. They brought their eyes up to meet his, back straight, exuding a confidence they weren't sure they actually possessed.

“Yes, sir. Very clear.”

And if they allowed themselves a satisfied grin when Astarion almost dropped his dagger, well, nobody needed to know.

He blinked hard, face contorting into another unfamiliar expression, this one almost akin to his “I just got punched in the face” expression, before he resumed his normal aloof grin. He tossed his dagger, letting it flip twice in the air before catching it. He shook his head and tossed it again, only letting it flip once before catching it this time. He did it again, again, again. Finally he nodded approvingly and turned back to Tav. “Alright, you're going to try to flip it once, like this, and then step back. You want to flip it forward so it goes more away from you than towards you. Then you let it fall to the ground. I don't want you to try to catch it yet. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

They felt the weight of the blade in their hand and tried to avoid looking directly at Astarion, lest their hands start to shake. They took a deep breath, tossed the knife harder than anticipated, and watched as it flipped not once, not twice, but three times before gravity pulled it back down...point first. Tav's eyes widened as Astarion yanked them away, their back suddenly flush against his chest. The surprise wore off quickly, replaced by embarrassment when they felt rather than heard their companion's laughter from behind them. Astarion didn't try to hide it, forehead hitting Tav's shoulder as he shook with giggles. They pulled themself from his arms and stumbled to pick up the dagger from where it had stuck perfectly in the ground, glaring at the still-laughing rogue.

“Are you sure you want to learn this?” The elf managed to huff the question between bouts of giggles. Tav narrowed their eyes in his direction, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender. “Maybe try that a few more times before you attempt catching it then, if you think you can manage to not stab yourself in the head.”

Tav's outrage came out as a very dignified squawk. “You – I'm only distracted because you're watching! Quit looking!”

“I didn't realize I made you so nervous.” An eyebrow cocked in amusement. Tav fought the urge to stomp their foot in a childish fit of annoyance. “Fine, fine. I'll turn around. Just make sure you step out of the way, please. I really would hate to lose my favorite traveling companion.” A wink shot Tav's way as Astarion turned to watch the flames of the campfire.

He stayed facing the fire for what seemed like ages, listening in barely concealed amusement to the thumps of the knife hitting the ground, almost always followed by a huff or grumble of annoyance, until he heard the faintest oh instead. “What's wrong, my dear? Tired of dropping things yet?”

“Uhm...” His eyes narrowed as Tav trailed off. “Yes, I think I might... might need to practice more a different time.”

Their voice was shaky and weaker than usual, none of their confidence and joking nature present. Astarion whirled around, unmasked concern evident on his face. The first thing he noticed were the tears pooling in Tav's eyes. The second thing was the intoxicating scent of their blood hitting him full force. His lips dropped into a perfect o as he stared at the drip, drip, drip of blood falling from Tav's fingers.

“Astarion? I'm sorry, I know you said you weren't going to feel bad. It's okay, my fault for trying to catch it, really. Please don't be mad.” Their small voice brought him back to the moment, only slightly disgusted with himself for getting distracted.

“Oh, love, what have you done?” He took two long strides toward them, grabbing their hand. He rubbed a thumb so gently near the wound, gauging the depth and severity. His expression softened as he looked up at Tav. “I'm not mad at you, but it must hurt. Do you want me to go get Shadowheart?”

“No!” Tav winced at the forcefulness of their own words. “No, no one needs to know how ridiculous this was.”

“They are right across camp, I'm sure they'll know regardless. Besides that, you shouldn't have to be in pain just because you're clumsy, you know.” He pulled his hand away, and caught Tav watching him inspect the blood left on his thumb. He brought the thumb to his mouth and licked a bit of the blood off, smirking at Tav's nose scrunching up in response. “Delicious.”

Tav reached up to smack his shoulder lightly with their uninjured hand.

“Sorry, love. I just can't help myself.” He paused before continuing. “Hm. Well, if you're insistent on suffering, can I at least help you clean up?”

