#One might say the the color gray is anything but boring.

[clueless-goblin]

Grey is such a interesting word and color. It can mean bad such as the signs of aging, boring, and prison walls. It can mean good as well such as wisdom, refined, and understanding. That's why using “in the grey” to mean “morally vague” is perfect because even it's spelling is in the gray.

[pleucas]

i got a few asks about my process :0 so yea i took some screenshots mid-process of my recent cliff-skk thing just for that

m gonna preface everything by saying that i did have a ref for the environment!! i avoid color dropping from the image and tracing cuz i do want to hone some digital skills. also saying i'm doing an "environment study" when i'm really just drawing skk makes me feel better abt myself

when i don't have a reference, i tend to do some thumbnail sketches in my sketchbook. here's some random stuff of past work, where i rawdogged everything:

but whatever, back to the cliff-skk. i'll also post a timelapse of it for easy ref, but detailed stuff is under the cut :)

first i did some rough sketches on an orangeish background (underpainting etiquette, i find it helps things feel brighter and keep a stable tone when choosing colors to lay on top), and I quickly lined skk :)

then I laid down some flats for the background, again really eyeballing the reference for hues. afterwards i thought it was a bit bright, and i wanted a more sepia/nostalgia feel to it, so i hue adjusted everything to something more uniform

then i lay down flats for skk + the ocean, which i both had to color adjust a lot (you might see that in the timelapse), and then i jump straight into rendering the background. when i render, i always prefer to do it over something lineless, so i turn the sketch layer off. i rarely do lineart for backgrounds.

i also used to render the characters first, but i've found that it's just not a great approach—especially for art where characters and background are interacting, knowing the hues and shades of the environment is crucial to effective rendering on the character that doesn't make them look out of place.

when i'm rendering, i really try to keep in mind tenants of contrast, perspective, form, and light/shadow. ex, stuff "closer" to us has more detail; the hill in the back is minimalist (in comparison); the shadows lean cool-green while the light leans gray-yellow. rake brushes really carried me here idk... my fav brushstyle forever

eventually i reach a point where i'm satisfied (or bored) with the background. for the last stages i usually have the subjects hidden so i can really perfect the details—but then for super duper final details, like the little leaf specks and grass strands, i unhid skk so the poppy details could work around skk. then i get to rendering the characters :)

i forgot to take ss of all the stages when i rendered skk, but here's something from... about the middle of the process? i tend to render characters with the lineart hidden as well, sometimes bringing it back just to clarify things, but ultimately i prefer to define things by form than by line. that's just me tho idk, idt it makes or breaks anything, just a preference

again rlly just thinking about cool/warm, reflective tones (the greenish shadow on chuuya's left inner leg, sky-gray blue on dazai's vest), really just slotting the subject into the environment. after i finish rendering the characters, i usually return to the background and add some stuff—in this one i defined the waves a bit and put some grass around skk

and yeah then we're done idk LOL. sometimes i run the file through camera raw (photoshop) to do some color adjustments—i find that my iPad displays colors super differently, usually making things a lot lighter than they are (u can see how dark the timelapse is...), so i find myself lightening my work a lot. i also sharpen and add noise as needed :)

i think my process has changed a lotttt even in this past year. it's kinda crazy!! it's always fun to do these and just reflect a bit on how i work. mostly just mindless insanity until it kinda works.

thanks for sending in an ask. and if u read all that, thanks to u too lolol

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito

TW: idk, threatening atmosphere ig

fem reader

Thinking about being a psychologist assigned a certain crazed serial killing cannibal… 

The walls seemed too white. Loud. So impersonal, it became personal. Cold and eerie, as if it wanted to make everyone inside feel unwelcome.

Your palms were embarrassingly sweaty, causing you to wipe them down your skirt, also in an attempt to straighten it out, where the approaching footsteps on the other side of the door only helped make your heart beat faster.

You swallowed your anxiety when you heard the latch open and tried to wipe your face free of fear, knowing how such fragility would not survive here. You almost felt nauseous, but then the patient came in, and, unlike you, he looked completely normal – happy even.

"Good morning." You reported routinely, and just as routinely, he chose not to answer and instead stared at you where you sat on the other side of the table, as ready as ever. 

It had become a ritual shared between the two of you. Intimate.

You, who made yourself comfortable before he was let in – folder and notepad and two ballpoint pens in two different colors, one red and one blue, placed in front of you on the table – just far enough away that he couldn't reach them.

And he, who’s comfortable either way – dressed in his given uniform and slippers as he stepped across the cold floor slowly before dropping into the chair in front of you.

You wear jewelry, and suppose he does so as well.

He looked your body up then down – analyzing what he saw with an unimpressed face – taking in your straight posture where you sat like a doll placed in a glass display with your knees together and your hands folded neatly atop your lap. 

He seemed disappointed when roaming your outfit – a childish pout on his lips. A secular pencil skirt, tight but modest nonetheless, reaching below the knees – only showing calves and ankles. A demure blouse – no sheer fabric, no bright color, no cleavage – just dull pink-beige that reached up below a set of pretty collarbones and a neckline donned a simple pearl necklace. 

If you wore makeup, it couldn't have been much – but your lips had a certain shine to them, not much color other than natural, but glossy in a way that made them look… tasty.

You were pretty, but pretty in a very ordinary way – pretty in such a way that wasn't enough to answer the question of whether you were trying or not. And he thought that was fun. 

You looked boring, but you weren’t boring because you were anything but obvious.

You smiled nicely, pretending that he didn't make you nervous – and that, in turn, made him smile, but not for the reasons you would have liked. He thought you were a little weird for wanting him to get comfortable with you when you were so clearly nowhere near comfortable yourself.

"How are you today?" You asked as if in a normal conversation when your previous ask didn’t earn any response.

He considers playing along for a few seconds but eventually feels he has done so too many times before – that now it would only achieve something boring.

He nudges the inside of his cheek with his tongue and scrapes it against his teeth before finally answering. "Have you ever seen someone go through withdrawal?"

If this had been your first time with him, you would have reacted differently, but you have since learned that he’s happy to force what he feels like telling, regardless of your attempts to turn the conversation onto other topics. So, instead of asking why he's asking what he's asking, you answer honestly and let him continue.

"No. I can't say that I have."

"Then you're in for a treat.” He says and begins the game, quickly noting with a keen twinkle in his eye the way your smile tightens before he continues. "You might think I look like shit now, but you should’a seen my skin then – all ash and gray like a rotten fish. Should have some pictures of that in your binder – I looked as good as dead.” He joked with a smile. "And yet, I was still alive… ‘cause I kept kicking and flopping around. And it was cold – freezing – so cold that my teeth gnashed without having anything to bite into. And even though I’ve never been one to cry, I cried then, like a newborn fresh outta the womb." He confessed with even more of a chuckle in his voice.

The smile only grew sharper when he saw you open the notebook – his eyes twitching a little at the sound of the ballpoint clicking under your thumb as he watched you approach the sheet with red ink.

"Oh- and sweat," He continued, "My God, how you sweat." Grinning as the adrenaline of excitement sharpened the red in his corneas – crazed two-toned eyes bulging as he watched you scribble. “You may think you know sweat, but you don't – you don't know the stench of it.”

He shook his head along with the words, happy to have engaged you in his little game. You were so cute, sitting there opposite him as if the two of you were on a date and he was telling you some fun story from his past.

"And I shook! Like I was crazy – like I had demons on the inside that wanted out!"

You gasped as he brought his large fist down hard on the table with a blow that shook the remaining blue pen as if it jumped in fear and cowered to comfort itself the same as you.

“And then they came out. ‘Cause I puked ‘em out!”

His eyes were impossibly dark, though they remained the same as always. Full of something… something you just couldn't understand. Along with a crack of a smile that was anything but healthy.

"For several hours, I vomited until my soul was left in the toilet bowl… That is… the times I was lucky to even make it to the bathroom in time..."

His words earned a grimace from you, sitting with a lump in your throat, clutching the pen that had now gone silent in your still grip.

"And that smell doesn't go away…" He continued, calmer now. “It sits and sinks into the floors... Remains to remind you of what you are – mocks you, pokes fun, laughs as it predicts the future…”

His eyes gave yours the same feeling as being threatened with a knife, the way he looked down at you while you stared up at him – your eyes wide in prayer before you couldn't hold back any longer and had to look away.

"Because you know..." The voice was even quieter now but still with a reprehensible darkness that required goosebumps. "No matter what promises you make to yourself, you will always break them the moment the hunger strikes again... That's just human nature." He concluded, letting the silence work for himself.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and met his gaze again, trying your best to appear unflappable even though you’d already let the mask slip a couple of thousand times already.

"What made you think of that?" You asked then, clicking your pen – that way you do when the silence creeps worse than his words.

“This room.” He answered. “It's like withdrawal.”

"It doesn't say anywhere in your file that you’re a drug addict?"

"The whole reason I'm sitting in here is 'cause I’m an addict." He snarled, and you almost lost the pen with how you flinched.

There was another pause, and his face softened again into something else.

"But you're right. I've never done drugs." He smiled with his head cocked a little to the side as he looked at you with that fixed unpleasant look. "But I was convincing, wasn't I?"

You clicked your pen again and wrote another thing down in the notepad.

"Psh-" He scoffed. Something in his voice had changed, twisted into something similarly accusatory to yours. "You're just like me."

You stopped writing. Your whole body had been taken by instinct at his disturbing statement – brows furrowed as you fought the urge to gnaw at your bottom lip.

"How so?"

Your heart was pounding to the point where you could hardly feel anything but the bleeding pulsing in your ears – pumping in your fingertips – rocking the ribs in your chest.

A silent toothless smile crept up his face anew from where it had been playing at the corner of his mouth as he watched you cling to the red pen as some sort of weapon you could use if he chose to throw himself across the table.

He laughed at the thought but stopped short upon his next utterance. "You’re also an addict."

You had such a very pitifully confused expression. He took a second to admire it with a smile that only grew sharper, to a sick point where you almost couldn't recognize him as human at all anymore.

"You use – you eat and chew and swallow everything but the bones, everything you can stuff your bottomless belly with in hopes it'll soothe the hunger."

You had to gulp.

"Most people, you see, eat themselves. But we…" His gaze was like a spark – powder and fuse teased by friction, just waiting to explode. "We eat people."

Another silence fell upon you, but this one heavier than the previous ones – as if everything took a moment to catch its breath before you let it go, and with it came a deeply unsettling shiver down your spine.

But before you could question the statement, a beep came and took the patient away.

[thollandneedy]

Bet- Peter Parker

A/n: I discovered i have a thing for men who plays pool...

Warnings: Mentions of sex, make-out, description of sexual thoughts, sexual tension and one swear word

Summary: A boring evening turns into a hot situation when Peter and Y/n decide to play pool together

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

Y/n L/N and Peter Parker could be considered inseparable, since they did everything together, whether it was going to school on the subway or even waiting for each other in the bathroom door so as not to miss anything when they were together. As fate would have it, the two of them had been accepted at the same college and attended it together, even though they had different degrees.

On a late Saturday night, a weekend when all the students were exhausted from the week of exams, Peter and Y/n needed a break.

The girl was in the passenger seat, while Peter drove around the university town just to pass the time. They were both enjoying the sound of Tame Impala playing on Peter's playlist, until Y/n hit the car stereo, announcing:

“I'm getting bored” Y/n complaints, turning down the sound.

Peter glances at her briefly, returning his gaze to the street wet from the afternoon's rain.

“What do you want to do?” He asks.

“We can do something that doesn't cost a lot of money. My salary isn't due until next week, and I've got flies coming out of my wallet.” Y/n says.

“If you didn't spend half your money on takeaways and Starbucks, you might be able to afford to go out at the end of the month.” Peter points out, causing the girl wearing a navy blue sweatshirt to grumble.

“I can't cook, Peter! And Starbucks is literally on campus, so it's almost a daily temptation not to stop by.”

“I told you, I'll teach you how to cook so you can spend less money.” The brunette in the light gray sweater says. “Can we go to a bar and drink beer and play pool, maybe?”

“I thought you didn't like beer.” Y/n tilts his head to the side, tucking his hair behind one of his ears.

“I don't.” Peter smiles, drawing a low laugh from the girl. “There's a bar near here, we can go there. You buy the tokens, and I'll get us something to drink or eat.”

“You don't have to pay for our outings, Pete.”

“One large fry and two juices won't affect my salary, babes.” Peter says, turning his eyes to the street as Y/n feels her heart pounding.

It wasn't long ago that Y/n and Peter had a strange sexual tension between them, sometimes making the air seem to get lost in their noses when they were too close. They had never kissed or touched in a sexual way, but there were a few looks they shared that could be considered pure sex. Neither of them had the courage to comment on it, but they both felt the same way. Perhaps it was the fear of losing a friend, or their own shame that stopped them, even though they were very intimate.

“Give me the smaller cue.” Y/n says, leaning his hip on the pool table and pointing to a wooden pedestal containing the cues used for the game.

“You'd better take the bigger one.” Peter comments, placing the chip in the hole in the table, releasing the colored balls that would be used.

“I feel like I'm not accurate with big cues.” Y/n comments, turning to the brunette who is arranging the balls on the green table, walking over to the wooden pedestal, picking up the smaller cue and handing it to the girl.

Peter takes the larger cue, positioning himself in the center of the table. The cue touches the floor, and Peter looks at Y/n, who was busy watching the movement of the university establishment.

“Do you want to go first?” Parker points with his head to the colored balls positioned and the white ball a few centimeters away so that he can hit them.

“You better. We've never played this together.” Y/n gives the pass to the brunette.

“I used to play with Ned sometimes.” Peter holds the base of the bat, switching positions with the girl and positioning the bat towards the cue ball.

“How good are you?” The girl leaned her weight on the bat in her hands.

Peter smiled sideways, his focus on the small ball in front of him, gripping the cue tightly as the muscles in his arm flexed. His chest was flat against the table, moving the thin end of the cue between his index and middle finger, almost pornographically hitting the cue ball hard while all the others positioned in a triangle shape scattered to all sides of the table. One of the balls landed squarely on one of the mouths of the table, making a loud noise.

Y/n watched him without being able to focus on which number he had hit to start the game, as his mind began to fantasize about a million situations that he had never thought of even in secret in his room. Perhaps it was because of the warm lighting in the room, the low music and the increase in libido from the stress of the week, which for some reason tended to increase when she was stressed about something, but that image made her lose herself.

As soon as Peter hit the ball he smiled to himself, saying:

“I think that might answer your question.”

Y/n shakes her head quickly, coming back to the reality of the game. Peter tilted his head to the side, lowering his gaze so that he could understand what his distraction was.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. Super.” The girl smiles.

“My number's even.” He announced, moving to the other side of the table so that he could once again look for the next ball he was going to hit.

One of her curls was delicately trailing down her forehead, while her innocent eyes had turned into heavy, dark ones.

Y/n bit his lower lip, lowering his eyes to his hands, which had their veins marked when they were exposed to the light. Maybe it was wrong to think that about her best friend, but she couldn't get her fantasies out of her head, as if looking at him was a horny magnet. Imagining that those same hands could be holding her neck while he looked at her to kiss her, or thinking about how those strong arms would hold her body while he was on top of her.

Once again the same sound of the ball falling into her mouth is heard by the girl.

“It's a good thing we didn't bet anything, because I'd lose.” Y/n comments as he celebrates the ball hit to him.

“And if we were betting on something, what would it be?” Peter looks at her.

