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gon-and-killuas-mother · 2 years ago

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due to the Naruto/Batman crossover i've been reading i will now be stepping into the Batman fandom

i mean, i've always liked Batman, but i never got into the comics bc there's so MANY so i settled for the animated tv shows and movies

specifically, i wanna see more Bruce being a kind person! also i need more Nightwing in my life. Dick Grayson might be one of my favorite DC characters next to Bruce Wayne

unfortunately for y'all this DOES mean i will be composing a self-insert story in my head. there's already one simmering on the mental back burner. it's how you know i love a story or group of characters; i write a self-insert fanfic as a coping mechanism for whatever shit is happening in my life. and boy do i need to pretend there's an edgelord billionaire taking the streets during my waking hours and investing part of his fortune to studying my illnesses during the day

whoops i already wrote something under the cut

i think, for my story, my self-insert has my basic personality and definitely my gender. they're an artist living either in Gotham or Blüdhaven. they use a wheelchair, sometimes a rollator, and deal with my same chronic pain and fatigue. oh and bc i rarely hear southern accents in these shows, this pal is from good ol' Arkansas but moved to follow their kid brother to either Gotham or Blüdhaven

the basic Plot that my brain generated to connect my character to the Bat family hinges largely on chance. Nightwing is on patrol, maybe following leads on the current Mystery. he stops on the roof of an apartment building towards the end of his patrol and takes a breather, sits on ledge and goes through files of evidence etc etc

enter my character (uh let's call them Rhys?) who opens the door to the roof and pulls out their rollator that they've managed to lug up the last flight of stairs, since the elevator doesn't go all the way to the roof. they also have a large art canvas, an easel, and their bag of supplies precariously balanced on the rollator.

Rhys spots Nightwing, who was surprised to see anyone else on a rooftop at 4 in the morning, and they look around and go "I'm not. I'm not interrupting anything, am I? Usually one mask brings more."

Nightwing stands up and assures them they're safe. he's about to leave when they pull a huge thermos from their bag (how did they get all of this up here??)

"My brother gave me this for my birthday a few years ago," Rhys says, lifting the thermos so Nightwing could see it. They pop off the lid, which turns out to be two that can be used as mugs. "Weird kids don't make a whole lotta friends. But he said the easiest way to someone's heart is through a shared cup of coffee."

and how could Nightwing, running on a handful of hours of sleep with at least another eight hours of detective work ahead of him, possibly say no to that?

he accepts the coffee and quietly sends a message to Barbara that he's taking a brief detour, all the while Rhys is setting up their easel and canvas. there's already some rough sketches and a couple layers of paint. Nightwing knows the skyline of this city well enough to recognize it even through an artist's eyes.

Rhys tells him that the sunrises here are unique. back home, the skies were crystal clear and nearly every sunrise was hallmark-worthy. but here, the pollution and glass windows reflect and refract the light in more ways than they could've imagined, and they have a series of paintings stashed in their tiny apartment devoted to color studies.

for one reason or another, this becomes a regular thing. several times a week, Rhys takes the elevator to the top floor, then heaves their rollator and supplies up that last flight of stairs. and every so often, when they open the door, they find Nightwing waiting for them. he starts bringing breakfast with him, but tells them he likes their coffee better (bc there's something about a coffee shared in a thermos that can't be replicated by any coffee shop)

eventually they ask each other about family. obv Nightwing doesn't give too many details, but enough to add to conversation. Rhys only has their brother, as their parents have been out of the picture for years.

one day, Rhys is quieter than usual, and hasn't touched their canvas yet, instead sketching and scratching out and balling up scrap paper etc etc. Nightwing asks what's wrong, and it takes a bit of nudging, but Rhys eventually tells him they haven't heard from their brother in a little over a week. it's not so unusual, but they get anxious anyway. they assure Nightwing that their brother probably just forgot.

then a week passes, and Nightwing is alone on the roof longer than usual. he's about to leave when Rhys opens the door, and he doesn't even have to ask how they're doing because they're pale, fidgety, and the circles under their eyes are much more pronounced.

their brother hasn't returned any calls or texts. more worryingly, his phone seems to have died or disconnected several days ago. Rhys doesn't ask any favors, but they don't have to, because as they're piecing together what info they have, Nightwing is already looking through police databases and missing persons and so on.

he hits a dead end, but one that is more informative and condemning.

Rhys's brother has a file in the system, and it's buried behind a top secret confidential report. something, something, Nightwing makes a loose connection to the case he and Bruce are working on for the A-plot. he promises Rhys that he'll find their brother.

and he does. he and Bruce bust the A-plot scheme involving (insert name of gang) that was responsible for dozens of disappearances. only a few of the victims were saved, the rest had been killed long before Batman and Nightwing stormed the keep.

Nightwing finds the brother. his body is floating face down in the canal a few blocks downstream, along with a dozen or so others. he's been dead for two days at least.

once the bodies are retrieved and safely transported to the nearest hospital morgue, Nightwing heads back to Rhys.

the sky is already turning from black to grey as he lands on the rooftop. Rhys has their easel set up and looks to be halfway through their current painting. they look up, about to greet him, but their smile vanishes when they see how grim Nightwing seems.

they blink back tears threatening to fall, turn their attention back to the canvas and pick up a different paintbrush. they quietly mix different colors on their palette until they're satisfied, before slapping the paintbrush to the canvas.

"Please," they finally say. the tears are flowing freely now. "Tell me what happened."

Nightwing sits on the ledge next to his cup of coffee. he remembers how his heart shattered when his parents were killed. he remembers the crushing despair upon learning of Jason's fate.

he isn't new to delivering this message. to telling an innocent family that their loved one is gone. he's learned how to keep it professional yet empathetic, to hide the worst details while satisfying their desperate need to Know.

there was something different about this one. maybe it was the determined focus Rhys was giving their painting, despite the tremor in their hands and their short breaths.

Nightwing tells them everything he can, save for the worst details. Rhys doesn't need extra imagery for their inevitable nightmares. but he explains the gang, the villain, the blackmailing, and Rhys paints on, only stopping to wipe at their eyes or blow their nose.

he finishes his story and watches them paint.

after some time of sitting in silence, the city slowly awakens and the sun rises. it isn't until the sun is nearly level with the tallest buildings that Rhys drops their paintbrush and buries their face in their hands.

the painting depicts their usual imagery, the sunrise filtering through smog and glass towers. the foreground shows a rooftop, not so different from the one they currently sat on. at the farthest edge of the rooftop, standing on the ledge with his hands raised--perhaps greeting the sun, or waving goodbye to the viewer-- was a boy. Rhys hadn't given him much detail, but they didn't need to.

Nightwing saw not just their brother, but his. that boy could just as easily be Jason as any other kid whose lives were cut short.

Rhys packs their things and stands to leave. they don't touch the painting. Nightwing asks what they'll do with it. Rhys looks at it one more time.

"Take it," they tell him. "I can't look at it anymore."

when Dick comes home with the canvas, he leans it against the wall and stares at it. one of the other Bat family, maybe Steph? Tim? comes in and sees the painting.

"Whoa," they say. "It's beautiful. I've never seen a sunrise look so sad before."

#my writing #look man #everyone needs to insert themselves in their favorite stories #it's healthy form of expression #that said this feels like one of my cringier ones #anyway #i have more of a story cooking right now #since it's a DC comic every character gets Trauma #with an extra helping of Pain #if i'm writing a self-insert i'm going all out #i have a motherfucking writing degree #that's also my art degree #i could... theoretically.... make a comic #but i will settle for indulgent fanfic with characters i don't know well just yet but i'm gonna #and Rhys will be forcibly thrown into the plot where they beLONG #i have their origin story outlined in my head and it's worthy of DC angst #that's what this universe is for!#all these superheroes are basically the writers playing action figures #the only rule that applies is Rule of Cool #and babey it's cold as fuck #(bad joke)#anyway again #this is just a rough premise of my disabled character befriending my favorite comic book characters #there might be more if i can overcome the cringe

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mikeystrawberry · 10 months ago

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Today is Dungeons & Daddies’s 5th Anniversary!

I haven’t been listening for nearly that long but the podcast and all its characters means a lot to me. Happy Anniversary!!!

Throwing the cropped sections under the cut because there’s a lot of stuff going on and I know Tumblr likes to throw half the pixel quality out the window. And also so I can ramble a bit about this piece!!!

This piece has been months in the making, possibly an entire year. And by that I mean I’ve had a sketch of the comp scribbled on my whiteboard for ages because I wanted to save this specifically for 5th anni art. Now onto design stuff!

(First off a random thought: I really love how the garlic knot came out, I kind of want it as an enamel pin.)

I knew I wanted to make this a stained glass piece since the beginning, but I was also going to add flowers at one point but quickly dropped the idea. It felt like too much and I also didn’t want to fuss over flower language assignments for everyone. I was also going to add Doodler tentacles, but also dropped that idea pretty early. Kind of on accident, right at the end, I figured out how to make it even more stained glass-like but taking a duplicated lineart underneath the regular layer and turning the brightness all the way down, then setting it to overlay and adding a guassian blur. It’s very subtle but it adds that tiny bit of depth that makes it look more real. As for shading on the lineart/gold, I tried adding more highlight on the characters who died but once I evened everything out it wasn’t as noticeable anymore so I’m throwing that thought here so the attempt at least known lol.

The order of characters only changed a little bit from my original comp, I flipped the Wilsons and the Oaks so the rainbow could work. As for the anchors, specifically in season 2, I lined them up to the teens since the season 1 anchors lined up with each dad:

Tony —> Scary: his death was the beginning of Scary’s betrayal arc and also Willy killed him.

Guitar Pick —> Taylor: it’s not really aligned with Taylor at all, but the anchor was with Glenn so I put it next to his blunt.

Scroll —> Normal: was only because it was the last left to give him, but there’s the whole scene of him and Hermie in the Green Room so it still works!

Garlic Knot —> Link: one of two that he broke, but the more significant of the two with him telling Grant he never wants to see him again.

Small notes on the season 1 anchors: I put the layer of mold in the overnight oats but you can’t really tell with the overlay. And to make the supper bowl more interesting I added the fantasy sodas mix they dumped into it. The lure of actually drawn before so I just traced my own art lol.

As for the other smaller triangles, it took me a bit to figure out what I wanted to put there. I didn’t even think of adding the vehicles until two days ago but I’m so glad I did. I don’t really have my own take on the mascot version of the Doodler (yet?) so I borrowed the design from one of the stickers in their merch shop. Teeny was terrifying as just a front facing head so I made him cute again.

In the outer circles, I put what I felt was the most significant quotes for each family. I really wanted to use “It’s okay to be angry, it’s not okay to be cruel” but it was just a little too long.

That’s all I can think of! If you read all the way through, thank you for indulging me in my excitement to gush over this piece.

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kachowden · 2 months ago

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OMG I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ARMAROS!!!! he’s lovely

For those of you curious about this creature v

Here’s a little information about him ❤️

He was originally created as a baldurs gate oc! He was my Tav, before becoming a part of a short story I had written (self indulgently), where he becomes a party member of the Player. And then from them I kinda fell in love with him and he took on a life of his own as a completely separate character.

His lore stems from having been a somewhat unconventional drow, who had a few too many ideals about life outside of the underdark and too many altruistic ambitions that stray a bit too far from their typical religious teachings under Lolth.

With his desire to venture outward and away from the group, as well as being a rather tall species of drow, and therefor “imperfect”, he was cast aside into the above to live out his absurd existence. After an unsuccessful attempt at becoming part of the elven species, (still being regarded as an “evil drow”, despite his rather timid disposition) he was led to wander for a while, before coming across a traveler. (In this case, you)

Now drow are known for their manipulation and mistrust of others, and while Armaros is a bit of an unusual drow, that way of life is still rather ingrained into his heart and mind. So he puts on act, a rather silly one given his stature, and plays the role of a helpless victim. He sells the role rather convincingly, and is absolutely delighted when you allow him to join your journey.

It doesn’t take long for him to develop a crush on you, especially if you’re of a separate species. But it all becomes set in stone when you valiantly come to his aid during a particularly nasty spat with some ogres and goblins.

“‘….This feeling in his chest. It hurt. Was he dying? Had life outside the underdark warped him deep inside? Why was it, that as he watched you fight against the beasts that had attacked him, his heart raced and throbbbed within his ribs. His lungs hurt from how powerful the thuds were, and his ears twitched, swearing that even amidst the swords clashing against each other, you’d be able to hear it….’

‘..His cheeks burned in an unusual manor, almost like the shameful burn he’d feel when his fellow drow had scoffed at his words when he gushed about life above. But this wasn’t shame. No, it was too fluttery, to dizzying to be such a negative emotion…’

‘Drow were highly intelligent, so it didn’t take long for Aros to connect the dots, when his eyes stayed so dutifully locked onto your form, a holy light seeming to shine around you and reflect off the sweat that beaded your skin…’

‘..You must have been a god.’

‘…A benevolent being sent to guide him and keep him safe, to restore his faith and to nurse him back to health with your kind words and gentle touches..’

‘..Yes, that was it. You were a God. His God.’”

Armaros, despite being a highly intelligent creature, had taken his realization of love towards you (despite only having known you a few days), and twisted into something made of unhealthy devotion. His belief that Lolth teachings were not suited to him, left him feeling a bit lost previously, and so when his somewhat deluded mind latched onto the way you protected him, and seemed to bathe him in your holy presence, he became your faithful little follower.

Offering you gifts, and praising poems. Upholding your words like they were sacred teachings, and even going as far as to write them down. “My god, My savior, My Lord, My Holy One” were all names he had referred to you as while you continued your journeys together. You were obviously a little disturbed by such a drastic title, but no matter how insistent you were, he would merely smile with such a love struck gaze and go on about humble and kind you were. You could be a completely evil and rule being deep down, and he’d still defend you till dying breath, and insist that his god could do no wrong.