Tav's imagination immediately took over, providing detailed visuals of how Astarion might “clean up” a bloody mess, which did not help the tightness in their stomach caused by him licking the last of the blood off his own fingers. Their mind wandered from there, unbidden images of Astarion, always teasing, always flirting, using that beautiful mouth for licking, kissing, biting... They shook the thoughts from their head, just in time to see him emerging from his tent with a cloth too clean to be found anywhere nearby. He held it up to them, offering to literally just clean the wound.

Tav sighed, mentally reprimanding themselves for having those thoughts about a companion, a friend, that clearly just wants to help. It had been a while, they justified to themself, since they had found anyone as intriguing, mysterious, hilarious, attractive as Astarion. There was no crime there, right? It didn't mean anything, and certainly wasn't anything they would act upon. Friends could have the occasional thought about each other right? It didn't matter that it was always the same friend. Or that those thoughts were certainly becoming more than occasional at this point. Gods, they were fucked. This would definitely be a problem later.

Tav's inner monologue continued as Astarion took the white cloth, folded it twice before taking Tav's warm hand in his cold one again and wrapping the cloth around the injury. He winced along with them as he tightened the bandage.

“'m sorry. I'll be done in a moment. I have to wrap it tightly enough to stop the bleeding.” Tav had never seen such a naked look of emotion on the man's face. They felt like they might faint, not from the blood loss, but from the sheer amount of concern present there.

“It's okay, Star. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose.” The smile Tav gave him could have outshone the sun. Astarion suddenly found himself with shaking hands, unable to identify what the hells this feeling was. He tried to finish the wrapping quickly, wanting to put distance between himself and the object of his racing thoughts. He turned Tav's hand, making sure the bandage was secure from all angles, and stalked toward the woods without a word.

Tav calling his name got only the slightest pause. “Thank you for trying to teach me. And for cleaning me up. You didn't have to do that.”

His steps stuttered, and he turned, not quite facing them, though they could see the pained look on his face anyway. “I think I did.”

He slipped out of view, leaving Tav standing, head tilted like a confused puppy, staring after him, completely unaware of the crisis of self they had just thrust upon the unsuspecting vampire spawn.

#astarion x tav #astarion x gn!tav #bg3 fic #astarion fic #please thank you and also sorry #d writes

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captainofthetidesbreath · 9 months

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forreal tho, why do people want fjord to be a twink so bad. he isn't one. i do recall that he is "small for a half-orc", but that simply means he isn't seven feet tall. why is him being a twink so important.

he and yasha are described as generally having similar builds (he's canonically slightly taller than her btw, gotta say it bc it's my pet petty hill), and that's totally normal for people to have the same shape and totally different levels of strength and dexterity.

like, why does everyone want him to be a twink so badly. not every man who isn't built like an ox is a twink. men come in other shapes.

#the '13 strength is slightly above average' and 'stats =/= body type' points are in the previous post #this is specifically for 'WHY does everyone INSIST on this'#Critical Role things #CR

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greetingsfromuranus · 2 months

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I love your art! Do you jave any tips ondrawing in the EENE artstyle?

Thank you!! The best advice I have is to study, study, and then study some more lol. Look at something, try to replicate it, trace over the original to see the underlying shapes, draw the shapes on your own page and replicate it like that, freehand it w/o reference, just see what works! i know it sounds like general advice, but the EENE style, especially once you get to later seasons,is very stylistically and technically complex! You're gonna have to see which aspects of it are intuitive to you, and which ones you'll have to sit down and make yourself learn. I primarily use Raven Molisee's art (lots of stuff on Deviantart and Poshmark more recently) since with his sketches you can see a lot of the underlying shapes and processes! But it would be a good idea to also check out stuff from the rest of the art department, such as Scott Underwood, Jim Miller, and Cory Toomey (you can find a list of em here: https://ed.fandom.com/wiki/The_Creators). Instagram account dawn_of_the_eds has a lot of good references!

You can also study screenshots of the show, especially if you're trying to replicate the colors/linework/movement/etc… I would recommend @ededdneddy-artrefs, as they have a nice tagging system for finding anything specific, but its also a good idea to just look at your favorite EENE clips on YouTube and go thru them frame-by-frame! It helps with understanding how the characters move, talk, express, etc… and you can really nail down the stuff you'd only get a vague idea of from watching the show at a normal speed.