“I-I… I don't know.” The girl feels that for a second her words are lost.

“Are you really all right?” Parker slowly walks towards her with a confused smile.

“Just… you play well.” Y/n says, smiling at the boy who returns the smile, then looks down.

Passing behind the girl, he puts one of his hands on the woman's waist, coming close to her ear and saying:

“Don't be intimidated, darling.” His fingers slide around her waist, letting her go.

Y/n nods, accepting the challenge that had been indirectly imposed by her best friend.

Peter stares at her as he walks towards another move, only to look away to focus on his move, which he misses. The brunette grunts, looking down and then returning to his normal posture.

“Your turn.” He says, gesturing with his arm, a free pass so that Y/n can take her place and finally start her game.

The girl walks over to him, standing next to his warm body as he waits for her to make her move. The girl copied his position, placing the end of the club between her index finger and thumb, throwing her hips backwards as her breasts came close to the table. Peter realizes that your arms are crooked, so he places the club on the table and stands behind you.

His hands are directed towards your arm, placing the palm of his hand on yours, saying:

“Align your arm with your body. It's too far to the side and that will cause the ball to deviate from where you want it to land.”

Y/n takes a deep breath

“You distracting me like that doesn't help me.” She says in an ironic tone, causing him to quickly remove his hands from her in a symbol of surrender.

“Play it then." He says, resting one side of his hip on the table, watching Y/n.

And just as the girl was thinking, Parker's mind didn't leave his thoughts. When he was at school, he didn't consider himself a daring boy to flirt with, but when he entered college, that changed completely, causing the girls on his course to seek him out at parties to exchange numbers. And even with this attention, he only wanted one person. His eyes quickly wandered to Y/n's breasts, which showed through the white tank top she was wearing under her sweatshirt. It was easy to imagine her breasts in his hands, being squeezed with his thumb touching their nipples in a sensual massage, while she moaned his name softly. Or how hot she would look if she were sitting on the table, allowing herself to be touched by Peter's desperate fingers.

Parker took a deep breath, denying his thoughts so that he wouldn't get an erection in the middle of the bar. Focusing on the people around him who were also playing, his mind was distracted until he heard the sound of the ball falling. Y/n celebrated with a satisfied smile, then looked at Peter, trying to show through her gaze that she knew what she was doing. The boy nodded, smiling without showing his teeth.

With every ball hit, the place seemed to get hotter

Every time the ball was hit wrong, the tension grew because of the time they spent together

Every pose was like an invitation to sex

Each smile of success, proof of the tension they shared

And every grunt of frustration, a reference to their pornographic thoughts

Their last ball was hovering over the table, and they didn't even know how they didn't collapse on top of each other intoxicated with desire. Peter's fingers were anxiously tapping against the table, while his best friend's lips were red from biting them to try and hold back any kind of comment.

“Last ball. Do you want to bet something?” Y/n caught the brunette's eye as he mentally planned his move.

“What did you have in mind?” Peter replied, glancing sideways at her.

They only knew what was going on by looking at each other

The same look they shared when they were alone and too close together

Y/n lowered her gaze to Peter's lips and then said:

“If you get it right, you owe me a kiss.” She plucks up the courage to say it.

Y/n feels that her legs could lose their strength in that place, but decides to use her bolder side, waiting for an answer from the brunette, who puts his bat away on the wooden pedestal, then returns to the table. The girl looks at him confused and frightened, thinking that it might not have been a good idea to flirt with him in those conditions, but is taken aback when he picks up the ball that was missing and throws it straight into the mouth of the table. Y/n nods her head and gives him a snort of laughter as he walks back to her once more.

“I think I've got it.” He says, pulling her by the crotch of her jeans, causing their already panting bodies to touch.

“You cheated.” She says, releasing the bat from his hands as he puts it on the table.

“Are you really going to complain?” Peter asks.

“No.” Y/n says, pulling hard on the back of his neck so that her lust-intoxicated lips can satisfy his.

Peter's lips meet hers, allowing no time for them to enjoy themselves, as the girl's tongue quickly finds his. Their heads move in sync, not even paying attention to the drunken veterans talking loudly, or those at the tables next to them. Peter feels that staying in his pants is becoming a difficult job, while Y/n realizes that her hands are tingling to get down his body. The brunette's strong hand squeezes her waist, causing her hot core to contract and a small moan to escape her lips. Peter turns her around, placing her back against the pool table as a support so that the kiss can go deeper. One of his hands found the back of her hair, pulling it slightly so that she could look at him.

Their bodies breathed in the same sync, and their hearts beat with the same intensity.

“Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you.” Peter says against the girl's ear.

Y/n squeezed Parker's exposed muscles, which felt like they were going to burst through his shirt.

“You. I want you.” Y/n asks, holding his head as he answers in her ear.

“Tell me exactly what you want, Y/n” Peter squeezed his waist, pulling him even closer to him, making it possible to feel how aroused he was in his dark wash jeans.

“Peter Parker, if you don't take me back to your dorm right now and fuck me with all the fucking strength you've got, I swear I'm going to finish this here on my own” Y/n loses control of his words, which have been taken over by his excitement.

Peter turns away abruptly, picks up his jacket from one of the chairs near the table, puts it in his hands and says:

“Let's get out of here then.”

[kurishiri]

Darius Vogel ┊ To our greed this Christmas

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— the 110 times sent bonus for elbert's promised christmas event.

— cw: none.

(Hmm... the one on the right seems easier to use, but on the other hand I feel like the one on the left has a more gentle color...)

Christmas was approaching, and I had a day off. And so I found myself at a store selling miscellaneous goods, picking them up and mulling over them.

Darius: There should be some other colors if you go farther in, so you could check over there?

Kate: Thank you for the advice... wait, Darius?

Darius: Hello there, miss fairytale keeper. Are you shopping for something?

Kate: Yes, I am. I was thinking of buying something for everyone at Crown, so...

Darius: Oh, so that’s why Harrison Gray’s waiting some ways away, I take it.

Apparently, Darius, with his good eyesight, was able to see Harrison waiting at the shopfront — something I wasn’t able to see.

Kate: Ideally I would’ve liked to prepare everything in secret, but I’m not allowed to go out on my own for security reasons...

Darius: And so you chose the person most likely to figure out what you were planning first.

It was exactly as Darius said. Even if I were to keep it a secret, Harrison would know I was lying right away...

If that was the case, I decided to exclusively tell Harrison the situation sooner rather than later and involve him in the plan.

(Darius really is incredible, managing to figure all that out in an instant.)

Darius: Oh, I know, can I tag along in your shopping trip? I’m curious to see what you’ll choose.

Kate: It’s nothing so grand, so it might be a bit boring, but... if that’s fine with you.

And so, that was how Darius came to accompany me.

Having finished picking out presents, we stood in line to check out together.

There were a lot of people shopping, so it looked like it would be quite a wait before our turn.

Darius: By the way, miss fairytale keeper... giving them a gift to win them over, what are you planning to make them do?

Kate: W-win them over...?

Darius: Are presents not a way to convey how much you’re thinking about whoever you’re giving it to?

D: You know, conveying something like, ‘I find myself thinking about you sooo much.’

D: So I was curious what you were seeking in return.

Kate: Such a thing didn’t even cross my mind... I just wanted to give them something as thanks for taking care of me throughout the day.

Darius: Well is that so.

I told him my feelings as they were, and while he nodded [1], he didn’t seem very convinced.

Kate: But... I am glad to have gotten your perspective.

K: Even if my intention was to give it to them as a thank you and wasn’t seeking anything in return,

K: the recipient might feel otherwise, feeling an obligation to give something back and whatnot.

Darius: You kind, soft fairytale keeper, you.

D: But, if you want to survive, wouldn’t it be better to be a bit more devious?

D: Currying favor with the strong is one of the ways for the weak to live, you know.

So...he’s probably saying it would be better to use this present as a way to cajole them.

(‘Presents are a way to convey how much you’re thinking about whoever you’re giving it to’...huh.)

In order to pave their way through the world, sometimes one must show a fake smile or say something completely opposite of what they felt.

Darius was a person with status, so I imagined he must have had many interactions with ulterior motives laced in.

...But, for some reason, to think that all presents were given out of self-interest,

felt like such a lonely thing to me.

After checking out and retreating from the line, I gave Darius a certain something.

Kate: Darius, here... would you take this?

Darius: What’s this now?

Kate: Just now, I did a little lottery with the amount of money spent... and I got a piece of candy as a participation prize.

Darius: ...One piece of candy.

Kate: Well, I wanted you to know that there are presents that don’t have any ulterior motives, so...

Darius: Indeed... it’s hard to think a single piece of candy demands anything in return, though...

D: Pfft...ahaha!

As if saying he couldn’t take it any longer, Darius started to laugh.

Darius: Ahh, you really are strange... hey, miss fairytale keeper, did it never occur to you it could be considered rude?

D: It’s a bit hard to say this myself...but considering I’m a noble visitor from Germany, giving me a single piece of candy as a present...

Kate: Ah...! Y-you have a point there.

I was only thinking about how I wanted to give him a present with no strings attached... but I hadn’t considered anything else, much to my embarrassment.

Darius: Hehe...it’s fine. It is interesting, so I’ll allow it.

D: It’s the first time I’ve ever received such a trivial present.

Pinching the candy with his fingers, Darius lifted it up to his eyes, staring at it.

Darius: That said, this isn’t quiiite enough to convince me that ‘there are presents without any ulterior motives.’

Kate: Huh...

Darius: See, your version of a ‘present’ is something you chose while thinking of the recipient, no?

D: Like the one you chose for Crown.

Saying that, Darius pointed to the paper bag I was holding.

Darius: Go and prepare a present from your heart, miss fairytale keeper, rather than giving a participation prize and whatnot...

D: And make me believe that such a thing doesn’t demand anything in return.

D: You see, I can’t help but really want such a present.

(...I don’t even need Harrison here to know he’s lying through his teeth.)

(Darius truly, from the bottom of his heart, doesn’t believe such a present could ever exist.)

It started to occur to me that there were emotions in Darius’ heart that I couldn’t expect in others.

And to him, that flickering greed of his didn’t amount to more than one of his play on words.

(But...)

Kate: Alright then. Getting one right now might be a stretch... but someday, I will give you one.

This emotion that made me want to make Darius believe someday — I wonder, what could that be?

Driven by an impulse, I made this declaration, and in response, Darius grinned.

Darius: Really now? Well then, I’ll look forward to it.

His smile was as beautiful as it was perfect. ...But, those honey-colored eyes seemed to contain a cold hue.

And I felt a strong desire then... to get my hands on something that could strip away that fabricated expression of his.

Fin.

first next →

masterlist🪽🎁 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

NOTES:

[1] Kate uses [相槌] (aizuchi) here, which can indicate nodding, but more broadly speaking, it refers to interjections that a listener may use to indicate that they are listening to the speaker. This could be nodding or making “hmm” sounds or other small replies.

[trensu]

So this was originally a little ficlet i added to @gyroshrike's EXCELLENT angel dust fanart. You should check it out IMMEDIATELY. Anyway, I ended up writing it out into a proper fic so I could post it to ao3 here. and i thought i might as well make it its own tumblr post as well since the fic is done already. Enjoy!

“What do you mean no?” Cherri asks, annoyed. “This is the fifth fucking outfit you’ve shot down.”

Angel doesn’t know why he thought Cherri would be helpful on this shopping trip. He forgot that Cherri’s idea of fashion involves singed tops and torn up bottoms. He snatches the clothes from Cherri’s hands and throws them back on the rack.

“Ya keep pickin’ slutty clothes!” Angel replies, also annoyed. 

“That’s because you are a slut, bitch.”

Angel gives her a two fingered salute because he’s fucking cultured. Cherri cackles and flips him off in return. Angel marches to the other end of the store to the rack full of boring colors like navy, gray, and black. They don’t go with his coloring at all. It’s the only rack left he hasn’t looked through in the entire store, though. Cherri follows behind him, purposely shoving racks and mannequins to make a mess as they go.

“Well, I ain’t tryin’ ta look slutty this time,” Angel says as he aggressively inspects the rack of clothing.

“Good luck getting that cat in bed after your date,” Cherri snorts.

“It’s a first date! Husk ain’t like that,” Angel says, feeling a bit offended on Husk’s behalf. “He’s a gentleman.”

“Yeah, the drunk arsehole is a total gentleman,” Cherri rolls her eye. 

“He is about this kinda thing. He’s a classy guy, okay? So I’m givin’ classy a try,” Angel insists. He reaches the end of the rack with nothing to show for it. He growls. “Fuck this place, it ain’t got shit. Let’s go.”

“Fuck yes! About fucking time,” Cherri cheers.

After blowing off steam with Cherri, Angel sneaks back into the hotel. Not that he’d done anything wrong; he just doesn’t want to bump into Husker at the bar after the spectacular failure of a shopping trip. He’s stressed because he was running out of time to get an outfit together. He knows he gets catty under pressure. (Ha. Catty.) He doesn’t want to risk getting catty with Husker.

Once inside, Angel wanders the upper levels for a bit until he is absolutely sure that Charlie was nowhere around. He knows Charlie would be overjoyed to help but she's about as subtle as machine gunfire when she's happy. Angel wants his future upscale look to be a surprise for Husk.

Since Charlie can’t be considered, Angel is left with one last option. With extreme reluctance, he makes his way to Charlie’s room. He makes sure not to show anything but confidence and charm when he knocks on the door.

Vaggie opens it with a scowl.

“Angel. What do you want?” Vaggie asks in that flat yet annoyed tone she was so good at doing.

“Heyyy, Vaggie. Ya know that redemption thing Charlie always yaps about?” Angel starts. Vaggie’s scowl deepens, so Angel continues before she could say anything. “I was thinkin’ I should change up my look, so I ain’t so sexy and tempting. Looking like a prude is a virtue, ain’t it? You’re the biggest prude I know! Wanna help a fella out? For redemption and sh–uh, stuff?”

Angel bats his eyes at Vaggie, channeling his ‘I’m a sweet, naive virgin, please take advantage of me’ character. It’s a very popular character in his line of work. He is much better at that than at looking innocent but he figures it’s basically the same thing. Vaggie glares at him. Okay, slight miscalculation on Angel’s part, then.

“No,” she says, and tries to close the door. Angel catches it with two hands before it shuts completely.

“Wait!”

“I’m not helping you with whatever porno you’re doing,” Vaggie says. 

“It ain’t for porn!” Angel says. He’s not exactly insulted that Vaggie assumed it was a porn thing, but he’s not not insulted either. He’s got a life outside of porn, sometimes!

Vaggie stares at him. It’s an expectant stare. It’s a stare that clearly says Angel has to give her a reason to not harpoon him with that spear she carries everywhere. (It’s also super judgemental but that doesn’t offend Angel since Vaggie looks at everyone except Charlie judgmentally).

A small jolt of embarrassment hits him. He wishes it was a porn thing now. 

He doesn’t want to say it out loud, this tiny frail chance Husk gave him by asking him out. If he says it out loud, Vaggie will scoff. She’d roll her eyes and ask him why he’s even bothering to try. Does he really think anyone would seriously want to date a cokehead pornstar? This is a pipe dream and Husker will get fed up with him so fast.

(Vaggie wouldn’t say any of that, a part of Angel knows. Those were Valentino’s words, but he’s so sure that Vaggie must have thought it at least once. Everybody must think that about him at least once).