Now despite the belief that the very ground you walked on was sacred, it didn’t stop his more selfish desires. Yes he knew he was hopelessly in love with you, but his belief that you were his god shrouded that love with obsession and a twisted lustful shame that brewed deep inside him. He even fought with himself in thinking that he did not deserve you in such a way, and yet did not believe anyone else would be a more suited lover for you. No one would worship you like he did.

His eyes would often wander down your figure, or lunge towards your lips when you spoke. He was still a rather pathetic character, or at least he behaved in a rather timid and shy way. Often whining about various things, and clinging desperately to your form as you walked, mumbling about how unfit it was to have you walk, you should let him carry you! He’s strong, and his stamina in unmatched. He could take care of you in anyway you saw fit.

No no! You mustn’t prune your hands with the rivers water, let him! He’ll bathe you, and rest assured he won’t miss a a single inch. Perhaps his hands wander a little to much and his washing becomes something more akin to a massage but nonetheless. You’re certainly squeaky clean by the end of it.

Overall, his help is usually more of a hindrance, with how much he hovers around you, and how hostile he can be towards potential party members. He’s selfish with his god, why would others deserve to worship you the way he does? They can praise you from a distance.

But anyway that’s pretty much his lore🙏 I love him so freaking much, makes me kick my feet and twirl my hair fr.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x oc #x reader #my art #yandere drow x reader #yandere drow #yandere worshipper #artists on tumblr #armaros oc #drow x reader #oc x reader

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easy-there-leftovers · 1 year ago

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I See You, Darling

[Astarion x reader] The idea never left my mind, and I so very badly need this right now. Heavily inspired by this cutscene where Tav chooses a dialogue option and Astarion's eyes just deviate-- (gif above, just wait for his eyes to look at you WKDKWKDK) |Word count: 2k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 2 here!!

Also, this is more heavy on the world building rather than dialogue. If I end up making this a series, I might write with more dialogue in mind but it was just necessary to do this first afhjaqfbnjkafbnebn--

A story in which an overworked art student longs for a fictional character that they've devoted so much of their time to.

Alternatively; Astarion realizes there's someone else watching him. And he can't wait to get acquainted with them.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

One.

Two.

Three.

It takes you three seconds to comprehend what just happened. Three seconds for you to try and save the progress you’ve already made so far. Three seconds for you to feel the chill of dread run up your spine.

You’ll admit, perhaps you were simply tired. Attending a prestigious school for the arts doesn’t exactly leave you with much free time to indulge in more calming forms of recreation. Your course requires you to consume a wide array of media to expand your library of creativity, after all. All in the name of generating more interesting media to entrance and enthrall your audience with your original work.

Maybe all the moving pictures and swimming texts have caused you to greatly misunderstand what you are seeing. Surely, your favorite character isn’t looking directly at you, right?

Right?

But before that, let’s review what might have happened earlier to explain just what exactly in gods name is happening.

Shall we?

——

You purchased the game a few months back. “Baldur’s Gate 3.” A game that took the players and immersed them in the world of Dungeons & Dragons, introducing them to the mechanics of tabletop RPG as they did. It seemed interesting enough. And if the concept of character creation and storytelling didn’t sell you on the idea of it, the pretty faces on the cover certainly did.

So, with the little money you could spare from your part time job at your own institution’s library, and with what little sanity you had left to argue with, you impulsively bought said game. And it was fun. Exhilarating. Electrifying.

Until you ran into a problem.

Astarion. The rogue, elven vampire that you have chosen to romance after careful deliberation. You scoffed to yourself. He was one of the biggest reasons why you purchased the blasted game at all. You’ve carefully studied the character in all his glory, from his striking carmine eyes and delicate unstained curls, to his aptitude for bloodshed and all manners of gore. He was such an interesting character, giving you more and more reason to pursue him as the story progressed. Yet the same can’t be said about your relationship with him. Or at least your “Tav’s” relationship with him.

You’ve had some difficulty in deepening your relationship with the ex-magistrate. It seemed as if no matter what options you chose, no matter what manner of advances you made, he’d be quick to dismiss you. Painting you as a desperate little pup as he did. Denying you the opportunity of further knowing him. You’ve created and overwritten more save slots than you'd like to admit, perusing each one to select different lines of dialogue only to be rejected time and time again.

You thought it strange. But perhaps this was simply the way his route was meant to unfold. He was such an incredibly complex character after all. Perhaps this was meant to prove the party’s loyalty.

But that didn’t stop you from being frustrated with other aspects of the gameplay. You've spent countless nights hunched on your work chair, back curving like a dead bug as you analyzed each and every possible outcome in combat. Eyes, bloodshot from cutting your sleeping hours short, just to endure the story until you were at an appropriate place to log out. And hair, flicking and curling out in different directions due to you weaving your hands through them in exasperation.

You saw your reflection on your screen as it darkened to load the next scene and you couldn't help but stare at your character in slight envy. You know full well that however you designed them, it wouldn’t affect how the others perceived you, and yet you couldn’t help but pretty them up for your own interest. You designed it with yourself in mind, but making them far more attractive than you would ever be. Effortlessly beautiful as they stirred to wake up in the forest you settled in for camp.

How could Astarion ever turn this beautiful being away? If not for their heroism, then surely their looks would be enough to draw him in, no?

And speak of the devil. Once you could control your character again, you readied them to interact with your sharply dressed companion. Wanting to try your luck once more as the bright sun shone upon your character like a promise of a new day. Unfortunately, you’re greeted with a look of boredom, oh so familiar, that you sigh. “I hope you’re not here to beg—” Mocking him, echoing the words you’ve come to expect with faux mirth in your voice. But you cut yourself short when you realize he has yet to say anything.

Strange.

What’s even stranger is that he's just staring at you. Well,--- he’s staring at Tav. Your character.

“What the fuck…?” You move your mouse around, clicking to try and toggle the dialogue options to no avail, screen stuck in a cinematic close up of his face. Much like how the camera always pans when awaiting your response.

However, unlike the common script of his actions that you’re used to, the one that you’ve memorized like a well practiced dance, his eyes smoothly glide off of your character and onto you.

You freeze, but your heart doesn’t. The beating of your chest growing stronger the longer he looks at you. Eyes, blood red like rubies, boring into your own. He regards you, blinks, and then smiles that deviously charming smile of his before your screen turns dark. Your computer turns off, and you stare in shock of what just happened.

‘No fucking way, no fucking way, no fucking way—‘ You’re not delusional, right? Sure, you’re tired, but no fucking way did you just imagine one of the hottest characters you’ve seen in a while break the fourth wall just to fuck with you.

You laugh to yourself.

Yes, you’re just tired. Nothing like a good four hours of sleep can’t remedy. Although, as you get up from your chair, foolish as it may seem, you grab a used shirt from your floor, and hang it on your computer in the case that those piercing eyes come to life once again while you sleep.

——

You stir awake after your short slumber. Your body, heavy like lead, though not at all a feeling foreign to you. You think about what happened last night, wondering if it was all a dream. Yet as you get ready for the day, you notice your dirtied clothing still on your computer. Covering it as if it were a petrifying doll from a horror movie. You feel childish for doing so, reasoning that you were simply stressed from the events that taken place prior and removed the cloth.

As you did, your screen was brought back to life. Showing you the next night as if your little "tryst" with Astarion never happened. An entire thirty minutes or so of progress seemingly gone. Thankfully, you saved just before your game went haywire and you attempted to load up your last slot.

Zzzt Zzzzt!

Alas, your game was not cooperating once again. You tried the save just before that and the same error screen presented itself to you. ‘Maybe this is a sign that I should just fucking work instead.’ Irritated at the thought, you moved to log out of the game but a familiar voice convinces you otherwise as the screen returns to normal.

“Why, hello pup. How was your awfully short slumber?”

‘Is this— a romance scene?!’ Astarion had never initiated an interaction before! Perhaps the game gods were granting you mercy. Or maybe, something you did last night might have given way for this line of dialogue to open up. Regardless, you happily took the opportunity and began reading your choices.

“Why, hello pup. How was your awfully short slumber?” ━─━────༺༻────━─━

Well. Thank you.

It’s none of your concern, fangs.

Better now that you’re here.

What happened last night?

━─━────༺༻────━─━

What…did happen last night? You don’t recall anything past the blackening of your screen, but it looks like you did something after that which caused this dialogue.

You don’t want to squander this opportunity, who knows when this will happen again, but your curiosity gets the best of you. So you save, and choose option 4.

“Oh, you poor thing. Spooked you, did I?” He laughs, seemingly taking in the look of confusion that graces both yours and Tav’s face.

“What do you think happened last night?”

“My fucking game crashed.” You answer automatically.

Tav moves to open their mouth but is silenced with a tut. “Not you, spawn.” His eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement, but the way his mouth is pulled in a tightly-lipped smile offers you further insight otherwise.

“I need your answer.” His eyes are on you yet again, and you feel the world begin to spin.

——

You stir awake after your short slumber. Your body, heavy like lead, though not at all a feeling foreign to you. You think about what happened last night, wondering if it was all a dream. Yet as you plan to get ready for the day, you notice you’re not exactly in a state to do so. You expected to wake at dawn, the dark and cool air to greet you as it fills your room and envelops your walls. Instead, you wake to see an endless amount of evergreen and the smell of the dark and damp grass beneath you filling your senses.

And if spending hours, weeks, months, of playing this damned game has taught you anything, you know that you now reside in the heart of the forest that you usually set up camp in. But this time, you're far from your bedroll and the fire that your party created.

One.

Two.

Three.

It takes you three seconds to comprehend what just happened. Three seconds for you to try and save the progress you’ve already made so far to no avail. Three seconds for you to feel the chill of dread run up your spine.

And this chill so does love playing games.

You clamber away on your knees when you hear that deep chuckle of his emanate from right beside your ear. Creating as much distance to inspect this figure you’ve yet to face.

You see Astarion in all his vampiric glory. ‘Well, for a vampire spawn, I guess.’ You comment to yourself. Crimson eyes, darker than you imagined, with full, dark lashes contrasting his pallid skin and pure hair that glow under the moonlight. An unsettling, and cursedly attractive, smirk curls onto his lips. His ivory fangs on full display as he does.

“It seems as if those useless artifacts were worth something.” He marvels at his handiwork, his prize, and approaches it with confidence.

“Well, your character certainly is more ‘prettied up.’” He circles you, carefully appraising his newest asset, and grins. “But you are far more intriguing.”

A simple, “What the fuck?” is all you can muster.

“Although, you are very cute. Cheeky little pup, aren’t you?” He jests.

A simple, “What the fuck?” is all you can muster which earns you a click of his tongue in response.

“You’re not broken, are you? Or am I to anticipate your little ‘what the fuck?’s as your only contribution?” Long, and incredibly masculine, fingers crawl and curl to grasp your chin like a spider.

“I’ve waited months to have you. And now here you are, finally within my grasp.” The statement causes something to stir within you.

“What do you mean, ‘months?”

He narrows his eyes, possibly trying to comprehend your stupidity.

“I’ve been watching you. Waiting, for the right moment. Interacting with this– caricature of yourself until you could deny yourself of me no more.” Blood rushes to your head. Your cheeks burning in embarrassment for seeming overly eager. And in panic as his intentions have yet to be cleared.

“And now that I’m here? Do you want to kill me?” You feel your heartbeat in your ears, awaiting his response. Your eyes wide in fear, yet trying to fake heroic bravado in the attempts to gain the upperhand.

And in this moment, he thinks you absolutely invigorating.

“Oh no, sweet pet. I’ve waited far too long for that. I’m going to make you mine.”

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Should I make this into a series? "The adventures of a misplaced artist in Baldur's Gate!!" Or something like that. Let me know, lol

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion x mc #aware!astarion #to be continued #or maybe not lol #I haven't written anything in so long #and for good reason #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader

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xamag-draws · 7 months ago

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BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

#my art #xam rambles #the black brick road of oz #long post #ohsees tag

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bianquitasworld · 1 year ago

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Can we have Dave as a total nerd who gets invited to his first highschool rager where he meets reader who's interested in him?

Parings: Dave Lizewski x Reader ₊ ⊹

A/N: Sorry for being gone I had no inspiration. I would make this a story but i’m scared to I trust myself doing little head-canons better :( also! Did y’all see the brawl in alabama !? 🪑

Warnings: Underage drinking, I pictured the characters around being 17-18 since they are in high school!! Dave is 18 reader is 18!!

• Well first of all we all know Dave is a huge nerd and kind of a loser, So how he even got invited to a rager is unknown.

• He decide to go, figured it would be better than spending his time away at home reading comics. Poor boy was lost and confused he did not know what to wear, he was stressed!

• He spent so much time trying to find an outfit at the end of it clothes was all over his bed and floor hangers were everywhere. All this mess just for him to go with the first outfit he had originally put on.

• Dave was so stressed out about absolutely everything he wanted to turn back and go home and read his comic books in the safety of his room.

• The music was far too loud teenagers were everywhere indulging in underage-drinking and dancing, some making out and practically having sex, gross.

• Dave was scared he couldn’t find the person who invited him so he just walked around, he grabbed a cup just to try and fit amongst everyone else at the party.

• Dave recognized some of the people from his school and decided to keep his head down to not embarrass himself in front of them. He noticed many jocks playing beer pong and cheering each other on.

• As he walked around he found comfort in a dark corner away from everyone. Dave would definitely just sit in the corner by himself and people watch, which is exactly what he did until some shirtless drunk dude accidentally slammed in to him, making him spill his beer all over his shirt.

• Dave tried to find a bathroom to clean off his shirt but all the bathrooms downstairs were occupied, so he went upstairs he tried finding the bathroom but instead walked in on a couple about to have sex. He was mortified, the girl threw her shoe and screamed at him to get out.