For me, it took me months (minus some breaks) to get to where i am now with drawing the Eds. Someone more studious and hardworking could easily do it faster, but the point is, it takes practice! Practice combined with active, intentional learning! My progress with drawing the Eds has several phases marked by a sudden jump in skill (usually caused by me finally going out and studying some more art, and internalizing what i learned), followed by healthy stagnation, where i get comfortable with the new knowledge and just do the same stuff for a while. If you really wanna get good at drawing them, you can study much more than i do, or have shorter stagnation periods! It's ok to calm down and get comfortable with the characters, have some nice, easy, art making time, its important to not get too stressed or burnt out! But when you're feeling motivated, absolutely take advantage of that!

Some things to remember:

While the characters do have consistent design elements and basic underlying shapes, these are NOT hard rules. REMEMBER AND INTERNALIZE SQUASH N STRETCH! I've tried assigning hard rules to how I draw the eds, and it's VERY difficult. It's definitely important to write down/point out as many design quirks and reoccurring themes/shapes as possible, but just remember that the Ed Edd n Eddy style is extremely fluid and dynamic - and the guidelines you may have thought were 100% true can be shattered at any point. Basically: all rules are optional! Don't draw something because the "rules" say so, draw something because it looks good! Sometimes one rule looks good, sometimes something else looks better! I'll use the teeth as a visual example:

(art in 1st image by Raven Molisee)

Sort of a continuation of the last point - Before EENE, I had a tendency (and still kinda do) to use more symbolic drawing process, the kind of design language you'd use for logos or graffiti, or the kind of style you see in shows like Dexter's lab or Total Drama Island or something - where you get good at drawing the same shapes/lines over and over. The EENE style, especially in later seasons, does not follow the same process as these sorts of styles. For example, I used to look at Edd and say "ok, His head is THESE TWO SHAPES!" And then there would be another, I'd say "okay, 3" and then another, and another and this will keep going on and on and on. Sometimes his ears are at the corners of whatever quadrilateral his head is (like in Molisse's art), sometimes theyre on an edge (like ive seen in Underwood's art), and sometimes you just can't see em! You have to accept that the characters are a lot of things at once, and different things at different times! Like Eddys head is usually a sort of bent pentagon - but is his mouth is enough he's more like a tin-can - but from a more top view he's almost a triangle - you can do this cycle forever.

you can think about it like this: the eds designs (especially their faces) are sort of a collection of features, and the shapes holding them together than be molded and distorted as you please!

Remember that the eds often exist with 3D underlying shapes, not just flat ones! I would highly recommend studying 3d shapes in extreme perspectives specifically. Draw bent cylinders, twisted stretched out cubes, any sort of shape at the most extreme fish-eye perspective you can manage, just absolutely take advantage of them. Bend and distort and break those shapes, dig your foot into their backs and and pull at their corners like you're ripping the arms out of their sockets. Extreme visualization, I know, but Ed Edd n Eddy is a slapstick comedy - there is immense force and stretching and distortion present, you really have to get that energy into your art to replicate the style (even if I'm not great at it yet, it's something I know I must learn).

Specific tidbit that's important & I sometimes forget: The characters limbs can be as long as the pose calls for! They will be fine! If they're holding something above their head, their arms are going to stretch out much longer than normal and it's ok! You can always sacrifice the "accuracy" to the model to get a strong pose/silhouette. Though one thing I've noticed is that their clothes often don't stretch the same way their bodies do! If you stretch double D's arms out 3 yards, his sleeves are gonna be about the same length as always! Except for when it looks better to break this rule, of course :3 basically imagine their bodies are like stretchy rubber, while their clothes are not

(note how his arms are stretched reeeal long in the gif, the look of the action holds higher priority than "correct" body proportions)

Apologies on my lack of notes on Ed specifically, I've drawn him good a total of One time and haven't been able to do it again lol.... Sometimes his head is an upside down triangle, but its bent in a way that i cant find a good pattern to remember it by... though sometimes his head is a square but the bottom stretches downward to become his neck. He's weird as hell, one day ill figure it out!

That's all my advice for now :3 If i think of any more i will add it!

#eene #ed edd n eddy #ed edd n eddy fanart #ed edd eddy fanart

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