The longer he stays quiet the more Vaggie’s glare softens until she starts to look genuinely concerned. And, fuck, Angel can’t have that. He’d die (again) if Vaggie felt sorry enough to be nice to him. He pastes on his smile and keeps his tone girlfriend-ly.

“I got a hot date, Vaggie, that’s all,” Angel says. “Wanna try somethin’ a little different for it.”

Vaggie is not convinced by his nonchalance which makes Angel wonder if he’s losing his touch. His acting skills are second to none! She should be eating out of the palm of his hand with this performance! Instead, she marches out of the room and waves him along.

“Follow me,” Vaggie says in her drill sergeant voice that makes everyone who hears it straighten their spine and find themselves already halfway to a salute.

Angel learns that Vaggie approaches clothes shopping with the same tactical focus and determination she approaches any mission, which is weird but whatever. She stealthily leads him to the nicer side of town into a more upscale shop than Angel is used to. She marches through the shop without bothering to ask Angel for his input on anything. Still she manages to pick out a few outfits that went well with his coloring and in his size. Angel has never appreciated her observational skills more.

“Try these on and show me,” she demands, piling her pickings into both sets of Angel’s arms and shoving him into a dressing room.

Angel complies without protest. He sashays out of the dressing room like a supermodel four times before Vaggie nods in satisfaction on the last option. She actually smiles at him.

“This one. You’ll impress your date with this one,” Vaggie says without a hint of irony.

Angel smiles back and thanks her enthusiastically. He ignores how he hadn’t recognized himself in the mirror in any of the outfits. He ignores how uncomfortable the clothes feel on his body. The clothes are classy, just like Husker prefers. That’s what matters.

–

When Husker shows up at his door for their date, he does a double take.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Husk asks, confused.

Angel starts to lean flirtatiously into his space, a salacious come on right on the tip of his tongue. He catches himself halfway and quickly straightens himself with an awkward laugh.

“Just somethin’ I found in the back of the closet,” he lies through his teeth.

He’d devoted time to doing his makeup just right and making sure the clothes were crisp and clean. He still feels uncomfortable in them but all things considered, Angel thinks the final product came out pretty good. The way Husker looks at him now makes him wonder if he overestimated his looks for once.

Husk’s eyes narrow as he studies Angel. His gaze trails Angel top to bottom. It doesn’t feel very sexy but Angel supposes the point is to not look like a whore so this means he succeeded, right? 

“Sure,” Husk says, notes of confusion still in his tone. “You ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course!” Angel stutters like a moron.

“Alright,” Husker says after a beat.

Husk gives Angel another suspicious look, shoulders tense and wings pulled close. Something shifts in his expression that Angel can’t read. He’s afraid it might be disappointment. Husker shakes out his wings and offers Angel his arm, which Angel accepts with relief.

“So, where ya takin’ me, Huskie?”

Husker tells him about a little place with good food, better drinks, and a live jazz band. As they walk out of the hotel, Angel almost cozies up against Husk, so tempted to rub his cheek against Husker’s furry ear. He catches himself again and over-corrects by pulling away from Husk until their linked arms are the only point of contact. Husk stumbles a bit with the weight shift. He shoots him another indecipherable look. Husker opens his mouth to say something but appears to change his mind and snaps it shut.

That’s okay, though, right? Husker wasn’t much of a talker anyway! Angel fills the silence between them with nervous babble. Angel is normally very good at conversation but tonight he keeps having to stop and restart mid-sentence when his stories get crass. Being crass is not good first date behavior. Husker grunts every now and then but it’s clear he’s only listening with half an ear. It doesn’t help Angel’s nerves at all.

The date goes downhill from there.

Husker finds them a booth when they arrive at their destination and helps Angel order their food and drinks. He points out several he thinks Angel will like.

Usually, he and Husker can pound back alcohol like nobody’s business. They sometimes make a game of it and those nights are some of the best Angel has because he gets to see Husker soften and relax in his company. However, Angel is an affectionate drunk and Husk has had to nudge Angel away more than once those nights. Husker is always sweet about it now, with gentle hands and amusement in his eyes. Husker always helps him back to his room afterwards like a perfect gentlemanly escort. Despite that, Angel can’t help feeling a bit stung at the rejection each time.

Tonight, he only orders one drink. He knows he can’t be getting too handsy with Husk on their date. He’s sure it would annoy him. He doesn’t want Husker to regret asking him out. With his focus strictly on keeping up his good behavior and watching his alcohol intake, Angel barely touches the food Husker recommended to him. 

Husker keeps shooting him these looks that make Angel anxious. With each glance, Husker slinks deeper into his taciturn demeanor. Of course, Angel overcompensates with his babbling. At one point, Husk has to shush him during the jazz show. Angel clacks his jaws shut in shame, because he knows how much Husker likes jazz and here he is ruining the experience for him. At least Husk is nice enough to hold Angel’s hands throughout the rest of the show, though he probably only does it to keep Angel from fidgeting too much.

When they leave the joint, Husker doesn’t offer his arm again. He doesn’t even walk very close to him. Angel's stomach churns so much, he’s afraid if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll puke the two bites of food he ate earlier.

They’re halfway back to the hotel when Husk clears his throat. His hands are in his pockets as he trudges on, keeping his eyes on the crumbling sidewalk.

“You didn’t have to say yes,” Husk says, not even glancing at Angel or faltering in his steps as he speaks. Angel, on the other hand, halts in confusion.

“What?” Angel asks, not sure what Husker was talking about but the tone of voice made his stomach drop. Husk sighs, stopping in his tracks to finally look up at Angel. His face was closed off in his standard apathetic frown.

“When I asked you out,” Husker says, his tone going to his usual bored gruffness. He hasn’t used that tone towards Angel in a long time. Hints of panic start crawling up Angel’s veins. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

“What?” Angel asks again like a fucking idiot. He hopes he doesn’t sound as shaky and pathetic as he feels.

Husker’s voice goes flatter though his tail has started to twitch uneasily.

“You should’ve said no if you didn’t want to…be with me. We woulda been fine.”

“Huskie–”

And at last some of that soft, hidden sincerity crept back into Husker’s voice. Only a little bit, but it’s there.

“I’d still be your friend, Legs,” Husker says, gazing into Angel’s eyes and sounding painfully honest. “I wouldn’t abandon you over that.”

“No! I-I–”

Husker looks away with a bitter grin. Angel’s heart cracked at the sight.

“I’d need a day or two to lick my wounds, but I knew it was a long shot anyway. I woulda come back,” Husker shrugs when he finishes going for nonchalance, but his wings are once again curled protective and close, making his usual slouch look less like carelessness and more like defeat. Husker doesn’t wait for Angel’s response, instead choosing to continue walking back to the hotel.

Angel stands in place, floored by how badly he fucked up. He notices his breathing becoming erratic. He does his best to do the calming breathing thing Charlie taught them all. It works well enough to get him running to Husker again though Angel still feels unsteady and insecure. Most of him is screaming to fucking book it in the other direction because fuck, fuck, Angel hates feelings. But Husker also hates feelings and he basically threw up his guts at Angel despite it. The least Angel can do is return the gesture, right? He owes Husker that much.

“Husker, wait!” he shouts. 

Husker’s posture becomes more guarded but he doesn’t acknowledge Angel’s call. Angel catches up quickly (Husk can’t go too far too fast with those short legs, Angel thinks, helplessly fond despite the anxiety). Dodging around Husker’s wings that quiver with tension, Angel grabs the crook of his arm to bring him to a stop and place himself in Husk’s way. He lets go quickly at Husk’s glare but somehow manages to stand his ground.

“I did want! Husk, I wanted ta say yes, I wanted ta go on this date so much,” Angel says desperately, feeling a telltale burning around his eyes and hating himself for it.

The tension in Husker’s body breaks free as his patience caves to his temper. His wings flare open and his tail whips side to side aggressively.

“Then why are you acting so fucking fake? With the clothes and you treating me like I got the fucking plague! I thought we were done with that bullshit,” Husker snaps furiously.

“Cuz I wanted ta…I wanted ta be good for ya, Husk,” Angel chokes out, shoulders slumped in defeat. “You like classy. I wanted ta be a good, classy sorta guy for ya. I-I fucked up. I always fuck this shit up. I don’t mean ta do it.”

Angel stares at the poor excuse of a sidewalk they’re on, blinking back tears. Husker doesn’t say anything for a long time. Angel nearly loses his nerve and turns tail when Husker speaks again.

“You fucking dumbass,” Husk says. 

His voice is deep and warm and fond, the way it is on their drinking nights together. Angel’s head snaps to Husk at his words. That cocky little smirk– the one Angel first saw after Husk had pulled him out of his self-destructive spiral at the club and realized that if he wasn't careful he'd lose his heart to the guy–has replaced the angry slant of Husk’s mouth.

“Hey!” Angel protests with a cautious smile. Husk rolls his eyes.

“Don’t expect compliments if you’re gonna act stupid,” Husk says and offers his arm to Angel. “You’re already classy enough for me, Legs.”

Angel takes his arm and looks down at him slyly.

“But not good, huh?” Angel tries to tease but Husker doesn’t take it.

Instead, Husk looks at him intensely and says firmly, “If this redemption shit the princess keeps talking about ain’t total bullshit, you’d be the one to make it.”

“Oh,” Angel says, stunned, then adds to cover how hard it made his heart beat, “Husker, ya big ol’ flirt. I betcha say that ta all the pretty boys.”

“Fuck you,” Husk grins at him. Angel bats his eyes and lets his voice go all breathy.

“Oh, yes! Please, daddy,” Angel simpers. He adds a loud moan for good measure. Husker throws his head back with a rough, loud laugh. Angel knows immediately he wants to hear it again forever.

By the time Husk drops Angel off at the door of his room, the pair of them have relaxed significantly. Angel opens the door slightly to peek in on Fat Nuggets. After he makes sure his Nugs is sleeping soundly, Angel catches Husk’s sleeve before he could make a sneaky escape.

“Hey, Husk, can we get a do-over? A new first date? I want ta do it right next time.” Angel asks shyly. The corner of Husk’s mouth quirks up, making his golden eyes crinkle in a way that makes Angel’s heart melt.

“Depends,” Husker says with that charming smirk. “You gonna wear that stupid outfit next time?”

“Oh baby,” Angel says, plastering himself against the door frame in one of his sexiest poses. “I’m gonna wear my sluttiest dress for my handsome kitty. Everyone’s gonna wish they were you when they see us togetha.”

Husk snorts.

“When you put it like that…”

“You can put it wherever ya want, daddy,” Angel flirts. He’s only half-joking but he keeps his hands to himself to keep things light. Husker rolls his eyes in good humor.

“A do-over sounds good.”

Angel drops the pose instantly, beaming at Husk.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Angel’s heart flutters at the small smile that accompanies Husk’s assurance.

“Next week?”

Husker nods in agreement.

“Great!” Angel said, probably a little too enthusiastically.

Before Angel canlose his nerve, he dips down and presses a light, meek kiss on Husker’s cheek. When he pulls back, Husker’s eyes are as wide as saucers and his wings have puffed up in a way Angel hadn’t seen before. If Angel didn’t know any better, he’d say Husker was downright flustered. And oh god, Angel wanted to make him blush all over. Husker would be so cute in bed.

“G‘night, Huskie!” Angel says quickly and slams the door closed behind him.

After nearly tearing himself out of the uncomfortable clothes, Angel crawls into bed wearing only his boxer briefs. Next time, he thinks to himself in joy and disbelief. I get a next time.

He knows it will be perfect because next time he’ll be himself. Angel. Because that’s all Husker wanted. Just Angel.

He curls up around Fat Nuggets and allows himself one quiet, happy squeal.

[frenchfrywrites]

Simeon’s new neighbor

MINORS DNI

Warnings: trans masc top vampire reader, trans human bottom Simeon, blood, both of yall r fucked up.. so like morally gray/dubious things and such, attempt at religious themes and guilt, fingering, humping, blood drinking, fear wetting (nonsexual (if you can believe)), strap on, scent kink, lmk if i missed anything..

tysm to @pulpbeing for helping me w inspiration w this fic :)

It’s a spring Sunday morning when Simeon wakes to find the house across the street from him– the one nobody had lived in for years, and he was certain would never find a buyer– has finally found its new owner. He smiles to himself at the sight of the vintage car in front, and the new doormat placed outside the front door. While there’s not many other signs of life, yet, Simeon hopes that the homeowner will settle in nicely and make the place their own.

It’s out of the ordinary that his new neighbor moved in during the night, Simeon thinks briefly, but refocuses on how happy he is that someone moved in at all. He hums as he brews himself a cup of coffee, exciting himself with imagining what his new neighbor is like. He wonders if they’re friendly. He wonders if he’ll see them at church this morning. Knowing he’ll be seeing a new face around the small town leaves Simeon energized, and truth be told he probably doesn’t need the coffee at all. There’s enough pep in his step anyways.

But his age is catching up to him, and in order to keep from yawning during the service, he downs the cup he’d prepared (though not before adding copious amounts of milk and sugar to make it bearable). 

Simeon does little else before going to morning mass, and when he gets there he scans the familiar faces. All the grannies swarm at him, asking him about his week, how he’s been, among other things. He does his best to give them his attention, but he’s losing focus as he continues to analyze the congregation. 

He tries not to let disappointment sink in as no new face enters the church. The sunny day turning cloudy does little to help his emotional state. Simeon rationalizes that perhaps his neighbor is tired from the move, and even if you never go to church that doesn’t automatically make you a bad person. Smiling to himself, he decides he’ll make you a dessert as a welcoming gift.

It’s not long before he’s standing in front of your door, reaching out to ring your doorbell, holding the sweet treat in the other hand.

“Who’s there?” a beautiful voice calls from within, and Simeon feels rejuvenated, excited, and giddy all over again.

“Your new neighbor!” he responds, figuring that if he only responded with his name, you’d be entirely confused.

“Hello?” you open the door, and Simeon’s heart nearly stops. You’re nothing short of impressive and deeply intimidating in your beauty. He thought he was wearing his Sunday best, but compared to your outfit he might as well be wearing rags. Every strand of your hair is perfect, and you’ve no blemishes or disfigurements. In fact, if it didn’t sound silly to say aloud, he'd say you’re glowing. And what impresses him even more so, is that your beauty seems so effortless. 

His jaw drops slightly, leaving him gaping at you like an idiot. He’s embarrassed to be standing before you like this, as he imagines he must look so frumpy and boring compared to your elegance. You don’t seem to mind though. In fact if Simeon were to guess by your expression alone, he’d say you’re endeared and pleased with him at your doorstep.

“Ah, hello!” he finally shakes himself out of his stupor. “My name is Simeon, I live across the street,” he gestures behind himself, to his house. 

You don’t even spare his house a glance, your eyes instead staying locked on him, and Simeon feels his heart throb at how they’re an unusual, but mesmerizing, bright amber color. He licks his lips, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. “Um- I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, so I made you a-” he prattles on, telling you about what he made, and what’s in it. From there he rambles a bit about allergies, anxiety setting in over the fact that he may have presented something inedible for you.

“Simeon,” he gasps softly at the sound of your voice cutting him off. You’re smiling, and Simeon finds himself mimicking you, though his smile is a far more bashful one. You introduce yourself to him, and Simeon thinks your name is as beautiful as you are, “would you care to come in?” you ask, opening the door for him. He enters your home without a second thought.