• once he found the bathroom he opened it without knocking (he didn’t learn his lesson) and walked in on you adjusting your dress,

“Dude what the fuck? Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?”

he was a stuttering mess while he apologized.

“Sorry-sorry i was just trying to-nothing never mind”

• when he was about to leave you stopped him telling him it was fine and you were done anyways. He couldn’t make eye contact with you he was so nervous he thought you were so pretty and his nostrils were overwhelmed by your sweet perfume. Was he drooling? probably.

• Before he could leave you stopped him.

“No, Sorry it’s fine I was done anyways. You okay? You seem like..uncomfortable?”

He was blushing and nervous, he grabbed some toilet paper and tried to clean the now almost dry beer off his shirt.

“Y-yeah? I’m fine-i’m cool just never been to one of these things before-and and…you’re really p-pretty and you smell really good..”

His smile and was cute and his glasses only added to how adorable he looked.

• When he heard your laugh he was done for! That man would’ve done anything you asked and he’d only spoken two sentences to you.

• “well..thanks uh —?”

“Dave my name-it’s uh Dave w-whats yours??”

“I’m —“

• You guys would probably spend 30 minutes talking in the bathroom and laughing, you can definitely tell this is not his scene like at all.

• “So Dave..do you want to give me your number? Or are you just gonna stare at me?”

his loser ass is so embarrassed!! He gives you his number and you guys text all night and morning.

#dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #dave is a loser #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski x y/n #dave lizewski one shot #kick ass #kick ass 2 #kick ass x reader #reader x dave lizewski #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson #atj x reader #aaron taylor johnson x y/n #aaron taylor johnson x you

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yuanology · 1 year ago

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I imagine spanking Satoru in my lap while whispering lewd things about him being a pervert while the only thing he can do is sob and bite my shoulder ,bby is so lost in pleasure he wishes to end up as satisfied as his best friend who is laying asleep in front of him but bby is so new he is ashamed of asking so force him into telling what he wants and then like …corruption kink akksnwkaoaoao😋🐸 idkkkk 🫨

hey ...... i'm sorry in advance for this one. i don't fucking know what this is either. also, this ended up being an entirely separate thing from the original satosugu fic & this is just........ afab!satoru getting his cunt slapped raw while suguru—who's implied to have been fucked by reader earlier—is passed the fuck out. &. i ended up writing this as a teacher!suguru au a.k.a everything goes well au so yeah, don't get confused

despite common first impression, twenty-eight years old gojo "the strongest" satoru had never been touched by anyone before. yes, you heard that right. he was still a virgin; pure and untouched.

before he came to jujutsu tech—before he left home, before he found out about the world, before he realised that he was practically a damn princess stuck in his tower—satoru hadn't even thought of the art of carnal pleasure. he had thought it was just something that happened, not something to indulge himself in.

growing up amongst people his age had been an awakening, that was for certain. his hands started wrapping around himself more often, the collar of his shirt caught between his teeth as he stifled the noise escaping his throat. porn became a commodity, and satoru wasn't exactly oblivious to it, he just never had the time or opportunity to try it.

until you.

satoru let loose another sob, tears streaking down his face. his teeth was caught around the meat of your shoulder, and he could barely breathe around it, much less speak coherently. he still whimpered, "too much."

"you wanted this," you reminded him, your voice low and dirty and so, so fucking real that it's driving him insane. nothing—nothing, no lewd images or videos or even his own imagination—could compare to the feeling of you right now. "you asked me for this, baby."

and you were right. he had asked for this, craving your closeness just as much as he craved the feeling of your hands on him. he had asked you for this, physically and audibly begged you to give him a taste of the things that he had seen and watched all these years.

finally, satoru had thought to himself when he met you properly for the first time. finally, someone who can understand. who can finally give me what i need. it hadn't taken much time before he was on his knees, begging for you to give him everything and so much more. men like gojo satoru didn't make a habit out of begging, but you were an exception amongst many others.

your only response had been a raised, unimpressed eyebrow before you told him that you would consider it. he didn't blame you for it. it wasn't as if your relationship with his own best friend, suguru, was a secret, even if it wasn't official. but satoru had to try.

(and he had asked suguru about it already, kicking at the floorboard underneath him with an out-of-character show of shyness, until suguru had laughed at him, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "yeah, sure. what's mine is yours and all that—if you can get him to agree, that is." so.)

but when he had asked you to show him what it meant to feel good hurt during sex, he had never expected you to do this to him—to be so mean and so fucking rough, to be so, so desperately cruel to him in ways that he had never seen you do to anyone else.

fuck, satoru thought dazedly. the position—his body bent over your lap, his ass high in the air and his cunt flushes, twitching, and so fucking exposed—had him distinctly dizzy, his head dropping at an awkward angle on the mattress but he didn't care.

he blinked away the tears in his eyes, but the slumped figure of his best friend's body passed out a behind you on the bed remained blurry. how the fuck do you handle this? he wondered.

he let out another whimper when your hand met the meat of his ass, and he could feel it fucking jiggle. he found it so humiliating, but you must think otherwise because you groped his asscheek with an air of smugness. you pried his ass apart, making him grimace when he felt his slick slide down his thigh, betraying him.

"look at you, baby," you cooed, chuckling to yourself. "you're fucking dripping all over the place. you're so desperate for it, huh? pretty virgin like you probably doesn't even know what it's like to be touched like this."

your voice was a light musing, distinctly distant and almost detached in your amusement, but satoru couldn't help but feel raw all over; an exposed nerve ready to be flayed over an open fire. he was sensitive, each inch of his skin a weakness that leaves him feel vulnerable.

"hurts," satoru croaked out miserably, feeling a bit like a fool for saying it. his words are garbled, slurred—almost watery in a way satoru hadn't known was possible before.

"hm." your hand left his hand, making a whine escape the back of satoru's throat. his voice returned to something subdued, something calmer, when he realised that you're simply moving to rest your hand on the small of his back.

"i suppose i can give you mercy," you said, your voice a low drawl that sent goosebumps racing along his skin. "just this once."

satoru couldn't help the whimper that escaped him. even through the heavy haze in his mind, he knew that he couldn't have this without a price. you always demanded an equal pay be returned for the price of your kindness. he had watched you wring dry orgasm after orgasm out of suguru, even when his best friend's body was limp, practically motionless save for the overstimulated twitches and the sobs that escaped suguru's throat, all in exchange for having satoru there with them tonight.

you must notice the sudden shift in his attitude, the way his ass was wriggling in the air almost desperately, because you snickered and your hand pressed him down harder against your lap. fuck, he thinks, feeling himself dripping all over the place at the feeling of you.

"how about this," you offered. "five more spankings, and i want you to count. if you miss one, we'll start over." your hand caressed the swell of his ass, your movements gentle as you soothed the spank marks you had left there earlier.

as much as satoru knew he shouldn't believe you, he still couldn't help the way he sniffled at the feeling and asked, "promise?"

you chuckled, the sound soft. your lips met the skin on his back, right over his spine. "sure, baby," you said. "i promise. just five more, okay? you'll be a good boy, won't you, satoru? you'll stay still for me?"

satoru nodded eagerly, chewing at this lower lip at the sound of your praise. good boy. yes, he could be your good boy. he would always be your good boy.

although he couldn't see it, he knew your smile was there when you said, "good. don't forget to count, okay, baby?" which, really, should have been the first sign of something dangerous looming.

the sound of your hand slapping his skin was promptly followed by a fucking howl that was stripped out of his throat; loud and jagged and surprised and so fucked over that satoru's head throbbed with it.

because jesus motherfucking fuck, you just slapped his cunt.

"count, baby."

satoru could barely even think past the static ringing in his air, stuffing his brain full with cloth, but he thought he might have choked out a whimpering, "one."

your hand moved once again to his cunt, he motion gentler this time. you didn't spank him again but rather, you spread his legs, exposing more of his cunt, and he whimpers in anticipation.

but your fingers only breach the lips of his cunt, spreading his labia apart to look at the slick already dripping the moment his folds were parted. you cooed at him, and satoru felt himself burning with so much fucking feelings that he couldn't even identify a proper source for it.

holy shit.

"four more," you whispered, your thumb dragging along his slit down to his clit. you rubbed it for a moment, causing satoru to whine at the feeling. "just a bit more, okay, baby?"

he didn't know if he nodded, or if he just lay there across your lap—rooted in place and feeling lightheaded, entirely motionless—but you must have found something you wanted to see from him because he could feel you moving again.

anticipating what would come after didn't make it any easier to handle.

your palm met the centre of his cunt perfectly, the tips of your fingers catching his clit, and satoru sobbed. "two," he quickly scrambled to rasp out before you could make him repeat it, before you could make him start all over. "two, that's—" he catches his breath, tongue feeling swollen in his mouth. "that's two."

"good boy."

another slap, making his back arch and his body squirm away from the sensation. the sound was fucking disgusting, even more so now that the slick accumulating on his cunt had created a pillow for your hand to rest on, creating a loud squelching sound that made satoru's toes curl.

"three," satoru whimpered. "it hurts."

"just two more," you reassured him, your fingers grazing over his entrance but never once dipping inside. fuck. "can you do that for me?"

satoru sniffled, but he nodded. "two more," he repeated.

"good boy."

your next slap came in sharp and quick, and he barely managed to blurt out, "four." before he collapses into sobs. his body is slumped, weak and unable to even twitch.

one more, he thought. just one more.

letting out a ragged breath, satoru's voice bleeds into a high keen when he feels you pull back the hood over his clit, exposing the sensitive nerve. the realisation of what you're about to do strikes him a second, too late.

no, you're going to—

your entire fucking palm met his exposed clit, sending up a burning sensation across the length of satoru's spine. "five!" satoru shouted, a little desperate, a lot hurt, equal measures of feeling fucked right out of his mind.

"fuck, that's five. that's—" he couldn't even finish his sentence, already broken off to sobs and whimpers as his entire fucking body trembles at the feeling of it. fuck. every inch of him felt numb; all of the hurt centred on the feeling of your slap on his clit.

the world is a hazy blur of static and cotton and distance for a long moment. when satoru's world comes back into focus, he's still on your lap, but seated now, positioned in a way that saved his cunt from any accidental stimulation. his mouth parted and drool dripping down the corners of your lips, but your hands are on his his back, keeping him close, and you're murmuring sweet nothings to him.

and he must have done something—something right, something wrong—because he feels himself going weightless and then your lips are brushing over the shell of his ear, and you're telling him, "get your rest, satoru. you deserve it."

oh, satoru thought dazedly, feeling the world drift in and out of motion for a long moment. this is why. because for all your cruelty and all your harshness, you were exceptionally gentle in the aftermath. satoru's vision is blurring around the edges, but he feels you all the same—warm and present and there.

"g'night," he thought he might've slurred out.

he might imagine the feeling of your lips on his temple, but he liked to think that it was real all the same.

#gentle ending because i need that sweetness after a rough scene #or something #idk if this is what you wanted or if this makes sense but .#have this #gojo satoru x reader #sub gojo satoru #sub jjk #top reader #male reader #dom reader #( thirsts. )#( asks. )

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luveline · 2 years ago

Text

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | chapter list

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You're in the process of ruining your pyjama bottoms with willow charcoal when your father dies.

The charcoal is fragile, unhoused, and it snaps with too much pressure. An uneven half rolls into the curve of your sketchbook and stains the work in progress it encounters indiscriminately.

You sigh without thinking, rubbing your tired eyes and spreading a line of smudgy black under your brow. Squinting, you peek at the portrait you'd been drawing in an unfounded rush. A young woman with deep, dark skin under the shade of the leaves of a sycamore tree. The branches arc over her in shadowed lines, sunlight dappling against her cheek in sparse triangles of white paper left uncoloured.

It had been an okay sketch. The snapped charcoal distracts from what you'd originally set out to do —a dynamic, revealing portrait— and ruins it, just like that.

You sigh again, this time with a melodrama you'd only ever feel comfortable displaying alone. Thankfully, that's the case more often than not. You live by yourself, no partner, no pets, nobody around to see you drop your sketchbook onto the floor beside your bed, kicking out your feet toward the rug with a pained, indulgent whine. Your socks slide against the hardwood. You kick them fruitlessly as you slip down the side of the bed, shirt caught behind you, exposing your soft middle.

You swear to yourself, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes.

A sharp trilling sound chimes from somewhere behind you. You come up for air. On the nightstand, your phone is vibrating hard, and the water in the glass next to it crests against the sides in teeny tiny shockwaves.

You pull it into your lap and stare at the number. It goes to voicemail, and then it rings again. Again, again, and again.

You consider turning it off. Five phone calls and counting indicates an emergency, but every cell in your being begs to avoid whatever it is on the other side. You hate phone calls out of the blue.

You can't avoid everything, no matter how much you want to. You answer the phone.

"Hello," you greet hesitantly.

The muffled echo of a cheerful voice responds.

"Yeah, that's me… Okay. Yeah, now is fine."

More chattering. Less cheerful, diplomatic.

"My father?" you ask.

You are told two impossible truths.

"Oh," you say. The walls spin. "Right."

—

"I hate flying," Sirius mutters.

James hums, noncommittal.

"You know, my good looks are completely wasted if we end up lost in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. I don’t fancy drowning.”

"It's not the middle of the Atlantic ocean," Remus says, sounding about as interested in Sirius' whining as James is internally. "It's an arm."

"It's the fucking English channel," James says. It's barely the ocean. "How much do you reckon a pair of in flight headphones will cost?"

Sirius, despite his anxiety, has the bandwidth to appreciate James' bad mood. "What crawled up your arse?" he asks.

James sinks down into his seat, knees immediately pressed into the hard plastic of the chair in front, back aching and head heavy from a lack of rest he won't make up anytime soon.

"He's agitated," Remus says.

"That’s helpful, Moony. Super helpful,” Sirius says.