The two of you get on like you’ve been friends for years. You make him tea and guide him to your living room where you’re able to talk to him for hours, about a myriad of topics, until Simeon’s grumbling belly regrettably leads to him excusing himself for dinner. You walk him to your door, waiting and watching at your doorstep until you see him wave to you from inside his house.

Simeon is a social butterfly, and gets on with just about anyone, but he feels different with you. He feels like a kid with a crush again, and it’s not just that you’re good company, he feels utterly at ease and refreshed in your presence. For the rest of the night he flits around his own house in a haze of bliss, already thinking about what he wants to discuss with you next.

He finds himself at your doorstep the following evening, because that’s the time you told him you were the most available. You welcome Simeon into your home happily, and insist on making dinner for him. Strangely you don’t eat, but you tell him it’s because you had a filling lunch, and promise him you’ll eat later in the night. Simeon feels only mildly awkward being the only one eating at the table, but that feeling melts away slowly as you start up conversation again.

Like the previous night, the two of you talk until Simeon’s body catches up to him and he’s yawning more than he’s speaking. He leaves with a smile on his face, and waves to you happily from his house. He knows that his feelings towards you may become an issue later, because he can’t imagine a world where they’re reciprocated, but he’s enjoying himself too much to worry about it now. He figures he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

The next few nights he finds himself too busy to see you, but that doesn’t mean you’re off his mind. Rather, Simeon finds himself thinking of you nearly obsessively; until the first body turns up.

The town Simeon lives in is a small one, and when someone is found dead, everyone knows the details and feels their absence. The community mourns, and Simeon feels shock and fear ripple through it. This body was mangled and gored, and the main theory is that an animal did it. Despite there being an official theory, all eyes are on Simeon’s new neighbor, the outsider.

Whispers only die down once the family receives a bouquet from you on their doorstep. You’re not welcomed yet, but you’re no longer a suspect.

Simeon finds himself confused, and seeking someone to talk to. Before you, he would have gone to confession, but now he hurries across the street when the world around him turns a deep blue and twilight sinks across the sky.

“Simeon,” you greet him happily, ushering him in immediately. 

“Hi,” he breathes, again taken aback by your presence like the first day he met you. The memory of you that’s been running through his mind doesn’t even hold a candle to the real thing before him. 

The two of you stare at one another in the foyer. You clap your hands, “I don’t think I ever gave you a tour of my home, did I?” Simeon shakes his head, grateful for you taking the lead of the conversation. 

He follows you eagerly as you guide him through the first floor that he’s seen most of. You go through the kitchen, the dining and living room, your study, and the downstairs bathroom. Then you lead him upstairs. Simeon finds himself entirely distracted from the grim events of the week as you move from room to room. 

Upstairs you show him your little library– and you pause here for a while, because of course Simeon has to jealously browse your collection– the room where you do your work, and finally your bedroom. Simeon can’t help but feel bashful when you kindly show him your room. He hopes you don’t notice. If you do, you’re kind enough not to mention it.

Your house is like a museum, Simeon thinks. There’s more artifacts, antiques, and collectables in each room than he’s ever seen in his life. You have things from every era, and he can’t help but be in awe of how much care and love you put into them. 

There are some oddities within your home as well. He notices you have every mirror and window covered. Simeon wouldn’t dare bring it up though, fearing that he’d come off as rude or invasive. 

After leading him through the upstairs, you bring him back down to the living room. 

“There’s a basement too,” you mention offhandedly as you sit down, “but it’s unfinished.” 

“Your house is amazing,” Simeon confesses. You smile, and he continues, “thank you for taking me on a tour, I was…” he trails off for a moment, “I was having a rough time with the recent events, and this was a needed distraction.” In response to that you hum,

“I’m happy to have been able to help, Simeon,” you rest your head on your hand looking at him through your lashes, and Simeon feels a guilty pang of lust grow in his loins. “When death presents itself so violently and suddenly, it can be so consuming,” you muse. “I wish I could have done more for the family, I hope my condolences provided a moment of comfort.”

“Ah, I was going to tell you,” Simeon starts, “I’m sorry that some of us worried that you had something to do with this! I didn’t think that at all of course. I don’t think you could hurt a fly,” he reassures you. You laugh at that, and Simeon feels his cheeks heat with flush. 

“I see how grief could make some see a coincidence where there is none,” you say once your laughter dies off, “but let's not talk too much about all this. You came over for a distraction, no?” Simeon nods, “then let’s talk about something more lighthearted. You said you’d read some of the books you saw in my library?”

From here the conversation turns, and the two of you talk deep into the night. 

“I’ll walk you home,” you tell Simeon once he finally admits he needs to leave. Suddenly, any and all exhaustion is gone from Simeon’s body. 

“Are you sure? I’m just across the street,” Simeon says, though deep down he wants you to come over. 

“I know, but it’s so dark. It’d make me feel better even if it’s just walking a few feet,” you say, pulling on your shoes. 

The night is quiet, save for the chirps and calls from nocturnal critters. There’s light conversation between the two of you as you walk Simeon the very small distance between your houses. 

“Here I am,” he says awkwardly, unlocking and opening the door to his home. You stand outside the doorway, illuminated from his porch light.

“Good night Simeon,” you say softly, reaching out to tuck a stray hair away from his face. Awestruck, Simeon stands in his doorway dumbly, watching you turn to leave.

“Bye,” he breathes, when you’re already halfway across the street. 

He watches you enter your own house, and it’s only when you’re out of sight that he closes the door, and grabs at his chest. He laughs, a relieved and elated sound. 

“Oh Father, thank you, thank you,” he murmurs between his giggles. He goes through his nighttime routine, feeling like he’s walking on air, like he’s in a dream.

Simeon had believed that his crush was silly, that there was no possibility of his feelings being returned. Perhaps that’s still true, that your intentions were purely platonic, but it felt like so much more than that. He sighs wistfully, looking out his bedroom window at your home. You’d done something that felt so intimate so easily, like it was nothing at all. It was everything to him.

The weeks pass, and spring turns to summer, and summer eases into fall. Simeon finds himself at your house more often than not as the months pass. Helplessly he falls deeper and deeper in love with you as you make him dinners, and talk with him, and do puzzles, and quietly read together, and drink fine wines on your living room loveseat with him. He texts you during the day, and during most times that he’s not able to be with you.

Simeon’s not been this happy in a long time, and everyone around him knows it. His community has eventually warmed up to you too. It’s hard when they don’t see you in the day time, and you not going to church is certainly a difficult thing for some to stomach. Simeon praises you enough that they finally come around to accepting you.

It’s not all love and bliss surrounding him, as there’s been more deaths. It’s no big city, so typically Simeon’s town deals with maybe two to three deaths a year, and very rarely are they violent ones at that. The police say there’s leads, but when they issue a curfew, the town begins to doubt them. Simeon feels safest when he is with you, but he can’t deny the way that terror has settled into his town.

Another person is reported missing a week before Halloween, and Simeon feels like he’s going crazy. He knows the curfew is quickly approaching, but the urge to see you overpowers his logic and he finds himself in front of your door. 

It’s only then that his typical anxiety surrounding breaking rules– and even more powerful, his catholic consciousness and the fear of always being watched– sets in. He worries that even knocking will alert someone that he’s breaking curfew, and instead gives the door a try. To his surprise, it turns under his palm.

Simeon pushes in and finds himself in the house he’s grown to love. 

He calls your name, but there’s no response. Quickly, he hurries through the rooms on the main floor, but finds each space empty. As soon as Simeon attempts to take the first step upstairs, he hears the crash from below him. 

The basement.

Simeon would have never guessed to check there, so he thanks God for the noise you’ve made. He honestly forgot you had one, but as he searches for an entrance he remembers how you’d mentioned it when you’d first given him a tour of your house. 

He finds the door relatively easily, now that he’s looking for it. It’s cracked open, an invitation to join you if Simeon’s ever seen one. The lights are off, and he finds that strange, but he’s gotten used to your oddities by now. Softly, he calls your name as he makes his way down the stairs, trying not to startle you. 

Simeon’s brain takes a second to process the scene before him as he reaches the basement floor. At first he thinks it’s a lump of clothes, but he soon realizes there’s a body inside of said clothes. A body. Not your body, either. He registers that there’s blood everywhere, and he can’t believe he didn’t notice that first. He can’t believe anything he’s seeing.

A soft, choked sound leaves him at the massacre displayed before him. He’s stunned, unable to think of how to react, or where to begin. Simeon’s hands are shaking, his pulse beating rapidly in his ears. Distantly– hardly audible at all compared to the pounding in his head– he hears the soft puttering sound of liquid dripping. At first he thinks it’s blood from somewhere, but then he notices the wetness in his pants. Weakly he nearly laughs (it comes out as a strained moan), because now he feels more shame than he does terror.

“Simeon?” a familiar voice shocks him to his core. He turns to look at where the sound came from, and is not entirely pleased with what he finds. 

Your familiar, beautiful face is covered with blood, your eyes shining a bright gold, staring right at him. Simeon should run, he should turn and scramble up the stairs out of your house to the comfort of his neighbors. But he’s frozen. 

“Simeon,” you coo his name, stepping towards him. He has a million thoughts at once, adding to the powerful headache he has growing. 

“A demon?” he whines weakly, finally finding the strength to speak. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and then you’re smiling, showing off your animalistic, lethally sharp canines. 

“No, no,” and maybe it’s because Simeon’s brain is working really hard to keep up with him, but weren’t you further away before? “I know I don’t have the sparkly skin like some more popular of my kind,” you nearly giggle and he feels his knees try to buckle. “But can’t you guess what I am?” you tease. 

“Vampire,” he breathes, no uncertainty laced in his voice. You nod, 

“Oh good, that’s right,” you praise, slowly taking him into your arms. Simeon melts like butter into you. You coo, “aw sweet thing, don't fret, I won’t hurt you, I could never hurt you,” you assure him. Simeon doubts you, but there’s not much else he can think to do. 

You hoist him up carefully. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm,” you start slowly making your way up the stairs. “I didn’t mean for you to see this, of course. I don’t mind others' opinions of me– though you seem to care a great deal on my behalf– anyways I do care what you think. We could have gone a while without you ever finding out. Naughty Simeon, you shouldn’t have been breaking curfew anyways,” you tease, rambling as you take him swiftly all the way up to your room, and into the adjoining bathroom there. 

“Would you take off your clothes?” you ask, setting him down on the toilet, and starting hot water for him. Simeon sits motionless, feeling confused and still quite terrified. You look back at him, and your eyes glow a bright yellow, “You’re safe,” you assure him, “and it’s going to be okay,” and with every word you speak Simeon feels relief and calm wash over him. He exhales a soft breath, almost forgetting what he was scared of in the first place. He remembers your request, and does as he’s told, 

He shakily, with your help, finds himself comfortable in your tub. 

“If I had the working blood to do so, I’d be blushing,” you tell him as you sit next to him, on the floor of the bathroom. When he doesn’t respond you sigh, “lots on your mind, I suppose.”

The two of you sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“God forgive me,” Simeon finally breathes, turning to face you. There’s still blood caked on you, and it makes him gag. You frown, clearly upset by this. Laughable that you’re more upset by his disgust than the dead body in your basement.

“I’m sorry, I should let you go, and– and leave in the morning. I apologize for ever–” Simeon cuts you off with a sad sound.

“It’s not you,” he confesses, “I– I’m disgusted that I still love you, even though you’re…” he gestures vaguely. 

“A cold-hearted, bloodsucking, undead, uncaring killer?” you prompt, smiling at him. Simeon, despite it all, smiles back.

“Yes," you tongue licks your blood stained lips,

"And you love me?" You sound so hopeful. Simeon doesn't hesitate,

"Yes," he breathes. You reach out tucking a stray hair behind his ear like you did so many nights ago. 

"Can I kiss you?" You ask, and instead of answering, Simeon closes his eyes and leans in.

Your lips are cold, but Simeon soon finds he doesn’t mind so much. He’s dreamed of this moment, and while it didn’t come about in the way he imagined, his heart still flutters and soars at the feeling of finally having your lips on his. He reaches up, cupping your cold face with his warm, wet hands, pulling you closer. You moan softly, licking his lips with your cold tongue. 

Briefly, Simeon thinks that God must be watching him right now and cursing him for his choices. Then again, if He is all knowing, He knew Simeon would never stop loving you. Maybe God thinks creatures of the night deserve some love too.

You pull away, your eyes so bright Simeon wonders if they’re actually glowing. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since you knocked on my door all those months ago,” you confess. Simeon smiles bashfully, 

“Me too,” he whispers. You lean in and kiss him again, and Simeon knows he’s in the deep end now. There’s no way he’ll ever return to his normal life again; if it meant not having you in his life, he’s not sure he’d want to. 

This time, Simeon can taste the blood that’s still caked on your lips, and it grows harder and harder to ignore the fact that you’re still clothed and covered in gore. He pulls away this time.

“Get in the bath with me?” he requests softly, never feeling so emboldened in his life. You moan softly,

“Are you sure?” you ask, and the slow heat that had settled in Simeon’s body (just from a bit of kissing) now feels like a raging fire. 

“Yes, please,” and you don’t need to be asked twice. It’s like he blinked and there you are naked in the tub with him. Simeon doesn’t hide the way he ogles your now bare body. He shimmies his way forward, closing the space between you, and grabs a washcloth. You watch him carefully, unblinking, as Simeon carefully washes the blood from your face. 

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper sincerely when he removes the cloth from your face, and sets it down elsewhere. 

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?” Simeon jokes, smiling at you. He pauses, “speaking of mouths,” he mumbles, looking at you hopefully. You laugh, catching his drift and opening your mouth for him.

Carefully, like you’re a wild animal, Simeon runs his fingers along your teeth, marveling at how sharp your canines are. “Would you suck my blood?” he asks breathlessly. You lick his finger, and he pulls back a bit.

“If I ever started, I’m not sure I could stop,” you tell him honestly. Gently you take a hold of his wrist, and press your nose against his pulse point. You look at him as you lick across his skin, “it’s hard not to, when you smell so good,” you confess. Simeon flushes and squirms under your gaze. He glances down, trying to avoid eye contact when it becomes too much for him. 

“You’re hard,” he breathes, noticing your clit peeking out from between your pubes, his voice cracking with excitement. He looks back up at you and you’re grinning.

“Yeah,” you let go of Simeon’s wrist, “and you are too. You’re so wet for me” you sound proud, but more than that you're thrilled. Simeon furrows his brow, because how could you tell when you’ve not yet touched him? “I can smell it,” you explain, sensing his confusion. 

Simeon flushes from being found out, and because he is- to his surprise- wildly turned on by the way you’re able to smell his arousal. 

“Oh,” he breathes softly, and there’s a moment of stillness between the two of you. Then, your lips are pressed against his, and Simeon is wrapping his arms around your neck, pulling you between his thighs. You hold onto his hips to prevent yourself from slipping, and Simeon can tell you’re holding back your strength, but your grip is still pleasantly strong. 

Now, instead of his fingers running along your teeth, Simeon uses his tongue to explore your mouth. Your fangs are scarily sharp, and your mouth is cold, but none of that bothers him. He can feel your pussy rut against his thighs, and he moans into your mouth.

“Will you,” he pulls away to start, “would you make love to me?” you groan at Simeon’s request. 

“You’re so cute,” Simeon opens his mouth to argue but you cut him off, “is that really something you want?” you ask, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“It’s all I’ve been able to fantasize about for the last few months,” Simeon confesses easily, and you groan again. 