"Fuck yourself, then." Remus pulls his sleep mask over his eyes and plugs in his earbuds.

The tannoy dings. The seatbelt light flashes.

A flight attendant raises his voice from the start of the aisle. "If everybody could take their seats and buckle in, we'll be taking off in less than two minutes. Please turn all electronics to aeroplane mode. Thanks so much."

"Is your phone off?" Sirius asks.

"No, I actually want us to drown in the channel, but thanks for asking."

A dark shock of curls brush against his shoulder as Sirius drapes himself unabashedly across James’ lap. Genovian through and through, Sirius makes a plight for affection wantonly, smelling ridiculously nice as he does: a heady smell like browned sugar and warm citrus tickles the inside of James' nose.

"Are you still cranky that you got demoted?" Sirius asks, smooth tones pitched into bubbly baby talk.

"I didn't get demoted," James argues, looking down at his friend with a frown.

James had, in fact, been demoted.

"No, of course not. You've fallen from Third Guard of the Royal Prince of Genovia, may he rest in peace, to glorified babysitter of said Prince's illegitimate, forgotten child. That sounds the same to me."

"Then we agree," James says, wanting to close his eyes. “The flight attendant is coming our way.”

Sirius sits up again and quickly clips into his seatbelt.

James would pretend to sleep if he thought Sirius would believe it, but growing up together erases any semblance of privacy. Sirius knows James as James knows Sirius, and as they know Remus. Remus likely knows them all better than he'd ever admit, the youngest of the trio and the smartest, most perceptive man James has ever met.

Sirius isn't perceptive for perception’s sake, he's vigilant. He can read even the smallest signs of unrest, and it makes him uneasy. While James is in a god awful mood, he reaches out to alleviate Sirius' anxiety.

"I'm fine," James assures him, "just tired." Not mad at you goes unsaid.

"It won't be as bad as you're thinking."

"I'm fine. I'm not worried. Didn't sleep last night, and," —he grins as Sirius clasps his arm, their seats shaking underneath them, the plane beginning its race across tarmac— "some scrawny git is squeezing fuck out of my arm."

Sirius edges away from him. "You're annoying."

James presses his shoe up to the side of Sirius' and leans back in his chair, wincing at the rattling carriage as they take off, and again when he remembers where they're going. You wait in London, though nobody in the task force assigned to your assimilation or the advisement team could come to explain how you'd ended up there. Your Genovian citizenship is unacknowledged on your passport, your birth certificate, even, and as far as Lily had been able to suss, you have little understanding of who you are.

"She sounded tired, mostly," Lily had said when pressed for details about the new princess' personality. "In shock. Slightly disbelieving, but could you believe it?"

Lily, James' friend, and work colleague at a stretch, is an ambassador for the UK and a full-time Genovian resident. Along with a handful of other representatives and officials, she’d been responsible for opening the talks between Genovia and yourself. That is to say, she'd broken the news.

Surprise! Your dad just died! Double surprise, you're a princess. And, no pressure or anything, but we kind of need you to come back to Genovia to maintain the royal lineage before your grandmother abdicates the throne (unwillingly, if things keep going the way they’re going).

"Did you mention the tiara?" he'd asked Lily. The Princess' diadem, a master craftsmanship of silver-gold with a diamond the size of an apple.

"Weirdly, Potter, I didn’t think to mention the jewellery."

He supposes there hadn't been time to weasel that tidbit in between condolences and recruitment.

You haven't promised anything in ways of returning to Genovia or taking up the mantle. James understands. If he were in your shoes, he likely would've laughed down the line and blocked the number. You’d shown incredible promise as a potential future leader, agreeing to meet with Lily and her team at the Genovian embassy. Then, a day later, they'd modified the plan and asked if you'd be okay meeting somewhere more private.

You'd said yes.

As someone who may be very involved in your bodily safety in the near future, James thinks you're an idiot. Somebody calls you, claiming that you're a princess, though nobody has ever bothered telling you this before because you were never heir apparent, and that they'll tell you more should you deign to meet with them in a place with meagre surveillance, and you say yes to this?

How you've survived as long as you have is a mystery.

He hopes you won't make his job difficult. Isn't that what everyone hopes? He feels guilty for judging you without meeting you, promising in his head to be nicer to you in actuality. You're probably grieving and definitely confused. He shouldn't be worrying about his job.

Redetermined, James lets the anxiety of his new assignment water down.

Sirius is thinking along the same lines: how easy will you make his particular occupation. "Bets are on. Scruffy or sweet?"

"Huh?" James asks, pretending he doesn't understand in hopes of rectifying Sirius' attitude.

"Slovenly or love-nly?"

"I'm sure she's fine."

"You should hope so, you'll be looking at the back of her head for a while."

James rolls his eyes.

"I'll manage, pretty or not."

His confidence draws Sirius' curiosity. "How're you so sure?" Sirius asks, chin-lifted, light eyes narrowed in bemusement. His expression dances with the surety of somebody well-raised. He could wear a potato sack and his regal air would endeavour, deep-seeded and neat like the trim stitching of his expensive clothes.

"Look at my face right now. Do I seem affected?"

Sirius laughs much too loudly at the implication. "Don't act like I'm not handsome, Prongs."

"Years of practice." James schools his features into an unaffected mask. "Uggos have no effect on me."

"How else would you look in the mirror?" Sirius drawls.

When Remus wakes afterward, he finds they haven't quite killed each other, though James has threatened it twice. With one hand, Black.

"Far are we?" he asks.

Sleep has made little difference to him. He’s the kind of fatigued today that can't be improved with an afternoon nap, and the kind of unwell that can't be fixed. He rolls his neck and makes three separate, unfortunate sounds, stretching his tight hands out over his thighs.

"Landing any minute now is my guess," Sirius answers. "How are you feeling?"

He waves his hand around, tired eyes locking onto James' lasting frown. "Sorry for leaving you alone with him."

Sirius gasps his indignation. The three of them all smile in tandem, James in a rush to add to the joke.

"You should be, I don't care how sick you are. You're sick in the mind if you think it's acceptable to-"

"You're sick for acting like I'm some misbehaved child you've been pandering to,” Sirius interrupts. “You're bullies, and as soon as we're in the airport I'm ditching you both in favour of a Great British Burger King."

"One," James says, still smiling widely, "I have your per diem, so unless you brought your wallet, you're sunk." Sirius frowns. "Two, I'd love it if you would repeat that little moniker you gave me before he woke up. Seriously. Shed some light on the real bully."

Sirius pulls his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and places them over the bridge of his nose. "Unnecessary."

"I wouldn't mind Burger King," Remus says.

"We have to be quick," James says.

Sirius is so incensed he actually spits a bit as he scathes, "You fuckers. I want food and it's lorded over my head, but Moony wants something and your only limitation is how fast he can eat it?"

He's not truly as angry as he appears. He's joking, and he's fallen into a familiarity that can only come with years of ragging on one another. Still, Remus pats his tight shoulder and smiles.

"I'm a slow chewer."

"He's a slow chewer, Sirius. Have some compassion."

“How fast could he chew missing a few teeth, I wonder?” Sirius asks.

James gasps, delighted at his friend's casual threat. Remus does a better job at hiding his amusement, tamping back a smile as he reaches over the armrest between their seats and slapping a hand into Sirius’ seatbelt. The mechanism unlatches, the ‘Fasten Your Seatbelts’ sign flashes, and a shaming beeping sound rings overhead.

Sirius squeaks.

—

What do you wear to meet a British ambassador? A Genovian ambassador? Any sort of diplomat? You aren't too sure what an ambassador even is, only that every word Lily Evans has said to you sounds shockingly official.

"Your citizenship has been reinstated whether you choose to move forward or not. We want to stress that you have choices," Lily says. Call me Lily, please. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"We also want to stress," says Emmeline, the Genovian ambassador, who’s priorities don’t seem to align with Lily’s much, "that your presence in Genovia is greatly desired. For the funeral."

"The funeral," you repeat.

"It will be a… very, very big event. We don't have to talk about all of the logistics now. Or ever, if you're not interested,” Lily says.

Emmeline clears her throat. "The family would appreciate it."

The family. The royal family. The Queen of Genovia, your grandmother, and her last remaining son, who’d given up his right to be king in order to marry a divorced woman (a scandal at the time). His daughter, Princess Julianna. The tabloids had had more than enough to say about her.

All this lineage and politics has been hard to navigate by yourself, though rest assured, you've been assigned two personal assistants of a sort. One for appearances of the physical, and one for appearances of the mind.

A stylist and a tutor.

"And a bodyguard," Lily says now, "your safety is the most important thing."

You grip the end of your dress in your hands and squeeze the skirts tightly.

"We actually want you to meet them today," Emmeline says.

"Whenever they show up," Lily adds. She sounds embarrassed but unsurprised, like this has happened before.

There's a small silence. You pull your bag into your lap, a ball of nerves, happier to hide behind it. You aren't sure what you're supposed to wear to occasions like this, so you'd worn the nicest thing you owned, a pretty, simplistic dress ruched under the chest, and a cardigan overtop.

You catch yourself frowning and quirk your lips up into a practised smile. Gentle, amicable, the kind you'd offer a passing stranger.

"Well," Lily says, filling the awkwardness, "I'm sure they'll come around soon. Maybe we should talk about inheritance."

"Legally, you're entitled to an inheritance. You could think of it like a pension, an allowance you'd be given from the age of eighteen. You've already passed that, and so you'll be given the years upto, and then the rest in annual increments," Emmeline says. "There's a team of people who can and will explain it better at a later date, or whenever you want to discuss it, once you've agreed to a paternity test."

"A paternity test?" you ask.

You feel rather useless. All you've done is ask for explanations since you sat down, your head a spinning mill. Information goes around and around with no time to sink in.

Emmeline opens her mouth to continue and is interrupted by three sharp knocks.

"Come in," Lily calls. She turns her gaze to you, orange hair moving over her shoulder in a silken sheet, her eyebrows raised in pity.

You don't know what it means.

First to enter the room is a modestly dressed and exceedingly tall man with straight, sandy hair. It's long enough to peek out from under his ears, where it curls gently. He steps into the light, illuminating a shock of shiny scars clawed over the bridge of his nose and teasing up into one thick eyebrow.

"Sorry," he says, not quietly but certainly not loudly. "We had trouble finding the room."

Behind him immediately stands a man with dark hair to his shoulders, white but tanned. He wears slacks, in which a shirt has been tucked on one side and not the other, a purposeful dishevelment.

"And the building," adds the second.

Last to enter is the biggest of the three. You'd hazard a guess that he's six foot or taller, not the tallest of his companions but the most imposing, with a monotone outfit of pristine blacks that he fills too well, his shirt clinging to the muscle underneath it. His skin is a warm brown that soaks up the big light overhead and shines golden, his hair black and thick, laying in mussed ringlets stroked back from his face.

He is the most handsome person you've ever seen in real life. It startles you. Worse, when he meets your eyes.

You smile carefully. He smiles back.

Lily stands to gesture toward each man in turn. The first, "Remus Lupin," she says, "your tutor on all things Genovia." The second, "Sirius Black, stylist and your guide on media presence."

The third.

"James Potter," Lily says, not looking at him. "Bodyguard. James will be sticking closely with you for the foreseeable future, even if you decide on– Well. You should get to know one another, at any rate." You must wear your worries on your face, as she continues, "You're in safe hands. James was third in command in the protection of His Highness."

“May he rest in peace,” Emmeline adds.

You look between all these new strangers apprehensively. "Hello," you manage.

Sirius' eyes widen in tandem with his smile. "Hello."

"It's nice to meet you. We're sorry for your loss," Remus says.

"No," you say, head tilting toward your shoulder as you frown at James sympathetically, "I should be sorry, you actually knew him. I can't imagine how this feels for you."

"Thank you, but don't be," James says. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Princess."

You look to Emmeline, almost like you're waiting for her to correct him.

She smiles at you hopefully. "Shall we talk arrangements for your departure?"

—

James is trying not to look at you too much, though if he is he can write it off as purely protective. You're sitting in your seat on the bus like you're worried about touching a seat mate who doesn't exist, arms wrapped around your middle and face pointed to the floor. He wonders if you have a thing about germs.

"I'll rent a car," he says, tightening his hand where he holds the pole beside you.

You curl into yourself a little more. "What for?"

"It's much safer."

"I don't want you to– I mean, you aren't a chauffeur."

"I'm not." He bends at the knees to speak directly to you. "There are seven other people on this bus. One is elderly. Three are younger than sixteen. All seven could potentially harm you."

You look to the left without turning your head, toward the sound of young laughter. He'd bet money on your thoughts. Even the children?

"The driver could have an aneurysm. He could be paid off. He could be carrying a concealed weapon." James smiles at you placatingly. "Understand? If I drive, the potential danger goes down to one."

"Me?"

"No, me." He tries very hard not to wink and look like a dickhead. "But I'm not going to hurt you. Not really my prerogative."

"Oh, good."

James recalls what Lily had said, rightfully: you and James will be in each other's company for the foreseeable future, and while he has a job to do, there's room for friendliness.

He splits his attention between you and the front of the bus, where a small family carts a pushchair.

"What do you do?" he asks.

You don’t have children, or any family at all. He’s read your file three times over. He knows you attend classes for a degree equivalent at your local college. He knows you're a waitress. He knows you moved to central London when you were very young, and that your estranged mother had been the cause of all this confusion. He asks you because he wants to know how you'll frame it. In your own eyes, what is your life?

"I'm a waitress."

He nods. "Local?"

"Yeah, at a pub. The Morgan."

"You have a shift today?"

"Not today. I took the day off." You stand up and click the STOP call button on the rail James is holding. Your arm brushes against his. "It's this stop."

James lets you pass and then trails behind you, off of the bus and straight into a busy street.

"How far is it to your house?" he asks, loud to be heard over the hubbub and the roadworks.

"Not long. Are you okay to walk?"

James finds himself oddly charmed by your question. "I'm just fine."

You squeeze through the pavements lining the street, folded in, keeping your arms close, and you apologise every time you touch someone, even if it's the other person's fault. The school rush, it must be. James keeps close to your back, moving to your side when he worries you might sprain your neck trying to check that he’s following. He has some height on you, which is a good thing for security purposes —he can see uninterrupted over the top of your head.

The day is cool, the last dregs of an end-of-summer heat lingering in the air. James wonders if you're too warm, dressed as you are in tights, but the thought fades when you trip.

He grabs the top of your arm, fingers sliding between your arm and your chest. Closer than he wants to be, crueller than he means to be as he keeps you steady. To his surprise, you laugh. A really nice sound, sudden but sweet.

"Sorry, Princess," he says.

"You saved me," you say, a hint of breathlessness in your tone. "Thank you. My flat's in the next building over."

"Brilliant." His bag is fucking heavy, a weight between his shoulders that aches when he lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as it begins a heavy descent downward. You've got a long, long night ahead of doing nothing. "What's your address?"

You tell it to him. "Why?"

"For the rest of your security detail."

He slows as you come to the main door of your building. It's quieter here, the loudest sounds a symphony of barking dogs, car engines revving, and the jangle of your keys as you unlock the door and bump it with your hip.

"More people?" you ask. "Is that really necessary?"

"Do you always do that?"

"It gets stuck," you explain.

He hums. "It's necessary. The media's been encouraged, or paid handsomely, to keep our operation to themselves for now, but there's always pressure to be the first to break a story."

"And I'm the story?" you ask, nodding toward the stairs in the centre of the room.

He steps over a bundle of scattered letters. The building is mostly clean, but mail bulges from cubbies, and an old mattress has been left propped against a wall.

"You're the story," he says, head up to analyse the atrium. There's a skylight spotted with green moss above.

You climb the stairs to the first floor. Your flat is the first door. That increases your risk of a break in, rapists or robbers. He asks you to wait at the door while he clears each room, knowing it's an unnecessary precaution but taking it anyway. It's not worth saving the half a minute it costs on the off-chance it’s been infiltrated.

He snorts at his own train of thought, returning to you as you slide a special locking mechanism between the door latch and the frame. You shake the lock.

"Did you get that recently?"

You look up at him and smile. "Since I moved in. I'm first on the floor. Don't want to get murdered in my sleep."

"Smart girl," he says absentmindedly, crossing the room to secure your window.

He moves into your room again and secures the larger window over your bed. Then, because he's awful and curious, he catalogues your things.

"You're an artist," he says, head listed toward the doorway.

You stop by the dresser, hastily stuffing clothes left aside back into the top drawer. "Not– not really."

The room is a crammed collection of things. It's clear you've attempted to keep it clean. You were doomed to fail, an outpouring of your heart stuffed into a matchbox; books, sketchbooks, notebooks all stacked against the leftmost wall between your bed and your dresser, while paints and pencils take up two thirds of your desk. A small sketchbook rests closed in the mess of your unmade bed, dark sheets disrupted by a pair of white pyjamas discarded at the end. Soot or something similar stains the fabric.

He averts his gaze from your dirty hamper and faces you.

"At eight, one of my team will swap duty with me. His name is Frank and I've worked with him before, but if you aren't comfortable with anything he does while I'm not working, you can tell me. If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you can tell Lily. You can tell me, of course," he amends. "I can take the sofa.”

"You sleep at eight?"

"I sleep at ten."

"You don't mind sleeping on the sofa?"

"Not at all."

You walk to your dresser and pull open the bottom drawer. Inside is a layer of linens, and you take them out neatly.

"You don't have to, uh, put on a show for me," you say with a wince.

"Sorry?"

"I'm not a princess. I'm not the princess."

"You don't think so?"

You look sweet, kneeling on the floor, hair in disarray from the walk home. You move it out of your face and offer a folded square to him with both hands.

"It's a misunderstanding. But…" You take a pillowcase into your hand and stand up, closing the drawer with your ankle. "Even if I were, I don't think you need to be so formal, you know?"

You move past him in a wave of nice smells.

"It's my job."

Again, you surprise him by laughing, climbing on top of your unmade sheets to grab one of your pillows. "Right," you say, stripping it of its pillowcase and shaking it into a new one. The tip of your tongue makes a brief appearance as you plump up the corners.

You climb off of the bed. "Here," you say, taking the sheet he's holding to press the pillow into his hands.

"Oh," he says, looking down at the pillowcase. It's covered in small pink flowers. "I don't need this."

"My settee isn't comfortable."

"Half of my job is being able to sleep anywhere."

You smile at him. His words don't discourage you, and he stands in the doorway between your bedroom and your living room as you lay down an old quilt over the sofa and tuck a sheet around it and under the cushions.

"I know it's strange, but you could take my bed, if you wanted to. You're so tall, I don't think–”

James cuts you off, not unkindly. "Thank you, but I couldn't." He lets the side of his chest rest against the doorway, arms crossed. Your back is straight, tense with anxiety. "I have something for you."

You blink at him. "For me?"

He grins, his first proper smile all day, and pulls his bag onto the freshly made settee to unzip the front compartment. He pulls out a small jewellery box, pulling the lid off to hold between his arm and chest.

The tennis bracelet inside is thin but strong, made up of gold-silver links with sapphire-coloured gemstone. He assumes them to be real sapphire or something similar, like blue-hued ruby.

"This is a panic button."

You seem more anxious than when he'd pulled out the box.

"Don't worry about losing it. I'm sure the Genovian coffers will recover."

"It's not that. Do you think it will fit?" you ask.

He hadn't thought about it. Luckily, Mary had.

"There are spare links hidden under the velvet."

James puts the box on your coffee table and clicks the links into place, handling the bracelet with less care than he ought to. Firmly snapped into place, he offers the lengthened bracelet to you unlatched.

"Here," he says, pointing toward one link in particular. "If you squeeze this tightly, the heat sensor will alert me."

"It won't feel the heat of my wrist?"

"It will. It's sophisticated, it'll disregard anything that isn't a sudden spike. That's your panic button. You squeeze that–" He pinches it in demonstration. The small radio clipped discreetly to his shoulder starts to beep, a circling alarm. He removes his fingers from the bracelet and it stops. "Okay?"

"I haven't even passed the paternity test yet."

"My being here indicates that you're of special interest. We don't know if you're the princess for certain, and neither do the newspapers, but you could still be in danger either way."

You press your lips together and hold out your wrist.

James steps closer to you, enough to see details and lines he's missed. The longer he stays in your company, the more endeared he is to your shy smile, and your quiet kindness. You’re like Remus.

Either side of your wrist glows with heat as he drapes the bracelet over your skin and clicks it closed, wary of pinching you. The room is quiet. The clock over your small kitchen table ticks.

"There," James murmurs, taking back his hands.

"Thank you."

He disregards it completely. "No worries."

His informality gets you, and you smile your first proper smile since you'd been introduced.

By the time Frank arrives for turnover, James is confident that his assignment to your protection won't be nearly as awful as he'd thought. You'd insisted on making him something to eat, which he'd been sincerely grateful for as a man can't run on Burger King alone, and then you'd practically showered him in an awkward but entirely genuine hospitality, offering your bathroom and all its contents, every blanket you owned, the TV remote, and a tin of biscuits.

He introduces you to Frank, and for an hour you make yourself busy in the kitchen, cleaning dishes you'd refused his help with and wiping down the counters.

He senses your unease at being outnumbered in your own home. Unfortunately, there isn't much he can do to make you feel better, besides appoint Frank to door duty and try to offer some words of comfort.

James tries not to look as imposing as he feels, clearing his throat to draw your attention as you leave the kitchenette.

"Listen," he says softly, a mirror of you now that you're both changed into lounge clothes and damp-haired from the shower, "I want to reassure you— I'm here to protect you from any and every threat. I know this is unconventional, but I promise to do my best to make this easy for you."

You look down at your trainer socks. "Sorry."

"Can you do me a favour?"

"Yeah, of course," you say, raising your chin.

"No more apologies. This is hard, and I know that, you don't have to say sorry for anything. I'll promise you whatever you need me to if that will make you feel more comfortable."

Princess or not, you're confused, and you're unhappy in your own home. James wouldn't want that for anybody.

"Do you think someone's going to… kill me?" you ask. “Just, that’s the danger, right?”

James softens. "No. Nobody is going to kill you." His smile melds slowly to mischief, eyelashes kissing in the corners of his eyes as he squints. "I'm a frankly fantastic bodyguard, okay? Don't doubt my skills. And Frank's alright."

You laugh under your breath, relieved. "I'm not doubting your skills."

"Good. I'm not just a pretty face, Princess."

You sober at the title. The flicker of camaraderie between you fizzles, and you shake it off.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

He hopes that in a month, or a year, when you're living the high life in Genovia with a hundred serfs and lavish goods beyond your wildest dreams, you'll keep your earnest smile, and your nice heart. He's seen exactly what royal status and money can do to young women. The last thing anyone needs is another Julianna.

"No," he says, matching your volume, "nothing."

"Okay. You can wake me if you need anything."

He absolutely won't. "Thank you... Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

You disappear behind your bedroom door. James lays down over the small sofa, alarm set for a dry-eyed 4:30AM, and listens to your flat as it cools. You close the blinds, sharpen a pencil, and for a period of time, he's lulled by the mild shushing of a pencil over paper.

He falls asleep. He must. A silence settles, thick and uninterrupted as poured molasses.

A splintering crash pulls him back to consciousness, and every nerve-ending sings as a weight falls to the floor. A thump sounds from behind your closed door. James practically leaps over the settee's arm to your door, Frank hot on his heels.

He throws open the door, braced for impact, but you aren't anywhere to be seen.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this first part, and if you did and you have the time please consider reblogging, it makes a difference! plus i'd love to know what u think or what you'd love to see in future<3

the fics title is adapted from a line in piedra del sol by octavio paz

#james potter fic #james potter #marauders era #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #the marauders #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfic #james potter x fem!reader

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lackablazeical · 5 months ago

Text

Viv when she cant sexualize men and villainize women: 👹👺👺👺👹👹

Okay so this redesign was spurred by my friend who really doesn't like Adam, so I decided to do my spin on him!

First: in the Bible, it is CANON he is made from red soil/clay. Which is dark. He is not white. He is poc. Okay? Cool

Okay so other then that, mostly I just wanted to make him seem much more ethereal. I based his design on clothes the pope wears, like the fuckn. Sash things and stuff. His wings take the place of a sash and while he can use them, rarely does (a reference to his connection to the earth)

I used mostly primary colors for him, kinda nodding to the fact he's like the 'origin' person. Mostly gold tho bc why not (also contrasts the blue of heaven, and its in reference to his greedy need to put his family before god)

But also his robe has red edges like they're stained w/ blood too, and his stomach sash has a similar stain. He has very little blue to show that his true loyalties don't lie with heaven, but with his wife.

And okay, I hate how ppl will use the 'they're in hell! Ofc they curse!" Excuse but also like. Hate that some characters are sexist or whatevs. Like bro. It'd make sense characters are gonna be sexist/ableist/etc etc. Why beef w/ Adam over it. So I kept Adam being sexist, but it's moreso bc he loves his wife so much he refuses to treat any other women well, bc he's so loyal. Type to drop a door on a lady bc it's not his gf yk.

I hc that Eve is buried in pride, and has a tree growing from her body (she's not dead but more in like kinda a limbo), and that's where Heaven stays in Hell. And so Adam goes down there during exterminations to see her tree and talk to her before he has to leave again.

Adam was originally a good person, but bc of his eating of the apple (which stained his teeth), he now can't NOT indulge sin, and most often, he indulges in greed (like only doing things if he thinks he could get eve back), and wrath (the more violent side of the masculine he represents).

Also bc of this, one of his punishments from God is being blinded, unable to see God's holy light or the face of his wife ever again. He also had his wedding band finger cut off as punishment too. The rest of his fingers have golden caps, bc he is dangerous to touch bc yk. How sinful he is from eating the fruit

And the fig leaves are just cus yk. He's associated w/ em. The leaves on his head actually form a shape of ram horns since rams represent devotion to God and Adam fell bc he wasn't devoted enough

Also I will keep that Eve was made from Adam BUT comma, she took not just his rib but his liver, 10 of his fingers (he originally had 20), and his skin. Just cus yeah why not

So yeah. Love this design loads actually LMAO

#hazbin hotel #hellava boss #vivziepop hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel adam #vivziepop redesign #hazbin art #hazbin adam #hazbin redesign #hazbin rewrite #hazbin hotel fanart

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year ago

Note

I come bearing a brainrot of a relatively normal s/o for the Lin Quei bois except s/o can see dead spirits and always keep a straight face. Sometimes they act weird bc they're avoiding a really nasty looking ghost and have grown numb to it. But when the bois finally catch a glimpse at the 'ghosts' their beloved mentioned all they see is some kind of eldritch horror. (This came from my recent fascination with the manga/anime series Mieruko-Chan)

Rate my really shitty attempt at creating eldritch creatures. (Actually don’t cuz I’m mega sensitive) 🦦

Tomas Vrbada

Ever since being forced by Johnny to watch horror movies, Tomas had been scared shitless when it comes to paranormal activity.

Ghosts, poltergeists, you name it, Tomas is scared of them all.

So when you -his seemingly normal but beloved partner- have been intentionally avoiding a certain spot in the Lin Kuei, shifting your gaze over in it’s direction now and then before ignoring it completely with a straight face, he didn’t think much do it at frisky but the more and more it has became the more Tomas started to feel an indescribable feeling within his chest.