“Fuck, okay, yes, me too,” you seem thoroughly flustered, and Simeon feels a sharp bit of pride jolt through him at the fact that he’s able to make you feel that way.

You kiss him again as one of your hands drift from his hip to his cunt. Simeon gasps and curls in on himself a bit when he feels your fingers against him. For so long he’s only been the one to touch himself, and it’s exhilarating to feel someone else press against him. You rub easy circles onto his throbbing clit, and Simeon hiccups. 

“Fuh-oh-feels so good,” he whines against your lips, slipping a bit in the tub and mashing his mouth against your chin. You huff out a laugh,

“Are you going to last long enough for me to get my fingers in you?” you tease. Simeon takes your words seriously, and shakes his head, jerking his hips and making the water slosh,

“Probably not,” you coo, leaning down to nuzzle against his neck. You inhale deeply, and moan,

“I want you to be able to take my strap,” Simeon’s breath hitches, “will you be able to after cumming, or do you want me to make you wait?” 

Simeon whines, his eyes fluttering shut. It feels too good to have you playing with his most sensitive bundle of nerves, he can’t think straight enough to give you a response. You pinch his clit and his eyes shoot open,

“Yes sir,” he rushes out, “yes, I-I can do it.” You smile, showing off your fangs. 

“Good,” Simeon’s back arches when one of your fingers slips down and into his aching hole. You’re so cold, he wonders if he feels like a furnace inside. He squeezes around you, panting for air, feeling far too close to cumming already. Faintly Simeon can feel you still rubbing yourself against his leg, and the water splashes gently against the sides. 

One finger quickly turns to two, and you’re stretching him open, your thumb still rubbing insistently against his clit. In the brief moments before his orgasm comes crashing into him, Simeon remembers how the French call it the little death. He’d laugh if he weren’t so busy spasming around your fingers, his eyes rolling back into his head and his mouth dropping open in a silent cry. His legs tremble, and his hands shake. It’s never been as intense as this. 

“There we go, there we go little angel,” you coo, “ohh, look at you,” you sound foggy and far away as Simeon rides out his orgasm. He can vaguely sense that you’re still rutting against him, and feels the way you’re licking at his skin.

It takes him a moment, and then he’s coming down, breathing heavily and slumping into the cool water. 

“Simeon?” you test, but he’s downright dumbstruck, only mumbling incoherently in return. You huff a laugh, and instead let him warm your fingers until he hums softly. 

“Hi,” he says dumbly, a bashful smile on his face. 

“You’re back,” you tease, pulling your fingers from him– causing Simeon to whine. 

“I still want to,” he clears his throat, “um, take your," he coughs, "cock,” he stumbles a bit but finally gets out, “if you’d let me.” 

“Oh angel,” he feels butterflies in his stomach at your use of the nickname for him. “I’d love to.”

The next few minutes are filled with you moving from the bathroom to your bedroom. You insist on drying him down yourself, teasing and touching Simeon all over until he’s squirming and giggling. It’s frightening how easily he can forget about the body in the basement. It’s like it never happened at all.

You guide him to your room, your cold hand fitting perfectly in his, and lay him on your bed. Simeon thinks it’s funny that you have a bed at all. He wonders if you ever sleep. Absentmindedly he plays with his hair while watching you take out your harness. He feels heat growing between his legs as he catches a glimpse of your strap.

Soon, you’re on top of him, with lube in your hand. Simeon spreads his legs making room for you between them.

“You finished pretty quick in the bathtub,” you muse popping open the lube. Simeon covers his face, feeling a bit embarrassed. You coo, using one hand to move his arms so you can see his face, “aw don’t be shy, I’m flattered, really.” 

“It’s because it’s been so long since I had someone– um– touch me like that,” it’s not something that’s bothered him much, the fact that as he’s aged he’s had less and less people make advances on him, but confessing it to you suddenly feels so embarrassing. You don’t seem to judge him though,

“That’s alright sweetheart, I’ll be gentle,” you promise, spreading lube along your fingers. Simeon smiles, again finding himself feeling safe in your presence. 

Just to be safe, you slip a couple fingers in him, stretching him out, slicking up his insides for you. Then you lather your cock with lube, and press against him.

“Wanted to have you like this for so long,” you tell him, rubbing against Simeon’s hole, then against his clit. He presses his hips back against you, so desperate to have you filling him up.

You lean down, taking one of his nipples into your mouth as you slowly push into him. One of your fangs lightly grazes against it, and Simeon gasps. Mistaking it for a sound of pain, you pause, looking up at him with a worried gaze.

“It’s okay, keep going, keep moving, please,” he babbles desperately. You switch to his other nipple, and comply with his request, slowly moving deeper into him.

“Oh,” Simeon sighs when your hips press flush against his.

“Okay?” you pull off his chest to check in. 

“Yeah, yes,” he groans, “feels so good,” he tells you as he wraps his legs around your waist, keeping you impossibly close to him. “You’re so deep, ‘m so full,” you lean down to kiss him, stopping him from rambling more about your cock. 

Slowly but steadily, you begin to fuck into him. It’s an agonizing pace at first, but Simeon realizes you’re trying to be careful with him, and he’s lovestruck all over again. 

Finally he can’t take it any longer. “Faster,” he whines against your lips, “please sir.” You’re happy to comply, picking up the pace to satisfy him. Simeon keens, letting your tongue into his mouth. He drools and pants around your tongue, losing his composure and control. Simeon can’t believe how free he feels.

“Mhmm, angel,” you pull away from him to groan, licking your lips, “you’re so good, you taste so good,” Simeon whimpers at the praise, feeling his pussy gush. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, lookin’ like that, smelling like that,” you drawl, your speech slurring.

“Bite me,” Simeon begs, wanting so badly to have you drunk off of him. Your brows furrow, like you’re upset by the idea, and yet your hips stutter. “Puh-lease,” and with his wanton plea, you lean down and lick at his neck. 

You’re fucking him hard and fast now, getting Simeon closer and closer. He lets out a pleased noise when your fangs sink into his flesh, and then you’re drinking from him. It’s a weird sensation, not one that hurts at all. 

It takes him a minute to realize it, but Simeon thinks you might be cumming. If the gurgled moans, and the way you’re ramming your hips into him at such an erratic pace is any hint. The idea of you getting off from the taste of his blood sends him over, and for the second time tonight you make him cum. 

Minutes feel like hours and milliseconds simultaneously, but soon Simeon feels woozy. 

“Ah,” he moans, feeling lightheaded. You dislodge from him, licking at the fresh wounds on his neck. Then you’re pulling away from him. All Simeon can manage is a weak whine. Shushing him gently, you pull your strap out of him, and gracefully plop down next to him, taking him in your arms.

“Sorry, I think I got carried away,” Simeon says what he thinks is “it’s okay,” but it sounds like a whole lot of nothing coming out of his mouth. “I think I should get you a snack or something,” you muse. 

Exhaustion hits and when Simeon wakes up again you have water, juice, tea, and ten types of snacks available for him. He feels sluggish and nauseous. 

“Do you need any help?” you ask, and Simeon looks over to find you sitting in the armchair in the corner of your room, looking at him.

Simeon shakes his head, shakily grabbing the glass of juice and drinking it down. His body, eager for sugars and nutrients, immediately feels better. 

“What are you doing over there?” he asks carefully. You look nervous, an expression that he can’t remember ever seeing on you before. 

“I didn’t want to scare you,” you say. Simeon laughs,

“A bit late for that,” he teases, and pats the bed. You come over slowly, settling in next to him like a guilty dog. He smiles at you, “if you’ll have me, I don’t expect that I’ll be leaving you any time soon,” you light up.

“Oh what a relief,” you cuddle into him, “because I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

[aceditwrites]

Could you do a Yasmina x fem reader any theme is fine, hope your having a good day and thanks if you do do my req <3 !

hi! sorry for the delay but here it is! I hope this is okay :)

You never thought you’d say this, but life on the island is boring. You never realized how little there was to do when you weren’t running for your life. Yas shared that sentiment. She’s not used to be confined to a smaller space, not that the island is cramped or anything, everyone would just prefer if she didn’t run off on her own since no one knew what was out there. And not to mention, no one could keep up with her. You had to be honest, neither could you but you wished you could. You wondered it that was enough. 

You hadn’t been out there very long, it’s only been about a month since you all missed the ferry. Since Ben fell off the monorail. SInce you all realized, you had nothing but each other and that would have to be enough. 

“Hey Y/n! Get over here, I have something I want to show you!” Yas called. 

You weren’t expecting it but apparently Brooklynn was. She patted your shoulder and said, “Go get her!”

You waved her off as you went to see what Yas had for you.

“Come with me.” Yas gently brings you not far from the base you all had set up. A small cave. The sun was at the perfect place in the sky to warmly illuminate the inside. It was just the two of you, you were nervous. How could you not be? It was Yas. The Track Star. The prettiest (and snarkiest) girl you’d ever seen.

“What’re we doing here?” You ask, you look around the cave, there are little drawings everywhere. 

“I.. realized that if you take a rock or something and mash up the right flowers…. You get some kind of colored paint and I thought that you might like them.” She sort of mutters and maybe it’s a trick of the light (or smeared paint) you could’ve sworn her cheeks were pink.

“You made paint? Yas that’s amazing!” You spin around, taking in all the drawings on the walls as you realize she drew them. “It’s like we’re cave people again! Can I try?”

“Yeah! Of course, let me show you.” Yas says, grabbing some wood that’s almost shaped like a bowl and a particularly thick stick. “What color do you want to make?”

“Anything your heart desires.” You tell her with a smile. 

She rolls her eyes, “Wow, that’s helpful.” Her smile tells you she’s not mad.

“Fine, how about… orange?” You choose finally.

Yas picks up some berries, the kind you can’t eat. You watch her hands as she mushes them creating a thick orange paste. She hands you the bowl and says, “Go wild.” 

And you certainly do, you had been bored before and now you finally had something to do. Something to do with the girl you liked, you had an excuse to bond with her. You had wondered why she showed you her gallery instead of Sammy, who you noticed she was close to even after their falling out due to Broolynn’s phone situation. Maybe you actually meant something to her. Something special. There’s one thing she never let anyone see, her sketchbook. And now she let you into her safe space, her own personal art gallery. She doesn’t see you as a critic as you walk the metaphorical halls, you’re a patron. You’re an aesthete and she’s the art.

You both stay in the cave for hours, painting until you ask, “What should I draw?”

“Whatever your heart desires.” She replies, dipping her thumb into her own paint.

“Haha very funny.” You laugh as she gets revenge for earlier. “Know what? Yeah, I will.”

You draw a girl. Black hair, always tied up. She wears a ripped gray track suit with purple accents. The girl’s ankle is hurt but she’s running anyway. She smiles anyway, in a situation full of uncertainty she’s sure of herself. Or seems so. She’s what-

“I thought you were going to draw what your heart desires. Not me” Yas smiles at you though she is confused, maybe she’s trying not to get her hopes up.

“I did.. I drew you.” I admit quietly from across the cave. It’s harder than you thought it’d be. Harder than running from dinosaurs? No. That’s definitely scarier, but this is close! 

“You desire… me? Like- You mean?” Yas asks, looking at you trying to read your mind.

“Yeah! I… like you.” It feels weird to get that off of your chest. Yas walks closer and gently puts her hand to your cheek.

“I like you too.” She smiles at you and you smile back. She moves her hand then laughs, “You uh.. have a little something there.”

You put your hand where hers just was. There’s paint on your cheek in the shape of her hand.

Before you get a chance to comment, Brooklynn pokes her head in, “There you guy- am I interrupting something?” She wiggles her brows.

“Yes!” 

[falseroar]

Murder on the Warfstache Express

Part 1: All Aboard, Full Steam Ahead

((So. That train story, right? Okay, but this is something I've been playing with the idea of writing ever since Wilford dropped that Murder on the Orient Express reference back in Wilford Motherlovin' Warfstache, and it really helped when AHWM and ISWM dropped and introduced us all to a wide cast of characters who don't all happen to look like Mark. Which is partially why this is a much different story than it would have been before ISWM. There's going to be a lot of familiar faces, some of them very out of place here, along with a couple of folks only referenced by name or as jokes. Also a murder, can't forget about that. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!))

Abe had never been a fan of confined spaces. Something about being caught with his back against the wall in one tight corner after another made it only natural to be on edge whenever he found himself confronted with a small room with only one way in or out.

A room very much like this train compartment he’d already lost track of time in, between the muted colors of the shoebox-like space that offered a seat just long enough to stretch out on and a window looking out at the unchanging landscape whiplashing by too quickly to really focus on anything in particular, and not much of anything else in the way of entertainment or stimulation. Abe had the riveting options of staring out at snow-covered hills and snow-covered trees and a dreary gray sky that promised, yes, even more snow that no one had asked for, or up at the jostling luggage rack overhead while he thought about the usual things.

Things like why the hell he was on this train in the first place.

He gave up on that pretty quickly and jumped up again, pacing the narrow space before deciding he really needed to stretch his legs. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to get a better idea of the layout of the train.

Just in case.

If he had noticed the conversation going on in low voices outside of his door, Abe would have stopped and held his ear to the door in the hope of hearing some of it. After all, he was a detective, which made eavesdropping practically his moral duty. That, and he was nosy as hell and bored to go with it.

If he had known a little more about the pair standing out in the hallway at the time, he would have loved nothing more than to have a regular door with which he could have “accidentally” hit one or both with as a possible alternative for some quick amusement.

Both options were only apparent in hindsight though, because in the moment Abe just turned toward the sliding door and opened it abruptly, startling the two men on the other side so badly they both jumped away from the opened door like it was a ticking timebomb.

One, the man with slicked-back black hair dressed in a suit that felt expensive to even look at, recovered first and gave Abe a withering look before remarking aloud as though addressing the air in general, “So much for this being luxury travel. It looks like they’ll let any low class, ill-mannered lout buy a ticket these days.”

Abe bristled, any apology he might have had instantly dying in response to that stuck-up, drawling voice. “And I thought you’d have something intelligent to say when you opened that pretty mouth of yours, so I guess we’ll all have to get used to being disappointed today.”

The rich man drew himself up, visibly swelling with indignation, but the other man cleared his throat and subtly moved between the two as he said, “Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere a little more private, sir?”

“Somewhere more private than the middle of the hall?” Abe asked. “Wow, wonder where you could find something like that around here.”

Choosing to ignore that comment, the second man slid open the door opposite Abe’s and stepped aside for the rich man with an, “After you, sir.”

The rich guy gave Abe one last sneer before going into the other compartment, which from the glimpse Abe got looked to be far more elegant and spacious than his own. The lackey added a disapproving stare of his own in Abe’s direction before sliding the door shut again with a sharp rap and promptly lowering the shade on the other side of the door’s round window.

Well, Abe could tell he was already off to a great start getting to know his fellow passengers. Although if the rest were anything like those two, he’d be better off staying in his own room for the rest of the trip.

A not very tempting thought, so instead Abe stepped out into the hallway and slid the door shut behind him, taking a moment to look both ways.

More rooms to either side, the doors slightly offset from their opposite so that any uncovered windows just looked out into the hallway and not directly into their neighbor’s room. To his right past a few more compartments was the door he used to step onto the train, and beyond that he’d caught a glimpse of the luggage car being filled by the station porters. Past the luggage car there was only the train’s engine, so nothing to see that way.