It was the same feeling that he would often get when having been forced to watch a horror movie with Johny, that feeling where he knew something scary was about about to happen, which only worsened the longer the scene continued to build and ramp up the tension and to have him too scared to even look over his own shoulder; only to near enough be scared shitless a second later and loose hold of his popcorn.

Needless to say Tomas had been forced to watch one too many movie where the protagonist was somewhat clairvoyant to known that when you were giving a very specific area, out of the entire Lin Kuei no less, an cautious look. He knew better then to ever indulge in any amount of curiosity that he may have, even if it was a smidge, he would pretended that he saw nothing and would go about his day like normal. He wasn’t about to become one of those stupid characters who’d willingly go into a house that was very clearly haunted by visage alone!

He’s following your example right down to a T! He honestly doesn’t want to know what was lurking in that corner and he wasn’t particularly all that eager to find out either. Tomas would rather life the rest of his life in ignorant bliss if he could, but unfortunately for him that wasn’t going to be the case, for he had found himself having to go to that very room to get something for his brothers. However as soon as he opened the door, Tomas caught a glimpse of the thing in the corner that you’ve ominously warned him about.

It was hideous, so hideous in fact the sight of it made Tomas want to gag but he knew he couldn’t, so he slapped a hand over his mouth. The creature had bore the appearance of a pure bred Russian bear dog, but unfortunately for Tomas, that’s pretty much where the similarities started and stopped; For it had clusters of small, almost peddle sized eyes that were black as night taking up it’s entire face.

That wasn’t all, when the creature opened it’s mouth -if Tomas could even call it that- it’s stomach would rip open just as a thousand pair of what could only be described as human hands emerged out from said stomach, palms laying flat on the floor, as they began to shuffle across the floor in search of something. One particular pair of hands almost came into contact with Tomas’ foot, almost making him scream, but upon realising that their search efforts bore no fruit, the hands then retracted back into the creatures stomach, where it would then close itself up as though someone had just zipped it shut from the inside, before moving towards a different part of the room.

Scared out of his wits, Tomas bolted out of the room, completely forgetting what he had originally went there for, and just ran as fast as he could. He ran even when his legs began to hurt, he ran even when his lungs were begging for breath and he ran even when he had all but forgotten why he was even running in the first place. Tomas didn’t stop running until he saw you heading towards him, his brothers probably sent you to see what was taking him so long, and without a second thought; Tomas held you in his arms tightly, burying his head deep into your neck as he whispered.

‘How can you bare to seeing these things on a daily basis.’ The image of that thing was forcefully seared into Tomas’ mind, haunting him forever.

You didn’t have to ask further details as to what it was that he saw and instead reciprocated his hug, stroking the hairs at the back of his neck reassuringly, whilst pressing kisses into the side of his head where your would then rest your cheek against. ‘I don’t.’ You replied, looking straight ahead at the creature just as it poked it’s head out of the door, staring at you with all of their small beady black eyes before slinking off into the room across through the wall.

Kuai Liang

Concerned was a word that was often used to describe what Kuai Liang felt whenever you would shuffle closer towards his back, you might as well have been hiding, when passing down a particular hallway as your eyes were focused forward. Almost as though you were avoiding looking at something you didn’t like by pretending it didn’t exist.

Kuai Liang was aware of your uncanny ability to see the dead as you did the living, it was one of the things you disclosed to him upon first meeting, and even recalled the stories you’d tell him regarding the kinds of ghosts you’ve come across. Upon further questioning as to what they looked like you told Kuai Liang that most were human or humanoid in figure, but others went beyond the realm of human comprehension.

The latter of the two kinds were the ones you tended to avoid having direct contact with the most and this most recent one was no different.

‘Is it them, my love?’ Kuai Liang asked, looking over his shoulder at you worriedly.

You hummed. ‘They’re always with us, following but they most like to stay here and watch everyone who passes by.’

Kuai Liang pursed his lips at this new tidbit of information, whilst concerning learning this was, he was concerned about was getting you out of this hallway a lot more. Just as he was reaching back to grab your hand, Kuai Liang caught slight movement from out of the corner of his eye but before you could say anything, his eyes were already locked onto the other side of the hallway; more specifically the area you purposefully avoid looking towards every time you have to come down this hallway.

Kuai Liang remembered you telling him that It shouldn’t be possible for him see what you see, but it wasn’t uncommon for ghost to become temporarily visible. So with that in mind Kuai Liang could only deduct that what he was seeing before him what you regarded as a type two ghost; In all honesty the word ghost didn’t quite seem to match what he was currently seeing.

The creature in question was about his height, maybe a little shorter, then again he wasn’t quite sure considering it was sort of slouched. It appeared human enough in its physique, but something deep inside Kuai Liang told him that what was standing before him was far from human. He just couldn’t escape this deeply unsettling feeling that continued to grown within his chest the longer he continued to look. A sharp snapping sort of sound caught his ear, and in an instant his senses sharpened as Kuai Liang watched to see the creature viciously attempting in tearing it’s own face off with it’s hands that were infused with needles, as though desperate to get it off, to reveal…a smooth porcelain like mask beneath shredded and stringy bits of it’s former face.

As if watching that wasn’t enough the lower half of the smooth porcelain mask began to crack, a jagged fissure spread from one end to another like it was forming itself a mouth but once it had finished, the crack like mouth then began to open to reveal an endlessly dark void beneath and just before it could even think to speak; you quickly grabbed Kuai Liang’s hand and pulled him down the hallway until you were a safe distance from the creature. You could tell that seeing something like that had gotten to Kuai Liang, even if it was by a little margin.

‘Are you okay?’ You asked, squeezing his hand.

‘I fear for you little flame.’ Kuai Liang admitted. ‘Your gift for seeing these things, I worry that it will plunge you into the darkest depth that not even my fire would be nearly enough to guide you out safely.’ You smiled sympathetically at his concern. ‘As long as I don’t acknowledge them or give them a line of communication, then there’s nothing to worry about.’ You reassured him but you could tell that it wasn’t enough with the way his brows furrowed deeper with worry. ‘Doesn’t mean that I wont still worry about you.’ He utters, tightening his grip on your hand, afraid to let go.

‘I’m not expecting you to because no matter what I know you’ll always worry about me but I promise when I tell you that no harm can come to me if I don’t incite it. I’ve lived with this my entire life, all I ask of you is to trust me.’ You practically begged as you stared Kuai Liang deep into his eyes and watched as he sighed before pressing his head against your own. ‘I trust you with my life, little flame.’ He says in a hushed whisper. ‘However it’s within my duty to protect you from all harm, living or not.’ You smiled at his warm words, closing your eyes as you learnt in towards his natural warmth.

‘Then at least let me protect you from time to time.’ You cheeked, causing Kuai Liang to let out a deep chuckle as he pressed a little kiss to your lips. ‘I won’t make any promises.’ He cheeked.

Bi-Han

Now Bi-Han wouldn’t say he whether he did or didn’t believe in ghosts, but even if he did he wouldn’t be one to actively try to prove their existence. He was the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, he had no time for such childish ridiculousness, not when there were more pressing matters that were more worthy of his time and effort anyway.

However when you first told him that you could see ghosts, Bi-Han didn’t know what to make of it, he’s not one to discredit your abilities in anyway shape or form. He’s not like Tomas who watches one too many horror movies and starts flinching at every subtle creak or groan of the floorboards. Yet that doesn’t mean he didn’t find your power intriguing because after all Bi-Han is a man who strives to know more, he strives for knowledge and so he would take this opportunity to fully understand how exactly your power works.

He even takes note how you purposefully ignore an area with everything you had, keeping your head down or eyes facing forward whenever you had to go anywhere near it, coming out of the room with a straight face as though you weren’t fazed but Bi-Han was well trained in knowing when his intended target was lying and or on edge. Upon asking why you were avoiding that specific part of the Lin Kuei, he took in everything you told him about the ghost that you encountered, engraving every last detail it into his head as to paint himself a picture, but even then Bi-Han doesn’t think it remotely resembles the creature that you saw.

Never did he think that he would ever see it for himself but one day he did indeed find himself staring into the unsettlingly large, bulging eyes of the creature as it breathed heavily, as though it was severely out of breath and was just now recovering. It was about half his size and had hair covering everywhere…well except its midsection, which was all just leathery skin that rose and fell with its breathing pattern. It’s hands were human but everything else about it wasn’t, it had lost it’s lower mouth, leaving only it’s top row of sharp teeth; making the question of how it could possibly eat or consume anything to Bi-Han’s morbid curiosity.

The creature then proceeded to close the distance between the two of them and all Bi-Han could smell was death, blood and rotting flesh but he wasn’t fazed. He was aware of what the creature was doing and wasn’t about to give it the reaction it so desperately wanted, he was above these childish attempts of intimidation; So in retaliation Bi-Han only narrowed his eyes, presenting himself in a way that told the creature that he could see what it was doing and that he was above such tactics. He could see why you’d avoid looking upon these things, they could send a weaker minded person to the brink of insanity upon first glance, but Bi-Han was made of much tougher material to succumb to such.

The creature backed of, finding no enjoyment in this at all, and left the room through the wall on all fours for much weaker prey, looking like some dog with a sever case of mange.

Later that day where you and Bi-Han were settling down for the night, Bi-Han then decided to admit to what he saw prior, not liking to keep such things from you especially when it’s in regards to your powers. ‘I saw it.’ He said point blank as he stroked your back and it took you a moment to realise what he had meant by that before a look of realisation spread across your face. ‘You did? I thought that wasn’t possible.’ You replied.

‘It was only a glimpse but what I saw, I saw it as clear as I see anything else.’ Bi-Han told you, wondering how it was that you could keep your psyche intact when seeing such vile creatures on a daily basis. He even wondered if you’ve seen some that were even more grotesque then the one he had encountered earlier.

‘Not exactly a pleasant sight are they?’ You joked, looking at him with a small smile, knowing firsthand how unnerving it was to know that such things could possibly exist, even though you did finally mange to find a routine you had followed religiously in the events where you did happen to encounter them. Unfortunately It never truly gets rid of your first experience with seeing them for the first time, firmly believing that you were going to die due to how horrific and fear inducing they were.

‘No, I’m guessing that I’m right in assuming that this one pales in comparison to others you’ve had the misfortune of seeing?’ Bi-Han asked, watching your every expression like a that of a hawk. ‘Way worse.’ You responded as you snuggle yourself deeper into his chest, closing your eyes to avoid looking at the glowing pair of eyes that peered into yours and Bi-Han’s room.

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nqmonarch · 10 months ago

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Like this man is so sad I just wanna hug him and hold him and tell him everything will be okay but I can't because he's not real. Therefore fanfiction.

Minor spoilers for Jing Liu quest

Comforting Jing Yuan through the screen

To feel lonely, is a common feeling. One that nearly everyone has experienced in their life. So of course, when it was one of those nights you find yourself more than ever sympathizing with Jing Yuan. For a character in a video game, that reminds you too much of yourself.

Originally the only thing that drew your attention to him was his looks. The constant relaxed grin and posture showcasing his confidence, his clothes fit him well showing his competency and also highly attractive body, and he had a badass lion by his side in the splash art. He was just plain pretty. And lightning lord was badass to use in combat. Even if he didn't do much damage it felt like he did damage, at least he did damage to your heart.

Then the lore-- oh my gosh the lore. The only one of his friend group to remember them completely and have to bare the brunt of the pain all while fearlessly and confidently leading however many people were on the Xianzhou. He was lonely. Terribly so. Maybe not in the same way you were lonely but the two of you could be lonely, together.

Whenever he appeared on your screen during a TrailBlaze or Companion quest, your fingers embarrassingly drifted to his hair touching the screen gently. Feeling nothing but cool plastic against your fingers.

Jing Yuan, on the other hand, felt a very strange sensation. Jing Yuan and his three friends were reunited again, yet they never fully could be. Dan Heng was not Dan Feng, as much as it hurt to remember. Yingxing held no memory of the past. Jing Liu left to fight against mara. Blade and Jing Liu had engaged in combat again, air rushing around the two of them at alarming speeds and all Jing Yuan could do is watch. It was all he could ever do.

Then even as the air grew colder and picked up with each clang of the blades, Jing Yuan felt warmth surround him, a hand resting on his head in an attempt to comfort him. He wasn't alone. He wasn't quite sure what kept causing all these strange occurrences, the sudden bursts of warmth when he ran into old friends and felt alone.

Then there was the sudden burst of strength he had, he'd always been strong but each swing of the blade felt effortless now and came faster, more precise, more accurate. But lastly was the strange feeling of comfort, sometimes while he was indulged in that feeling a cut or two would appear on his body only to be healed. His body felt no pain. There'd been a few times when he'd passed out, astounded as blood appeared before him, and he'd wake up moments later perfectly fine.

He wasn't sure exactly what the cause of it all was but he didn't feel quite as alone anymore.

And for some reason, neither did you.

You felt discomfort slink up your spine and rest in your shoulders. It felt like someone was watching you but, no one was around. You turned your attention back to Honkai Star Rail, as you watched lightning lord crash down and hit the enemies.

#JING YUAN DOES DAMAGE TO MY HEART I LOVE HIM #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #reader insert #gn reader #hsr #hsr x reader #self aware hsr #self aware jing yuan

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callalillywrites · 2 months ago

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Shooting His Shot Part 1

The original version of this story is something I've been wanting to expand for a while now. I finally got my chance, and it's become one of my most indulgent stories yet (I think). What was 1200 words is now over 8000 and split into two parts. Part 2 will be available in a few hours.

I had so much fun with this AU that I could easily persuaded to expand the universe a bit more. Ideas are already forming for a few of the other characters, but I'll hold off until I know others want to see them as well. It's not like I don't have plenty of other stories to work on anyway. 😊

The gif below is somewhat the look I was going for with Steve in this fic though he's given a suit jacket to wear. But yeah, this is it. One of my favorite looks of his btw.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Other notable characters: Bucky Barnes, Jake Jensen, Sam Wilson, Ari Levinson, Natasha Romanoff, Peter Parker, and honorably mentioned Curtis Everett

Word Count: 4350

Summary: Steve owns a steakhouse that you used to frequent before your ex came into the picture. Now, your ex is gone, and you're ready to head back to the one place you've always felt welcome and wanted. What neither you nor Steve count on is his staff, led by Bucky, launching a full-one assault effort to get you two together. It's time the two of you realize your feelings for one another.

Warnings: abusive ex (Reader's), pining, so much pining, fluff, two ridiculous idiots in love, a whole bunch of matchmakers

A/N: This is a completely self-indulgent story made like one of those cheesy rom-com which is my bread and butter at this point. It's proofread, but any mistakes are my own.

I also do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

PART 2

*****

A few hours before dinnertime rush begins…

It might be his day off, but Steve’s made it such a habit that he can’t stop himself. After all, he keeps hoping that you’ll walk back in the door of his steakhouse one day. Even if it’s been six months since he’s last seen your smiling and pretty face.

To help the hours pass, Steve turns to their books and reviews them. He might as well work on payroll for the week and get the checks ready for the following week. While he’s at it, he might look at their orders and see how they’re sitting as well. Maybe he should venture into the kitchen soon and speak with Bucky about their upcoming inspection. Not that they weren’t ready, but one can never be caught unawares. Besides that, they pride themselves on having one of the cleanest kitchens in the county.

As if conjuring up his best friend, Bucky stands in the doorway with one of their famous lunch specials.

“You’ve been at it long enough, punk. Take a break and eat something.”

Without waiting for an answer, Bucky steps into the room and sets the plate down on Steve’s desk, careless of the few neat piles Steve’s created that morning.

Steve stares at the plate for a few seconds before his stomach makes it known how empty it is. He probably shouldn’t have skipped breakfast after the workout he pushed himself through that morning.

While Steve takes a bite of food, Bucky sinks into one of the other chairs and sprawls himself out. He pulls out his phone and grins at whatever he finds waiting on his screen.

“What’s so funny, jerk?”

Bucky shakes his head, content to sit there and wait for Steve to finish the plate.

Knowing he won’t leave without Steve eating everything, Steve takes another bite. Each new fork or spoonful, he shoots Bucky a look, only getting a smug smirk in return. When Steve finally finishes the plate, he sets it aside and goes back to his computer screen. He’s almost certain Bucky won’t be sticking around too long, having enjoyed the small break he’d gotten in feeding Steve.

When one of their cooks happens to walk by, Bucky notices, too, and shouts out, “Hey, we get that order from the bakery down the street yet? I wanna make sure they sent along some of their best treats.”

Steve’s attention returns to Bucky.

Before he knows it, Bucky smacks his knees and pushes to his feet. With an efficient movement born of years in the kitchen, he grabs up Steve’s empty plate and turns toward the door.

“Hey, punk, you might wanna freshen up. We’re getting a special guest tonight. Maybe this time, you’ll man up and shoot your shot.”

Steve’s brows furrow at Bucky’s words.

At least they do until Jensen walks by with an excitement Steve hasn’t seen in a few months.

“Did you hear, Boss Man?” Jensen asks as he tells Steve about the reservation that’s just come in.

A reservation for one in your name.

*****

You check your new outfit a final time in the mirror, satisfied with your efforts. The makeup you’ve chosen for the evening is minimal since you’re only interested in pleasing yourself.

Almost a year wasted with a man who never appreciated you. A man who wanted to shape and mold you into some ideal that you could never be, never wanted to be.

Six months without visiting one of your favorite places in the entire world. All because that same man had been so jealous of the attention you got from everyone there but especially from one Steve Rogers.

Oh, you can only hope that you might see Steve again that evening, having missed his sweet smile most of all these last several months. He’d been one of the first there to make you feel welcome. One by one, so did the others, but you always came back because of Steve.

Part of you wishes still that he would’ve made a move on you during one of your many visits to the steakhouse over the past few years. Maybe then he would’ve saved you all those months with someone less deserving of you and what you had to offer.

He never did though.

So, you accepted the two of you would just be friendly toward one another, just like you were with all the others there.

You can live with that.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself as you grab up your jacket and purse.

A final glance in the mirror to ensure your outfit is still perfect for the night you have planned. It’s during this time that your phone pings with the arrival of your Uber.

The ride to the steakhouse takes you through the familiar streets you’ve missed. It amazes you how much they have stayed the same though there are some changes that surprise you. Your favorite used bookshop’s doors have shuttered, but the café you used to visit almost every morning still thrived. A couple of new tiny shops have opened while others remain with a couple that have closed. The eclectic collection of shops was what drew you to this area in the first place when you’d been looking at universities.

Anger fills you for a moment at how manipulative your ex had been with your routine and your life. How could you let him work you like he did? How could he take the very things that made you happiest because he couldn’t handle his own feelings of jealousy and inadequacy?

So many of the hours you used to spend on these few streets, window shopping and getting to know the owners of the shops. They’d been lost to you when you let your ex into your life. Friends lost because of him. You could only wonder what they’ve been up to these past months while you’ve slowly descended into a level of hellish isolation you never wished to be in again.

As the steakhouse appeared in front of you, you perk up. Your hands automatically fidget as they run over your outfit to ensure the few wrinkles from sitting in your Uber didn’t remain when you step out in a few minutes.

A part of you hopes that Steve and all the others haven’t forgotten you.

Yet, why would they remember you?

Friendly or not, you’re still just a customer to them. A good tipper, sure, and always courteous to every employee from the bussers to the owners. You’ve never had a reason to complain about the food or the service from them, and you always tried to make sure they had no reason to complain about you.

Over the years, you’ve even gotten to know a bit about each of them. Jake’s inability to flirt despite giving him lessons whenever he served you. Nat’s intense loyalty to those she works with and her regulars, including you. Sam’s sweet but serious nature. Bucky’s strive for perfection with each dish that leaves the kitchen. Ari’s innate ability to know just what drink you need the moment you step inside (always a mocktail for you). Peter’s awkward friendliness that’s just downright infectious.

Then, there’s Steve.

Oh, you’ve learned a lot about him over the last couple of years.

He’s never been one to back down from the rowdier customers, standing firmly on the side of his staff. It’s something you’ve seen firsthand a time or two, and you’re always impressed with the way he manages to keep his anger in check. At least, inside the restaurant. You’re not unaware of the bloody knuckles he’s come back in with after escorting these obnoxious customers from his place. No doubt they deserved it, but you did worry about the consequences for him and the possibility of pressed charges.

Steve’s also been the first to lend a helping hand to those less fortunate in the neighborhood. If it’s not a free meal to help refill their empty stomachs, it’s offering them small tasks for which he handsomely pays them, even those that take less than ten minutes. He always makes sure they get enough to help through the day or even a few days. You’ve seen the kindness that comes from him and his staff, and it’s one of the many reasons your crush on him hasn’t dwindled over the years. No, it’s blossomed in ways you kinda wished it wouldn’t. There’s little hope of him ever seeing you as anything more than a valuable customer.

You’re brought out of your reverie when your Uber driver clears their throat.

Embarrassed, you quickly apologize and wrap up your business with them, stepping from the car and waving them off.

The large wooden doors leading into the steakhouse speak of an understated elegance and welcome that calls out to you. Beckons you to enter the establishment and know you’re among friends, among family.

It’s a feeling you’ve missed greatly these last several months.

Taking a breath, you pull one of the doors and step into the small entryway. The glazed inner doors don’t hide the rich interior within though they do lend some privacy to those already inside. The place is packed as usual with some guests standing or sitting on either side of the entryway, waiting for their tables.

You smile as you catch sight of a familiar face standing next to an unfamiliar one at the host stand.

Without hesitation, you open the glazed door while your smile widens into a full grin. “Well, well, well, aren’t you looking spiffier than ever, Sam?”

Sam’s head shoots up and his smile matches your own. He steps around the stand and closes the distance between the two of you. A low whistle comes out as he moves his finger in a circular motion, getting you to give him a small spin. Another whistle escapes him.

“You are a sight for sore eyes. It hasn’t been the same since we last saw you here.”

The soft reprimand isn’t missed, but you don’t hesitate when he embraces you, his forgiveness as quickly given. In your ear, he adds softly, “He hasn’t been the same.”

Your brows furrow at this new piece of information.

Yet, you’re not given a chance to think on his words before Sam’s sweeping you away from the foyer and deeper into the steakhouse.

“Come, your table isn’t ready just yet, but I know some other people who want to see your lovely face again.”

Within a few more steps, he’s pulling out a barstool at the full bar off to the side of the steakhouse. Another friendly face turns to greet you with a big grin on his fully bearded, handsome face.

“Ari,” you say with another genuine smile for the man behind the bar.

Sweeping his longer than before locks from his face, Ari flashes you a grin of his own. “Gorgeous, long time, no see. How’ve you been?”

“Doing much better since I dropped the one-eighty anchor weighing me down.”

Ari’s grin grows. “Good riddance. For your good fortune, I have just the thing for you. One of my newest concoctions that I think you’ll enjoy. On me.”

“Oh, no, I can’t let you do that.”

You’re not allowed to go any further as Ari’s large hand settles over yours. His gaze softens into one of sheer fondness and full sincerity. “Yeah, you can. We’ve all missed you. It hasn’t been the same since you stopped coming in.”

“I’m just a customer,” you say, not fully understanding.

Ari shakes his head. A sympathetic smile takes over his original welcoming grin. “You’ve really no idea what you’ve been to all of us, have you?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, setting about mixing various ingredients in the special station he created some time ago. You lose track of all that he’s mixing and matching until he finally pours the concoction in a glass and tops it with a tiny umbrella in your favorite color.

The explosion of flavors that come has you wiggling a happy little dance on the stool. While you can’t help thinking the mix shouldn’t work, it does in ways that are pleasant and hits you with a burst of such happiness. It’s such that you can’t help taking another long sip.

“Oh, you’re a true genius, Ari.” Your words are punctuated with a sip. “Mm, I love it. I’ll have to make this a standing order every time I come in from now on.”

Beaming, Ari taps the bar. “I’m holding you to that, gorgeous.”

Another customer ends up taking Ari away, but it’s just as well. You’re more than content to continue sipping your new favorite mocktail, one of many Ari’s presented to you. The man’s a notorious flirt, watching him rake in several tips over the next few minutes, but he’s also a connoisseur when it comes to alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages.

He comes back at the same time Sam reappears.

“Your table is ready, pretty lady.”

Saying a quick farewell to Ari, you take Sam’s offered elbow and allow him to lead you to what you believe is your usual table.

It’s more than a little surprising when he sweeps past the main dining area and through a hallway towards what you assume are the back offices and other personnel only rooms. He doesn’t stop until he pushes open a door and reveals a table set for two in a private room.

“What’s all this? Sam, what’s going on?”

Sam merely grins as he leads you to the table and holds out your chair for you. It’s only after he’s given you a menu you don’t need that he says, “I’m trying to make sure Bucky wins the bet this time.”

“Bet? What bet? You have a bet that concerns me?”

Rather than answer, Sam shoots you a wink and disappears through the door, closing it softly behind him.

A moment later, soft music drifts through hidden speakers. The melody is low but romantic though that does little to answer any of the questions this evening’s brought so far.

*****

Steve’s just finishing up the last of the paperwork when Bucky barrels into his office.

“She’s here, punk.” Bucky slams his door shut and gives Steve a thorough though quick once-over. “Is that what you call freshening up? I’m never going to win my money back from Sam if you keep this up.”

“Aren’t you slammed right now? What are you doing here?”

Bucky waves his hand in dismissal. “Everett’s got it for the next few minutes. I’m here to make sure you don’t mess this up a second time.”

Steve’s trying to follow his best friend. Really, he is.

Bucky just isn’t making much sense at this point.

“Mess what up? Buck—”

Another wave of Bucky’s hand has Steve going silent. Strong hands move his chair out of the way before he’s being tossed a garment bag.

“I had Nat pick this up before she clocked in. It should still fit, so hurry up and put it on. You can’t keep a beautiful woman waiting too long.”

Still not following but at least complying for the moment, Steve unzips the bag and finds a nice button-down shirt with what appear to be new pants. A suit jacket completes the look though he’s unsure why he needs such clothing.

“Nat’s got a good eye,” Bucky muses aloud as Steve pulls the ensemble from the bag. “That color will certainly impress her. Now, come on. We don’t have all night here.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve hurries to change his clothes.

If Bucky’s going to be like this, it’s easier to just go along and figure it out along the way. At least that’s been Steve’s experience every time Bucky’s been excited about something. It goes for everything from the latest technology to the ladies, and it’s been like this since the two became friends so many years ago.

The only time it really changed was the six months or so after they both discharged from the army. While they’d both seen combat, something happened to Bucky that he still refuses to discuss most days. Those were the hardest months of their friendship, but Steve refused to walk away, even when Bucky practically shoved him out the door a few times over.

Their eventual takeover of Bucky’s grandparents’ restaurant helped give them both a new direction and strengthened their friendship into something stronger than before they’d enlisted together.

His thoughts clear as he finishes putting on the shoes Bucky hands him, also in Steve’s size.

“Better?” Steve arches a brow at Bucky in question.

Another thorough once-over has Bucky reaching out and unbuttoning the top button of Steve’s shirt. A quick tug of the collar soon brings a grin to Bucky’s satisfied features. With a nod, he says, “Better. Let’s go win your girl, punk.”

*****

You aren’t left alone for long as Jake and Peter come into the room. While Jake’s carrying several items rather precariously, Peter follows him with flatware in their signature napkin wraps.

The fancy cloth’s colors have changed, you note, from a deep blue to a burgundy red. It’s a sign the steakhouse is gearing up for their fall season. Each season has its specific color as you learned from Nat some time ago. Something started by Bucky’s mom back when she and Bucky’s dad ran the restaurant.