He turned left and paused not three steps away from his door, head unconsciously tilting while his brow furrowed in concentration. Over the rhythmic sound of the train’s wheels turning and the distant huff of the engine, Abe thought he heard something else.

Music?

It was faint at first, but the longer he listened the louder it seemed to get until the noise of the train died away, until the beat roared in his ears and drummed in his chest, the sound so tangible he was surprised the next door along and seeming source of the music wasn’t shaking in its casing. It was as much a mystery as why there was no complaint from the rich man next door, who had to be able to hear that noise through the connecting wall between the two rooms.

Abe slowed, staring at the covered window of the door like he could see through it if he tried hard enough. That thumping, upbeat music was familiar, familiar in a way that itched at the back of his mind and made his trigger finger twitch. Where had he heard this before?

Before he could make the connection, Abe heard the rattle of another door opening and quickly turned away from the offending door, eager not to be spotted staring into someone else’s room. A maneuver that put him directly in the path of the man stepping out of the room opposite, the two colliding so hard that the twin batches of swearing temporarily drowned out both the music and the train.

“…Sorry about that,” the new man muttered after a moment, rubbing his own shoulder. Fedora, oversized trench coat worn over a suit that looked a little too new, and a piercing stare that returned Abe’s once over with one of its own. If Abe wasn’t already suspicious enough, he’d felt something during that collision and was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the stranger being happy to see him.

There were only so many people who’d travel with a hidden weapon close to hand, after all.

A number that should have included Abe, except he had been forced to turn over his gun before boarding the train with the assurance that it would stay in a weapon safe during the duration of the trip. Flashing his badge hadn’t helped, the conductor no doubt calling his bluff because they were leaving his jurisdiction—or was it that they weren’t in it at the time?

Point was, if this guy had a gun on him, that meant he either found a way to sneak it onboard or he had the kind of authority to get a pass from the conductor.

All of this passed through Abe’s mind rapidly, but not fast enough that there weren’t several seconds of awkward silence before he asked, “In a hurry to get somewhere?”

“…No,” the other man said, proving he wasn’t much of a liar, at least. He stepped back into the still open doorway behind him and gestured for Abe to move on. “Please, you first. I’m sure your companion will be wondering where you’re at.”

Companion? Where’d he get that idea?

“No, I’m traveling alone. Same as you, I’m guessing?”

“Yes?” His eyes went past Abe to the room he’d just left, brow furrowing in confusion before he made a visible effort to relax it. “I mean, yes, it’s just me for now. Traveling for work.”

“Work? What kind of work is that?” Abe asked, trying to appear open and only as curious as a fellow traveler might be even as he glanced at the room behind the man, the quick glance enough to tell him that it was much smaller than his own (a fact he didn’t think possible until now), with no sign of any convenient personal belongings left out and about to give a hint as to their owner.

The man paused, clearly not having prepared for follow up questions, and finally said, “Oh, boring stuff. Like 99% of it’s just, you know, paperwork to make the home office happy. What about you, where are you headed?”

The question came quickly, Abe thinking less because the guy was interested and more because he didn’t want to leave an opening to ask what the other 1 percent was supposed to be.

“Oh just…to the next stop, same as everyone else on here I guess.”

The awkward silence lasted much longer this time, both men struggling to come up with any more small talk without the risk of having to answer their own questions. Abe broke it first with a clearing of his throat and said, “I, uh, was just going to get some fresh air. See you around, uh…”

“Apless,” the man answered immediately, showing the barest hint of a wince around the eyes before he continued, “Harold Apless.”

“My name’s Abe,” Abe answered, distracted by the realization that the previously overwhelming music seemed to have stopped at some point without his noticing it. “Nice to meet you, Happy.”

“My name’s not—”

The protest gave way to a defeated sigh behind Abe as he pulled open the car’s door and stopped in the small space between cars where the shaking and jolting was worse than ever. The enclosed space wasn’t made for people to stay here long, with doors to either side for boarding when the train wasn’t in motion providing enough gaps for the freezing cold outside to seep in. As different from that crowded room, too packed with dancers to even breathe, as he could get.

Dancers?

Abe winced and rubbed his eyes, dispelling that memory as quickly as he could. That’s why he was here, right? To get some distance between himself and…all of that.

Abe took a deep breath and exhaled, fogging up the glass of the nearby window, the welcome chill still enough to make him glad he hadn’t taken off his black leather jacket, and continued on through the next door and into what proved to be the lounge car.

Wooden paneling and low, flickering lamps set in intervals along the walls gave the lounge a warm, comfortable air, helped by plush armchairs seated in rows to either side around the windows and small, round tables. A thick, elegant carpet ran the length of the car and muffled the noise of the wheels underneath to the point it felt too quiet when Abe entered, not helped by how few people were seated or talking around the room.

A small bar area at the opposite end gave Abe something to aim for as he walked the length of the car, checking faces and counting heads out of habit.

Not that there were many to keep track of.

There was a woman dressed in bright, flamboyant colors underneath a white jacket, a bandana holding her long, wavy hair out of the way as she studied the mass of papers and books covering every inch of the table in front of her. From what he saw as he passed by, said papers and books all looked like a bunch of plans and equations so dense that his brain refused to take any of it in out of self-defense.

She on the other hand was so utterly focused that her lips moved along with thoughts that she couldn’t seem to keep contained within herself, occasionally sparing a hand from the coffee cup she held in front of her for lack of anywhere else to put it to push her glasses back in place or retrieve the pencil behind her ear to make another note in the same handwriting that littered all of the papers. For her, Abe and the rest of the train may as well not have existed for all it mattered in the moment.

The other two passengers he passed next did notice him, but were so engrossed in their conversation over a game of chess that the older woman wearing a black burnoose and dress littered with silver stars and matching jewelry could only spare him a friendly smile. Across from her, a man dressed in khaki with a brown leather jacket not all that dissimilar to the one Abe was wearing tilted the brim of his brown hat in the detective’s direction without looking away from the board, his hand still resting on the knight as he considered the consequences of his move.

“Well, you can tell me more about the monkeys or avoid losing your rook, but I’m afraid you can’t do both, dear.”

“Funnily enough, I’m pretty sure one of those monkeys stole my traveling chess set. That or my assistant on that little adventure still had it on him when we realized the simians weren’t quite ready to give up their piece of the map.”

“A real shame, that,” the woman said, shaking her head. “To shreds, you say?”

Abe had several questions, but he kept walking toward the bar with the confidence that a good drink would be less likely to leave him with regret in the long run.

 Or it would have, if he hadn’t reached the bar just as the bartender stopped what he was doing and looked up, his customer service smile disappearing with a flash of recognition.

He’d recognize that handsome face and look of distress and horror anywhere, especially since aside from the emblem of the train company on his lapel and a splash of dark red on his tie and handkerchief, his outfit really wasn’t all that different from the getup he wore back when he was Mark’s butler.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Abe asked and Benjamin shushed him with a glance at the other passengers.

“Language!” Benjamin hissed, his own voice lowered to just above a whisper. “Please do not disturb the other passengers.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, pal,” Abe said, obliging him with a low growl.

“I am not your pal,” Benjamin said, straightening his already ridiculously broad shoulders and trying to look prim and proper like Abe hadn’t seen him threaten a man with a feather duster once. “And I should think it’s rather obvious that I am working here. Would you like something to drink?”

“I think you and me already know the answer to that one,” Abe said, and Benjamin rolled his eyes before reaching under the bar for the strong stuff. “Now you’re talking.”

Abe sidled onto one of the stools, turned so that he could keep an eye on the butler turned bartender and the rest of the carriage.

“I had to make my way somehow after my last employer…” Benjamin paused, lip trembling, and with an effort he shook himself and poured Abe a healthy dose in a glass before pulling a second glass for himself. Pushing the glass toward Abe, he asked, “What brings you here, detective?”

Abe took the drink and took a long sip before setting it down with a sigh, because it was rude to leave a good drink waiting.

That, and he had to stall for an answer somehow, but the best he could come up with was to turn it around with another question as he asked, “Why do you think I’m here?”

Benjamin gulped down the contents of his glass, which admittedly was barely a splash of alcohol poured out before his conscience caught up with him, and swiftly put the glass out of sight before any of the others saw him drinking on the job.

“Still chasing leads then?”

Abe shrugged. “Maybe.”

Looking out over the rest of the lounge car in search of a change of subject, Abe suddenly said, “Not a lot of people here, huh? Guess they’re all hiding out in their rooms.”

“Mm, no, I think this is about half of the guests on this particular trip,” Benjamin answered, and it was his turn to shrug when Abe turned a disbelieving stare on him. “Look around, detective. This is hardly vacationing weather in country that I assure you is much more pleasant in the spring, and at this time of the year the only people crossing the country by train are those who have somewhere they need to be and no other way to get there.”

He gestured toward the back of the train behind him and continued, “There is so little interest that we only have the one passenger car for this leg of the journey. There is just the dining car behind this, and a mail car we are taking to the next station as a way to earn enough revenue to even justify running the train as scheduled. On the other hand, I believe the services we provide during the journey will more than make this a trip to remember for all of our esteemed passengers.”

“I’m not tipping you extra for that.”

Benjamin scowled and made a pretense of cleaning the other side of the already pristine surface of the bar to put some distance between him and the detective.

Fine by Abe, who removed himself from the bar stool and took a more comfortable seat in the corner of the car.

Somehow knowing that there were so few people on board made this trip feel more…not sad, although it was kind of sad in a pathetic sort of way. Gloomy, maybe, with the darkening sky outside and the white snow coming down sideways in the train’s wake? No, more than that. There was another word for the mood settling in around Abe’s shoulders.

“Perhaps loneliness,” Wilford suggested.

“More like ominous, like a premonition of things to come,” Abe answered before freezing in place, the narration that threatened to spill out of him hitting a hard pause on that thought, his eyes still on the dark windows where he could see the reflection of the man sitting opposite him, smile gleaming and eyes twinkling like he was waiting for the joke to sink in.

Abe held his breath and turned his head, as though expecting both man and reflection to disappear when he laid eyes on the real thing.

Instead, the colorful man in an extravagant yellow and pink confectionary of a suit crossed his legs and settled further back into his plush seat, looking around the train car with undisguised wonder. His drawling, unhinged voice stirred up the worst kind of memories in Abe as he said, “You sure do know how to travel in style, don’t you detective?”

Abe nearly spilled his drink reaching for a gun that wasn’t there, a thousand questions running through his mind although most of them could be summed up by the words that finally made their way out of his mouth after a bout of helpless sputtering:

“What the hell?!”

Wilford took a sip of hot chocolate from a vibrant pink mug and swished it around his mouth thoughtfully before answering. God, Abe hoped that was hot chocolate. Wilford hyped up on coffee was a nightmare waiting to happen, and he already felt like he was in a waking one of those.

“The suit’s a bit much, isn’t it? But unlike you, I happen to enjoy dressing to the occasion. That, and apparently trousers are ‘mandatory’ around these parts, for some reason.”

Of all the feelings Abe expected when he laid eyes on Wilford Warfstache again, “relief” wasn’t one of them, but then he’d also never considered the apparently non-zero chance of running into his greatest enemy pantsless either.

“Aw, you think I’m the greatest?” Wilford said, his brown eyes crinkling with a smile.

“My greatest enemy, and don’t do that,” Abe answered, and if anything, Wilford’s smile just grew wider. “It’s not a compliment! How did you even get here?!”

Abe realized it was a ridiculous question as soon as he asked it, but Wilford seriously considered it before shrugging.

“Same as you, I suppose. Say, where’s this train going, anyways?”

“Why would you get on a train without knowing where you’re going?” Abe asked.

Another shrug. “Something, something, ‘life is about the journey, not the destination,’ or whatever it is people put on the postcards. What do you think they do for fun around here?”

Wilford turned around in his chair again to look over his shoulder at the other passengers, the silence except for the background noise of the train positively deafening.

“Huh. Not much, by the look of things. Bet we can do something to liven things up around here, what do you say, you old—”

Wilford’s words stopped short on his lips when he turned back around and found the detective inches away, a finger dangerously close to his nose as Abe spoke in a low growl.

“You’re not doing a thing on this trip, Colonel. The second we get off, I’m going to put you down.” Abe paused, aware something hadn’t come out right there. “I mean, the next stop this train makes, you’re under arrest.”

“Huh, I think you’re the only one who still calls me that,” Wilford said, unbothered by the threat.

“In fact,” Abe continued, too angry to be deterred by Wilford’s calm, “You’re already under arrest, and if I catch even a whiff of you trying to escape or laying even a finger on anyone else on this train, I’ll…”

He let the threat hang in the air unspoken, mostly because he couldn’t think of a way to finish it. His gun was locked away, and he couldn’t be sure the same could be said for Wilford, not if that Happy guy was able to keep his own weapon. That, and he knew all too well what Wilford could be capable of when the mood took him.

Wilford looked down at Abe’s finger still pointing in his face and gave it a little kiss before saying, “Whatever you say, detective. I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.”

“…Why do I feel like that’s not a very high bar?”

Wilford winked and toasted Abe with his mug of hot chocolate before taking a sip. The gesture revealed the black block letters printed on the side of the mug to Abe for the first time: SPOILER ALERT!

((End of Part 1. Hope you enjoyed it! I'm going to try to space each part by a couple of days or so, just because they're all on the longer side. For the record, no, that's not Actor Mark, but he is a Mark ego. Sort of. You'll see. Genuinely curious how many people know/remember Harold Apless. As far as I know he was only ever referenced on the ISWM website, and we only got a Noirverse photo of him. Haven't fully committed to who I imagine as "playing" him, maybe Sean? But judging by the shows' history that means he would actually end up being played by MatPat, so...

Link to Part 2: An Easy Offer to Refuse.

Also a confession about the tag list: it's, uh, been so long since I've written anything I'm not sure if this is the most up-to-date version at all. I also ended up removing a lot of urls that no longer connected to a blog, so I may have accidentally deleted a few valid ones. If you'd like to be added or removed, please just let me know in a comment.

Said hopefully not too out of date taglist: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard

))

[bunnyscar]

The King's Assassin Part 3

Failure

trigger warning: description of pain

Once again, Link found himself underground, this time crawling through a tunnel that was barely large enough for him to fit. He pulled himself along, one arm in front of the other, rough stone scraping against his knees and scratching his arms. At last, he reached a trap door. After listening for a moment and hearing nothing, he opened it.

Below him was an empty hallway, splitting into two directions. After making sure that no one was approaching, he dropped down lightly and started down the right tunnel, sticking close to the wall and stepping as softly as he could. At the next corner would be the room with the triforce. Quietly, he slipped up to the corner and peered around. Two men stood guard at the door, and Link readied his dart gun.

Thunk! Thunk! The guards fell without a sound, and Link scurried up to the door. The lock was surprisingly easy to pick. This whole operation had been too easy. No guards in sight except the two at this door, an easy-to-find and relatively comfortable tunnel, a map that was quite accurate….

So far, the hardest part had been the three day journey to get to the desert. He was beginning to feel very uneasy, but there wasn’t much he could do except go with the original plan. Glancing about, he slipped into the room. 

Except for a pedestal in the middle, the room was bare, not even any torches on its rock walls. And on the pedestal sat the triforce. Impa had been right, you could not miss it. 

Despite being no bigger than a butterfly’s wing, the triforce pulsed with golden light that filled the room and created dazzling patterns on the ceiling. Slowly, Link approached. It looked like solid gold, but when he picked it up it was light and thin as paper. A small warmth pulsed within it. Link almost felt as though it were alive.

“So, they hired a thief?”

Link spun around to see that a man had entered the room and was blocking the door, the only exit. Cold fear gripped his chest. The man’s skin was a sickly gray color, but he didn’t give the impression of being weak. On the contrary, the muscled arms beneath his tight vest looked strong enough to break Link’s neck, and his long legs looked as powerful as an ox’s. His bright orange hair and beard curled around his face like a lion’s mane. Though he wore a pleasant smile, his red eyes bored into Link with murderous intent.

Link took a step back, swiftly hiding the triforce behind him. Not that that would do much good, for its light beamed out from his fingers, clearly showing where it was.

“If you hand over the triforce now, perhaps I might be inclined to let you go peacefully,” the man was saying, approaching Link slowly.

He took another step back, his heart pounding. If you meet Ganon, drop everything and run, Impa’s words rang in his head. He was almost certain this man must be Ganon. But the more he looked into those cruel red eyes, the harder it became to look away, the harder it became to do anything. 

“Wh-what are you going to do with it?” he stammered.

Ganon’s eyes narrowed, his smile becoming more sinister. “I’m going to create a new world,” he said softly. “A world without you foolish Hylians, a world where the beings of Twilight can reside without you humans getting in the way.”

“What are you talking about?” Link muttered, stepping backwards carefully until his back was against the wall.

“Once upon a time, dark and light worlds lived in harnony together. But then the denizens of the light oppressed and destroyed the dark world. I am merely going to set things right and create a place where the dark beings can be free and safe.”

“And what about the people of the light world?” Link asked, eyes flicking about quickly. Ganon was almost upon him.

“I’ll make them disappear,” Ganon said coolly. He held out a hand. “Now, give me the triforce.”

“I don’t know what you mean by all this dark and light stuff,” Link replied. “But you’re going to use this to kill people, aren’t you? No way am I giving this to you!” He darted away from Ganon, lunging for the door.

Wham! Ganon’s leg caught him as he passed, and Link slammed into the wall. Sparks danced in his eyes, and he wheezed for breath, scrambling to get up and keep moving. Fortunately, he still had tight hold of the triforce. But when he finally could see again, Ganon was right in front of him. And he was not smiling anymore.

“Hand it over,” he said in a chilling voice. 

Link backed up as much as he could. He glanced around the room desperately, but the door was still too far away. If he tried to dash around Ganon again, he would just get pummeled once more, and he doubted he could slide underneath Ganon’s legs either. What should he do? Hand over the triforce? Ganon might not let him live even if he did capitulate, especially since he’d already tried to run. He was going to die whatever he did.

“Give it to me!” Ganon ordered, reaching out for Link’s arm.

Swiftly, Link popped the triforce into his mouth and swallowed. It went down surprisingly easy, almost melting in his mouth and tasting slightly sweet. He grinned at the shocked look on Ganon’s face, just visible from the lamplight that came in through the open door.

Ganon’s shock turned into absolute rage. “You…you will regret this,” he said in a very low voice. 

He raised a fist and purple flames suddenly burst around it. Before Link could even register surprise at this, Ganon slammed his fist into Link’s right arm, and the world exploded in pain.

He could no longer see, only felt pain, unbearable pain. It burned in his arm, spreading like wildfire across his body, tearing him apart. He couldn’t take it. He wanted to die, wanted it to end…and finally darkness took him and he fell unconscious.

Part 2 || Part 4

[illarian-rambling]

❤️‍🩹- What would your character look like if they were a deity? And what would they have power of, and ❣️- What show/movie/game/book universe would your character thrive in? for the heart ask game :3 (sorry if you've alr answered these ones!)

I have not, thank you!

If my characters were gods, I think they'd be the gods of little things. They're only people, after all.

Izjik would be the goddess of a well-needed ass beating. Ever seen a middle school bully get their head bounced against a locker because they called a wrestler girl fat? Ever had your mind expanded by sparring against someone way better than you? These are Izjik’s domain. She appears to the worthy as a gray cloaked silhouette with bloody handwraps and a proud smile.

Sepo would be the god of the feeling you get while listening to your favorite song. Screaming out the lyrics in the car. Getting goosebumps while listening to it for the first time. He is the bearer of such feelings. He shows himself as a glimmer of dark eyes reflecting from your phone screen, radio dial, or record player.

Twenari would be the goddess of lab safety. She protects her followers from acid spills and accidentally getting crystal violet on their clothes. Occasionally, if someone has earned her wrath, they might find the chemical shower they need to use to be out of water. She appears as a whirl of colorful liquids found in the disposal bucket.

Djek would be the god of party safety. Say a prayer before you go out to the club, and you'll always find someone trustworthy to hold your drink while you use the bathroom. His faithful always find their way home even when stumbling drunk. He appears as a hazy form only to those who are heavily intoxicated, taking their hand and leading them back to their friends.

Astra would be the goddess of academic risks. She's who you pray to when you use some funky grammar in an essay or when you have to bullshit your way through citations. If your prayer pleases her, your gamble will pay off. She shows herself as a smiling face present in the twisting characters of an academic article or online journal entry.

Mashal would be the god of powering through dysmorphia. Sometimes, your body doesn't look or feel how you want it to, and sometimes, in the moment, you can't do anything about it. Mashal offers the persistence to go out and have an alright day regardless, granting the knowledge that it won't always be this way. He appears as a half-glimpsed figure in mirrors and windows, always with a comforting hand on your shoulder.

Ivander would be the god of interesting things happening at work. Having a boring day at your office job? Pray to Ivander and something might happen. It might be a food truck in the parking lot. It might be Kelly from HR getting into a screaming match with the IT guy. For good or for ill, he will always send something interesting your way. He takes the form of a faceless man in a suit, laughing at the edge of the scene.

As for what book/show/game/movie they'd be good in, that's a tougher one. Don't blame me if half of these end up being cosmere related lol

I've never seen the Walking Dead, but I do believe Izjik would do fantastic in any zombie apocalypse. She's got a good sense of community and is great at any sort of survival stuff. Alternatively, she could survive the Magnus Archive version of London. She's already used to one overbearing being named End - so what if you slap a The on there?

Sepo would do well on Roshar, the setting of the Stormlight Archive. He likes storms, he'd make a great ardent, and I think he could hear the parshendi rhythms through sheer force of will. If he ended up as a Radient, and lord knows he has the trauma to do it, he'd be an Elsecaller. The only problem would be, if he's an ardent, he'd have to shave his head, and that's a no go for him.

Twenari would legitimately enjoy being trapped in Aperture Labs. She loves puzzles and science. So what if there's some bodily risk? I think she'd actually get along with Glados and end up just asking for more puzzles once she finishes them all.

Djek would do well in the setting of The Kings of the Wyld. There, adventures are treated like rock bands, and afforded all the glitz and glamor you might assume comes with the station. He might not be the strongest fighter, but by god, can he work a crowd. He'd have a mob of fangirls by the end of his first quest.

Astra, as I've said before, would rule the setting of Mad Max. To be fair, I've never seen a Mad Max movie, but I know it has big trucks and scary guns, which are Astra's jam.

Mashal would do alright for himself in the Star Wars universe. There's just so much out there. He could wander the outer rim, helping whoever he finds as he goes. There are also a lot of other robots and robot-adjacent beings out there, so I think he could definitely find someone like himself to relate to.

Ivander, for my second cosmere setting of this post, could survive Elantris. More importantly, he could be afflicted by the Shaod and not go insane. He's already used to bearing an immense amount of pain. He'd probably just say "fuck it, were organizing this shithole now" and get to it before Raoden.

Thanks for the asks, these were fun ones :)

[query-quadrant]

Wh⛤t should I we⛤r for my first p⛤le ⛤nnivers⛤ry?

It’s mine ⛤nd my moir⛤ils first p⛤le ⛤nnivers⛤ry this sweep. Obviously I’d LOVE to spoil them rotten, so I got us tickets to ⛤ highly renowned st⛤ge perform⛤nce, ⛤nd ⛤ reserv⛤tion ⛤t ⛤ rest⛤ur⛤nt ⛤fterw⛤rd. ⛤s you c⛤n obviously tell, I know wh⛤t I’m doing, ⛤nd h⛤ve ⛤ll of th⛤t covered. 

The only problem is th⛤t I h⛤ven’t the f⛤intest ide⛤ of wh⛤t to we⛤r. 

I’m ⛤n extremely high cl⛤ss violetblood, ⛤nd I refuse to we⛤r ⛤nything th⛤t isn’t floor-length, but my moir⛤il often comments th⛤t this m⛤kes me ⛤ppe⛤r more cold th⛤n I re⛤lly ⛤m. Unfortun⛤tely most of the ⛤dvice I h⛤ve seen online m⛤inly involves we⛤ring g⛤rish p⛤tterns or intention⛤lly messy clothing. 

Do you h⛤ve ⛤ny ide⛤ how I might m⛤ke myself ⛤ppe⛤r more “w⛤rm” or “⛤ppro⛤ch⛤ble” without h⛤ving to dumb down my f⛤shion sense to the likes of mini⛤ture-putters? 

oh finally something i can talk about yeah ok buckle in this shits gonna be long as hell im not even gonna bother with my gimmick here i just wanna talk about clothes for a second

most trolls are dumb as shit and dont give a fuck about fashion and its not even just everyday clothes i mean youve probably seen the shit some trolls wear to dates vitriol emoji

but if youre looking for actually good inspo i have a friend who put out some shit in eclectoskeleton but also theres been some surprisingly good shit in deadliest designs monthly recently

if youre looking for advice from me specifically though then heres a couple things to think about if you wanna wear fancy pale clothes

i dont normally wear this stuff but i do at least have a working thinkpan and know way more than most idiots plus i have super real degrees in quadrantology so some of its probably good advice

colors: obviously going lighter and softer is classic its called pale feelings the pale quadrant and the holidays pale moon night so why not pale colors obviously duh

most trolls stick to blacks and grays and darker shit at least as the base of their outfits most of the time because theyre boring pieces of garbage and also cause its practical i guess

so bringing out those pale pinks or just lighter violets or whites feels special and its something you can do to soften shit up

its pretty it stands out in a crowd and it sets a mood it says i give a fuck about you and i want people to know

but you dont have to stick with that ive seen trolls get a lot of mileage out of shit like wearing a little of each others colors or you can even try their favorite colors for cute personal shit

design:

obviously you already know about shit like diamond motifs but theres ways to do that without just throwing on an ugly little argyle sweater

diamond shapes in embroidery or beading or in lace can look really fucking cute if you do it right

if you can work in moons and stars thats something pretty and obviously pale but not that stupid looking and btw dont be afraid to throw in a little bit of sparkle too

you said you have to wear floor length shit but thats not a deal breaker i mean shit big clothes are classic for paledates and even though youre not gonna be wearing actual palewear you can take those sorts of ideas and fold them into your shit by going for something flowy

i mean yeah bigass sweaters and scarves are classic but so are things like capes maybe its not always "approachable" but it can still say "i pity you or at least probably give a shit about you"

accessories:

anyway speaking of classically pale shit obviously look into pearls the pink ones even kinda look like little pink moons you get it you know what i mean

diamond shaped jewelry is classic but also cabochon cuts are also good to look into especially if you can get your fronds on any pink or white rocks or anything with a little chatoyancy

other shit i forgot to mention or general shit:  if you want you can do matching shit

it doesnt need to be one of those matching half and half diamond necklaces for wigglers or anything just making sure theyre wearing something with the same metal and decorative rock as you are or at least some of the same colors so you look good together is good enough  i got a little into this by talking about stuff like sparkles and moons and all that but just think about pale nicknames when youre thinking about what to wear "moonlight" "starlight" "moonrise" "moonbeam" "stars" "twilight"

all those things are real and actually pretty things that you can take a lot of inspiration from

even shit like "sugar" or just fucking "diamond" or any of the millions of flowers and random pink or white or sparkly things people use

[saqvobase]

Mesmerizer Live-Action Music Video Plan

So I guess you could say that I've been mesmerized by 32ki's Mesmerizer.

I've been infected with an idea so I must write it down before I forget or get bored of it.

I've been kicking around the idea of making a live-action version of the music video. I want it to use as many practical effects as possible and as little CGI as possible, ideally accompanied by a musical cover of the song by the actors.

Part 1: Costumes

Hatsune Miku

Luckily there are plenty of Miku wigs cosplay that can be bought.

I couldn't find an exact equivalent for the dress, but it seems like a fusion between a retro diner dress and a maid outfit. I think there's a golf visor on her head? We don't see the back of the character, but I'm pretty sure there's a big white bow. All that might need to be custom made.

The cuffs can be ordered on their own.

I didn't think that they made bow ties this big, but the color, angle and size all fit. (This goes on the visor)

For the socks, the best equivalent I found was something called 'slouch socks'

Shoes. Red with a white sole and yellow laces, and four wheels. Roller skates would be dangerous on a set. I'm tempted to just nail some painted wooden cylinders to the bottom of some Converse and treat it like platform boots.

Kasane Teto

Luckily there are plenty of Kasane Teto cosplay wigs that can be bought.

Luckily Teto's outfit is much simpler. White collar shirt under a blue pinstripe shirt with a dark gray tie and the same gold brushed nametag.

These pants are so bright, I can't believe they make them in this color. Matching red suspenders were easy to find

I found this pair of yellow cotton gloves, I think it is more likely to be this than rubber. They can be rolled up at the wrist to be more like the ones in the video. I just need to find a pair that is a more saturated yellow.

The hat is red, short, circular with a flat top, switch a small black brim. I couldn't find anything like it, perhaps another custom job.

The smily face pin on the other hand, is a dime a dozen.

Ribbed gray socks

and black loafers.

Miscellaneous

For the name tag, I found these cheap brushed gold plastic pins. It could be cool to etch their names on it.

For the starry-eyed parts, I found these contact lenses. The reviews say that you can still see through them pretty well so that's good. I couldn't find any that were 4 pointed stars.

For the mesmerized parts, I found some contact lenses that totally black out the eye, they are over $100 for a set though.

Part 2: Set

The non-moving backgrounds such as the stripes or water drops can be done traditionally.

The clouds and hills are another story though.

My idea of how to do is is a series of belts with the image on them controlled by a spinning rotor. The song will be recorded in studio, so the sound of the rotors wont affect the video.

Part 3: Effects

In-Camera Effects

A colored frame like this can be placed between the camera and the set. This frame can be moved back and forth as needed.

for the parts when the frames cross, the frame can be folded like this. At the point of crossing cut the footage. Swap the backgrounds, and resume filming.

The center spinner could be threaded through a hole in this frame, with a small gear system for perpendicular rotational transfer.

Special Effects

The confetti can be spread from above, either by a machine or a helper. The curtain of confetti should be after the colored frame, but before the set so that the actors don't get covered.

Conclusion

Finally, the brainworm has left my brain, and transferred to a written medium. I have no idea how much any of this would cost, but I estimate it is below $10,000.

If you have any questions or suggestions let me know!!!!!

[mrs-mquve-cc]

Sims Tag  

I was tagged by @esotheria-sims!

1. What’s your favourite sims death?

Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever let a sim die 😆 Not only do I not actually play the game very often, I’m just too attached to my sims. But if I had to choose it’d be death by cowplant.

2. Alpha CC or Maxis Match?

Alpha/semi-realistic till the day I die!

3. Do you cheat when your sims gain weight?

Nah, that’s unnecessary.