“Hey, Pete, how’s school going?” you ask as the younger man moves out of Jake’s way.

Your gaze briefly leaves Peter’s face to take in the small crystal vase with a mini bouquet of seasonal flowers. Their signature glasses follow it on the table as well as everything else one might need at a steakhouse. The table soon overflows with all the items those in the main dining room have though the table itself is a bit too small to accommodate so much.

Peter pulls your attention back to him, saying, “I graduated a couple months ago. Classes at university aren’t bad though they’re not leaving me as much time to work as I’d like. Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers promoted me to server as my graduation gift. They say I earned it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you did.” You grin at him, quite proud of him. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“It’s okay.” Something in Peter’s voice tells you it’s not really, but he’s also not going to hold it against you.

Hoping to make amends for your absence in some way, you turn to Jake. “Well, maybe I can make it up to you if Jake here doesn’t mind sharing me with you tonight. I’d love to do something for such a momentous occasion, Peter. I know how hard you’ve worked through school and in school.”

Jake nods quite enthusiastically. “Not a problem with me. Nat might complain though.”

“No complaints from me,” Nat calls from the doorway, walking past with some plates from the kitchen. “He should be joining soon. Jensen. Parker, make sure he doesn’t screw this up again.”

“We’re not miracle workers,” Jake quips.

With that, Nat’s gone though you can make out her laughter down the hall.

Turning back to Jake and Peter, you ask, “Who is he? What is he not supposed to screw up?”

The two exchange a glance before Jake clears his throat and mumbles, “Boss Man.”

It might’ve been some time since you’d been at the restaurant, but you know Jake only calls one man that name in this place.

Steve.

You’re not sure what Steve has to do with you or why he’d be joining you. After all, you only made a reservation for yourself. The thought of someone else joining you hadn’t entered your mind.

Yet, you can’t say you don’t like the idea. You, in fact, really like it. It’s been something you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember and every time you’ve come here single. If only he had made a move, then maybe you might believe that he’s interested in you now. Nothing in the few years you’ve known him has hinted that he likes or liked you the way you like him.

Before you can get too far down that rabbit hole, another voice breaks the quiet of the room.

“There’s the most beautiful doll in the world.”

You smile as Bucky enters and pulls you from your seat for a hug.

“We’ve missed you around here. My kitchen staff has suffered dearly with your absence. Lost all their inspiration without your unique combinations.”

Shaking your head, you accept his kiss on your cheek and give him one in return.

“I’m sure you keep them on their toes plenty. It is nice to be back though. I’ve missed you all, too.”

Before he lets you go, he whispers, “If the punk is too dumb to shoot his shot, I just might if it means keeping you around. You light up this place in ways it hasn’t since my ma retired.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back.

Leave it to Bucky and the others to make you feel so special even after such a long time being gone. It’s your sincerest hope to never stop coming here, not letting anyone keep you away from somewhere you’ve always felt welcome and wanted.

“You’re very cute,” you whisper back, “but you’re not really my type.”

He chuckles, not offended in the least. It’s not the first time you two have had this conversation. It probably won’t be the last, either, which suits you just fine.

At last, he releases you from his loose hold.

“I should get back to the kitchen. Don’t need Everett or the others to burn it down.”

You shake your head fondly. “Give Curtis more credit than that. He’s a wonderful sous chef, and you’re lucky to have him. I’m glad you took my thoughts to heart where he’s concerned.”

“How could I not? You’ve never led us astray before,” Bucky says, shooting you a wink and a farewell nod. His heavy footsteps can be heard on their way back to the kitchen where he’s always felt his most calm.

When your gaze follows Bucky’s path, it soon collides with the one person you’ve been hoping to see all day.

Your smile grows once more. It’s almost certain your cheeks will be sore in the morning from all the smiling you’ve done this evening. In a breath, you say his name.

“Hey, bijou,” he says, his voice low but warm.

You do your best not to fidget, to seek out any invisible wrinkles in your outfit.

It’s taking everything in you to keep your gaze locked with his even as you take in the navy-blue suit he’s wearing. No tie and the top button unbuttoned does something for him in ways you’re wholly unprepared for. This man is too handsome by half, and he doesn’t even know it. How fair is that to any poor woman who happens upon him?

At last, you find your voice. “You look handsome. Big date?”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer as Nat walks by again. She’s wearing a big smirk when she says, “If he’s not a complete idiot, it is.”

Your confusion isn’t lessening while Steve sends a look at Nat though he relaxes a bit, his voice almost amused. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Not only are my tables handled, boss, but I have time to make sure you win your lady.”

You don’t miss the way Nat’s gaze trails to you, her smirk intact, before she returns her attention to Steve.

“Don’t mess it up,” she says, moving away, “boss.”

The offended incredulity on Steve’s face has you fighting laughter. You’ve never seen him quite so put upon and by his staff, no less. It’s not like Bucky doesn’t tease him from time to time as you’ve witnessed. This is the first time though that the rest of the staff has joined in. You honestly can’t help wanting to laugh at the spectacle, even if you don’t quite get what they’re trying to do and what it has to do with you.

Steve seems to shake himself when his gaze finds yours. His throat clears before he finally says, “You are stunning, bijou. Special occasion?”

“Yeah. Celebrating me.” You can’t help the heat that rushes into your cheeks as you say the words. They’re so much easier to consider when you think them, but saying them aloud is something else entirely. You quickly add, “I also really missed this place.”

I missed you.

You manage to keep that thought from spilling out, leaving you open for rejection.

Eager to keep that thought from coming out, you glance around the sparsely decorated room. It’s clear this wasn’t a private dining area before, but no clue exists on what it was before the others must’ve hastily redecorated this space. For what purpose, you can’t say with any certainty.

Yet, there is a hope.

The room might not have much, but it does have enough to appear something cozy, something charming. Maybe a bit more mood lighting, then the others would succeed in whatever they were creating.

When your gaze finally returns to Steve, you swallow.

He remains in the doorway, but the look he has while watching you is something you’re not wholly prepared for. One corner of his mouth is curled upwards while his eyes are soft but focused solely on you. It’s almost like he hasn’t stopped looking at you as you take in the room. That’s a heady sensation indeed for you as you haven’t experienced that ever.

Not any of your exes. Especially not Brock. Not in the way Steve’s doing anyway.

There’s wonder and perhaps longing staring back at you.

It’s that look that compels you to ask, “Would like to join me? I mean, if you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“I’d really like that if you’re sure you don’t mind,” he says, pushing off the doorway.

You shake your head. “I don’t mind.”

*****

Main Masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #x female reader #steve rogers fanfiction #shooting his shot #restaurant au #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #jake jensen #peter parker #sam wilson #ari levinson #fluff #matchmaking

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fuckitwebhaal · 1 year ago

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the dark urge

please do not come for me these are just my takes and opinions on the durge route, as someone who has run it through a few times and is pretty familiar with the lore in regards to the previous games. also massive spoilers below. like if you do not want any dark urge spoilers stop reading now.

The Dark Urge (henceforth referred to as DU), whether approached narratively as resisting or as succumbing, is more of a solidly fleshed out origin for a customizable player character compared to Tav. The reason for this is because the DU follows the precedent set by the previous Baldur's Gate games where the main player character is a Bhaalspawn. (If I recall correctly, that was also the intention for BG3, but it was scrapped and the origins split to allow for a fully customizable option).

I'm not going to get into the history of the Bhaalspawn, save to say this much: The protagonist of BG1 & 2, Gorion's Ward, is referenced on rare occasion throughout a DU playthrough and is implied to be dead. (Though they are never named as Abdel Adrian from the TTRPG canon, it is implied that it seems to be following a blend of canon from BG2 and the TTRPG canon). Bhaal, who had split his divine essence into his many children, relied on their deaths and a ritual so that he could return--in a physical sense--to the planes and reclaim his godhood as the Lord of Murder.

You, BG3 DU protag, are crafted purely from Bhaal's divine essence. This was confusing to me at first, because I had believed Bhaal incapable of having any more mortal children (due to not having a physical presence), but it is implied that Bhaal's spiritual and divine essence is strong enough to form you from himself, he is merely lacking the ritual that would return him to physicality. Which is where you come in. And, Orin, I guess.

Because you were crafted from Bhaal, it is implied that any cultural or genetic claim (such as half-elf, dragonborn, or whatever race you choose) is but Bhaal's mimicry of what those stereotypes should be. You're a killer, a Bhaalyn through and through, and you'll be the one to slay the world and slit your own throat on the carcasses left behind to bring about Bhaal's return. The only thing is, you got cocky. Confident. Comfortable. Careless. You got comfortable in your alliance with Gortash and Ketheric. Orin was jealous and wanted your blessing--your place as Bhaal's chosen--, so she struck you down, muddled your mind, and infected you with a mindflayer parasite. That's why you have no memory, and why you ended up on that ship.

So, here you are. You have no memories, but you have a rage and a disgrace and a vengeance you can't quite place. You've got an urge telling you to kill, kill, kill.

Pause. In previous games, the Bhaalspawn protagonist didn't have a "dark urge" that caused you to want to commit violence or murders outside of your control. (Not including Siege of Dragonspear (2016), which does include one uncontrollable murder. This DLC was released as a bridge between BG1 & 2 and came out after the pitches for BG3 had begun). It's implied that this is because of your pure divine creation--think Jesus. Think godspawn. God and mortal. That's what you are, murder incarnate.

The main crux of the DU run, then, becomes this: what do you want to do with this? There are a few paths laid out before you, but the narrative is pretty clear: you are a killer, and you'll always be a killer. This is where I first ran into my concerns with the DU; I was afraid it was going to be an edgelord-y, murderhobo-y playthrough that sacrificed story and companion mechanics for the sake of a bloody kill and edgy narration. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't the case, because the story unfurls really well no matter which way you go.

A friend of mine played the DU run totally evil; every bad option, every urge indulged, so I asked them what they thought of it. They said it "It definitely involved a lot more violence and death than [their Tav] run, but it's not like [they] murdered everyone [they] came across", and "It did feel a lot like someone very confused with themselves becoming very drunk with the power that comes with the urge".

I played my two DU playthroughs in two parallel ways. The first being Kyr; a DU who wanted to resist his urges and talked a good talk, had a good heart, but at every major moment, he failed to resist and ultimately succumbed back to Bhaal's embrace and became his Chosen.

My other playthrough is Nyris; a cynical, mistrustful bastard, he started out a little rocky, but growing with his companions caused him to reject the evil in his blood despite his other moral shortcomings; in the critical moments, he rejected Bhaal's influence and overcame.

How the DU presents to me, then, is this: nature v nurture. Which will win, which will overcome? By playing Kyr, it felt as though the nature was his driving force. It didn't matter how removed he was or how hard he tried to convince others that he could do better--how hard he could try to convince himself he could do better--he was already doomed by the narrative. Bhaal's manipulations drove him back home, and he didn't even realize that he'd been sucked back into the cult until it was far too late.

But, then, what about Nyris? To him, it felt like nurture. If you remove the cult from him, the indoctrination, what was left? A man struggling to make his own identity, but among those who reaffirmed it every chance that they could. He relied on his own strength and that of those around him to overcome, even if he was unsure, afraid, doubted. It feels like the nurture, or lack thereof, of Bhaal and the Bhaalist cult meant that he was free to grow and learn away from it.

It's something I find further supported in conversations with Jaheira and Minsc, who both talk about "their Bhaalspawn companion", otherwise known as Gorion's Ward from the first two games.

[ID: Minsc: "If Minsc did not inherit the flaming red hair of his mother, or the bushy red beard of his father, why would the spawn of Bhaal inherit his wickedness?"

Kyrran: "We should talk about nature versus nurture some day."

Minsc: "It is simple. As with all battles, the winner will be the one that carries the bigger sword."]

So, in my opinion, the personal arc of the DU and one that the player must engage with is the idea of nature versus nurture, and how your DU will cope with the revelations of their paths in light of the new memories and friendships that they have forged. That's not to say you can't always swing to one extreme; never indulge or always indulge, it's still digging into that nature versus nurture idea.

There is, also, the more overarching theme of BG3 in regards to breaking cycles of abuse, power, and control. If you lean into the idea of nature v nurture, and you realize that there were originally foster families involved in the upbringing of the DU (before said families were murdered, or the DU stolen away by the Bhaalist cult), you have to consider two things:

1.) Bhaal is comparable to both Shar and Vlaakith as gods that indoctrinate their religious followers, and

2.) Bhaal is comparable to Mystra and Cazador as those who take control of a severe power imbalance to inflict their will.

The narrative informs you, if you accept Bhaal's gift as Chosen, exactly the consequences that will fall upon you. It is the same as the consequences that are so heavily explained to you in regards to Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Gale, and Astarion.

[ID: *A gift from your god, your Father. An offering of his affection for you, or confirmation that he owns you.*]

[ID: *For a moment, the brine-pool of your brain clears. To die: to rest, to save the world from yourself. To accept, to become his prophet - in any disobedience, subject to his lash.*]

A lot of people say that the DU run is the "evil" playthrough, and it truly isn't. Just like any of the other decisions you make in this game in regards to your companion quest, it is a question of power and control. Power you give up by rejecting Bhaal is also control that he loses over you. Power you gain in accepting him, to exert over others, is also the control he will take. It's up to you how you will approach the DU, but I think it is shortsighted to say it is the "evil" playthrough if you are not fully engaging with the themes. You can make all of the good options that you can make with Tav--but you are fighting the narrative. The narrative has a plan for you. If you want to resist, you will have to fight for it.

#anyways. i will probably add on more to this. at some point.#fiwb meta #bg3 meta #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #durge spoilers #the dark urge #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #dark urge spoilers #bg3 dark urge #bg3 dark urge spoilers #spoilers #spoiler tag #meta tag #meta

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