4. Do you use move objects?

ALWAYS.

5. Favorite mod?

@lamare-sims‘ Shiftable Everything! I love to decorate, and this was a TOTAL game-changer for me.

6. First expansion/game/stuff pack you got?

I bought The Sims 2 Deluxe in 2007. I still get confused with what came with the base game and what came with Nightlife because I’ve always had NL 😅

7. Do you pronounce “live mode” like aLIVE or LIVing?

Like LIVing. I seem to be in the minority on this but whatever.

8. Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made?

Laegrinna, of course! I’m sure everyone who follows me knows already but she’s the sim pictured in this post and in my avatar. She’s the protagonist of a game called Deception IV: Blood Ties.

9. Have you made a simself?

Yep, I do have one, you can see her in my 40th birthday post from last year. I gave her graying hair then to be more accurate. I did play as her a few times but it felt kind of weird so she just roams around my hood.

10. What sim traits do you give yourself?

I don’t use the traits mod but if I did, it’d probably be Absent-Minded, Perfectionist, Cat Person, Eccentric, and Socially Awkward.

11. Which is your favorite EA hair color?

I don’t use EA colors or textures, obviously, but I hate them all, especially the pee yellow blonde 😂

12. Favorite EA hair?

I don’t use EA hairs, but the only one I even remotely like is the Mansion & Garden dreads band hair. I might try to do something texture-wise with it at some point.

(Editing to say HOW THE SHIT DID I FORGET LAEGRINNA’S HAIR *facepalm* yeah it’s the Modern Bob from the EA store. As for hairs shipped with the game see above)

13. Favorite life stage?

I only play adults because I’m boring lol

14. Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay?

I dunno, I spend way more time creating and taking pics than I do playing. I’m awful at building but I do enjoy it and like I said I love decorating.

15. Are you a CC creator?

Yep, have been for almost 8 years now! I’ve made a ridiculous amount of CC, mostly hairs but I think I enjoy retexturing clothing and objects a bit more. I’ve just started learning meshing and it’s opened up so many new possibilities for me. I have an endless list of future projects!

16. Do you have any simblr friends/a sim squad?

I have a few. I’m not popular in the community or anything and my social skills are lacking but I do like interacting with other simmers.

17. What’s your favorite game? (1, 2, 3, or 4)

Sims 2 forever!

18. Do you have any sims merch?

Nope.

19. Do you have a YouTube for sims?

No and I don’t think I’d be good at making videos in general.

20. How has your “sim style” changed throughout your years of playing?

It’s gotten much more eccentric and I’ve leaned harder into semi-realism despite most people playing Maxis Match the past 10+ years. I love goth/alternative CC and incorporated a lot more into my game when I created the Deception IV sims. It’s funny because it seems like people’s tastes get more mainstream as they age, but it’s exactly the opposite for me. I look at my old CC and the way I used to dress and make up my sims and think “wow was I boring back then.” The current aesthetic of my game more accurately reflects my personality.

21. What’s your Origin ID?

Bold of you to assume I use Origin 😂

22. Who’s your favorite CC creator?

Too many to list here! I’m a CC hoarder.

23. How long have you had a simblr?

7 years, almost as long as I’ve been creating.

24. How do you edit your pictures?

I do minimal editing, partially because I’m not very good at it and also because with CC previews I want people to see exactly what they’re getting. I use Pooklet’s game lighting actions, I’m careful with how much light I use when taking the pics in-game because it’s easier to brighten a screenshot than fix an overexposed one (Laegrinna’s white hair is particularly prone to overexposure). I brighten the subjects of the picture a bit more and darken the background a little so they stand out. But that’s really it.

25. What expansion/game/stuff pack do you want next?

Well, we’re not getting anything else for TS2 anyway, and I don’t even know what else I’d want because there’s so many fun mods out there that add to the game.

25. What expansion/game/stuff pack is your favorite so far?

That’s a tough one - I love playing witches (Laegrinna and her sister Velguirie are both evil witches) so Apartment Life is up there, but I also love playing businesses and having my sims go out on the town so I couldn’t imagine playing without OFB or Nightlife.

I’m going to tag @furbyq, @focalor-sims, @equinoxts2, @pooklet, @skulldilocks, @letomills, and @phoebe-twiddle!

[razzle-zazzle]

how does skylor feel about cole in eye for an eye?

902 Words

AO3 ver

Skylor made her way down the tunnel as casually as she could manage. There was hardly anyone here, in this particular corner of the maze, but that didn’t mean there was nobody. Patrols came through every so often, to say nothing of those who came out here to get away with things her father would not approve of. Already, she’d passed a pair making out in an alcove.

Another thing to be weary of here was Edengarde, but Skylor knew that the giant serpent’s feeding time was soon—and in another part of the maze entirely. With that in mind, it was easy for her to get to where she needed to be—but she couldn’t rush. Anything she did might end up reaching her father’s ears; best to act normal.

Skylor ducked into a crevice, slipping between the crack to reach her destination. The other end opened up into a small cavern used for storage—specifically, it opened up into the back end, in a little nook hidden within the crates. The nook was so small that Skylor had to crouch down, but there was still enough space for her and one other person to sit and chat.

And indeed, there he was, sitting in the shadows of the nook, arms crossed over his chest. “Took you long enough.” He muttered, reaching into the small satchel sitting in his lap.

“Can it, Cole.” Skylor huffed. “It’s not easy sneaking around when your every movement is recorded.” Cole didn’t have it easy in any sense of the word, but when it came to getting around unnoticed, he certainly had it easier than her. Nobody cared what he was up to if he looked like he was working, and hadn’t caught her father’s attention again. But there were eyes on Skylor nearly all the time. Even moments like these, hidden away in the cracks and crannies, seemed to somehow reach her father’s ears as absences from her usual duties, deviations from her schedule.

—Gray jumpsuit in the corners of the tunnels, tucked into the sides where nobody would notice him. Dark hair held back with old clips, white bandages wrapped around his hand.

A hand on her shoulder, guiding her back into the more ornate halls of her father’s palace, away from sharp glares and a single spot of gray in a sea of colors—

“Oh, touchy today, are we?” Cole snarked, pulling out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “Are all your pretty princess dresses getting too tight for you?” He sneered, but allowed Skylor to swipe the bundle without protest.

Skylor rolled her eyes, but didn’t rise to the jab. Cole was all talk. Not once since he’d gotten here had he actually managed to do anything he aspired for—all his escape attempts ended in failure, and going against her father never ended well for anyone. All bark and no bite—the power of Earth in her father’s staff proved that.

—Meeting in an empty cell, sitting right below the window on the door and keeping their voices low.

“Oh, so the Princess finally came down from her tower.” Hackles raised, teeth bared, accusation in his whisper. “Finally get bored with being Daddy’s Favorite Circus Animal?”

A sharp kick to his shin, making him bite his tongue and hiss in pain. She had smirked, then, before leaning forwards to ask for her very first favor—help her get onto the factory floor.

Cole had been sold the moment she mentioned her father wouldn’t allow her in there—

But… he never really stopped fighting—he just got better at it. At finding places to hide away, at getting things he shouldn’t have and into places he shouldn’t be. For all that Cole was fighting a losing game, Skylor supposed there was something in how he kept fighting.

—Standing beside her father’s throne as a boy her age was forced to the ground, red-hot iron glowing above him.

Screams as she peeked through her fingers, unable to look away—

Skylor turned the bundle over in her hand. “For what it’s worth… thanks.” She pocketed the bundle, and moved to squeeze back out into the tunnels.

Cole snorted. “Don’t mention it, Princess.” He shrugged. “And don’t forget your end of things.” He reminded her, voice taking on a hard edge.

Skylor couldn’t help but turn back around to look him in the eyes. “Oh, you mean when I wipe the floor with you for an hour?”

“I’ll get you one day.” Cole retorted, and Skylor wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a threat. Maybe both. “Just you wait.”

Skylor turned back to the crevice, and started to squeeze her way through. “Sure you will.”

—”Oh, fuck you.” Words spat with a bitter tongue, frustration heavy in her chest.

A sneer, a response, a “sorry, princess, but you’re not my type.”

A kick to his shins to send him tumbling to the floor—

By all rights, Cole should hate her. And maybe he did. But if there was one thing Skylor could trust, it was that Cole hated her father more than he hated her. If there was something her father didn’t want her to have or to do, Cole would make it happen just to spite him. It was something Skylor could trust Cole on no matter what. The cloth-wrapped key in her pocket was proof enough of that.

Didn’t make him less of a failure jerk, though.

[eyeballtank]

Do most games look similar? Kinda

This image is clearly made to spark shit on /v/ but it does make me think a lot about videogame aesthetics and graphics.

Maybe one reason the games on the right look alike (Besides the cherrypicked screenshots because each has moments where they don't look alike) is because they chase "realism": Videogames may never be "truly realistic" and since the 8th gen, it feels like we hit a wall.

So if anything, these games are going for a rather "shared idea" of realism: That's how you think these games might as well have the same engine, same universe and same people behind.

Of course, you can still point out how stuff like lightning, fire, smoke etc isn't easy to do and even a cel-shaded game with 2D visuals may have some weird oddities in terms of visuals.

And then there's also the usual effects: Motion blur, chromatic aberration, bloom, lens flares, SSAO etc. Stuff tied to post-processing or something.

Is it inherit to games becoming 3D in general? Not sure.

But I believe it can't be because of "realism in general" because with 6th gen games, certain titles were always aiming for "realism" and still have a different "feel/vibe/whatever you call it" compared to 7th gen and beyond.

Maybe how Death Stranding or GTAV look and feel is something Kojima or Rockstar always wanted to achieve even during the PS1.

But it won't change the fact that how MGS2/3 or how GTA VC/SA "feel" may resonate more with people.

Remakes are another good example when you compare Resident Evil 4 to its remake.

Even Crysis, a game once praised for being graphically impressive, gets a remaster and I swear the differences barely mean shit.

I can see someone saying "is this why Zoomers think Half-Life 2 or GMod are creepy?" because of liminal space memes but it shows that even a "realistic enough" game can offer different moods not present in games with generic realism.

And people also associate boring realism with "boring colors" so you have 7th gen shooters being brown/gray and then you get a "counter trend" of Fortnite clones and "looter shooters" with overuse of purple vomit.

Another thing worth bringing up: Yellow paint, which is a result of "realism" where everything blends in visually, when good art direction of making stuff apart can work even in "realism".

Maybe why people disliked the "it knows it's a videogame" direction of Doom Eternal is because it was still a graphically advanced looking game but the yellow paint thing also gets worse because it's applied to remakes, as in, RE4 for example which never needed yellow paint before... but now it does?

It's a side effect of an issue with "realism" where stuff becomes harder to read, so developers come up with these goofy solutions that wouldn't be needed if they had a better art direction.

It also happens that "realistic" games are more likely to age compared to cel-shaded/stylized games like LOZ Wind Waker or Okami (And sometimes, some cel-shaded games get remasters that add bloom or weird color effects).

But one thing is realism, another is fiction or rather, influences/inspirations and certain trends in sci-fi and fantasy.

There's that one image of Everquest 3 I think, that shows a contrast between old and fantasy aesthetics.

One has an image that's essentially a fantasy painting with neat designs and a level of atmosphere/realism, the other shows that specific Warcraft adjacent art style you see more often.

That style people associate with Blizzard, League, Dota, Smite, DarkSiders and more.

Besides the style in itself being overused, I think people hate it because they associate it with being corporate and safe, which adds some irony to its history coming from Blizzard being into Warhammer: A series rather known for being "grim and epic" (But even WH itself would have stuff that's tame and boring).

The Demon Souls remake is a good example because you go from From Software being inspired by dark fantasy and Berserk to something with generic lightning/colors and an official reference for the Flame Lurker literally admitting using Diablo 3 as inspiration.

Even sci-fi in terms of aesthetics has its trends: Part of why Halo fans dislike the 343 art style.

(Mostly because of when tech is meant to be grounded and when it feels like "fantasy" to some degree).

(Oh and this also reminds me of that "magic tech" fantasy in stuff like Immortals Fenyx Rising which I wonder if it's inspired by the Disney Atlantis movie).

So if the fantasy side of things has WoW, Dota, LoL, etc then the sci-fi gets what: 343 Halo? Destiny? Anthem? Warframe? Gears of War?

Even then, these aesthetics could use some "studying" so one can why X feel this way and why Y doesn't etc.

The modern Doom games are at times criticized for having these trends (Specially because Doom is technically both sci-fi and fantasy).

One can at least say that even classic Doom wasn't the only thing in the 90's inspired by Aliens/HR Giger (See Metroid or Contra) and old DnD.

But I guess it also depends of why people like certain aesthetics and the mindsets behind them AND of course: Personal preferences.

A lot of iconic gaming franchises were born out of devs copying media from outside the medium, from Link being inspired by Peter Pan to MGS being a mix of movies, hence Kojima says "My body is 70% made of movies".

Gravity Rush is as unique as it is because Toyama and his team were influenced by Moebius, while the pointless movie will definitely be inspired by the MCU.

We can also bring up Signalis being inspired by Blame! but the aesthetic itself isn't trying to be an old Nihei manga.

Another id example: Hunter from Quake 3 being inspired by Simon Bisley's Full Cirkle.

I was wondering if it counts when certain artists or studios are involved in some games, like Ni No Kuni looking very Ghibli because Ghibli was sort of involved in the first game's cutscenes.

Maybe this is why some don't care that PalWorld may indeed copy Pokemon: Lot of games might as well copy each other already.

Whether it's in AAA or indie games (Even in indie, people will be aware of some trends but not others, like making fun of "quirky Earthbound clone about depression" label that probably applies to only one game but nobody mentions the amount of "boomer shooters" that exist... just saying).

And this isn't just videogames: Think of mediums like films where you see something with good setpieces and then you see something more recent with generic "ahh so pretty" special effects.

Like how people prefer older horror movies that make good use of practical effects or that one time a LOTR movie gave people headaches because of its visuals.

I just saw some images of a Wizard of Oz remake being made and how boring it looks compared to the 1930's one.

Like in general, ask yourself: At what point does this type of realism becomes part of someone's vision and not either a decision by the publisher/executive/etc or just guessing by what mass audiences supposedly like?

Pretty sure Hitchcock had a quote about realism and art: How art being too good at copying realism can make it boring because it's just reproducing nature.

Maybe a lot of amazing paintings from certain eras like the Renaissance are amazing, not because of how realistic they art, but because they're a rather "idealized" form of realism.

Edit: Might as well mention "Uncanny Valley" because of both realisitc games reaching it at times but also how a certain "idealized realism" is lik the opposite of Uncanny Valley.

And I guess how some people deslike stuff that is otherwise impressive to casual viewers like artists such as Sakimichan.

Edit 2: I could've also mentioned how some games do gore, scars, disfiguration etc and how some make it seem "plastic" looking. Look at Ghouls in like Fallout 3 and compared them to FO4, where they looked creepy in the former and look like someone in a rubber suit in the latter.

In general, I like to think there are ways to make a game more impressive nowadays.

Basically, make your game copy great illustrations instead of "realism" or live action movies.

Pay attention to how colors and brushes are used in some artworks.

Copy some designs if you have to, since you'd be less likely to end up with some designs you'd see in an ArtStation account (Even if you just mindlessly follow blogs that post old sci-fi art).

AI art may not work because you need to understand what makes some art good (And if anything, AI art is already used to mimick the more generic art styles out there).

You may not need that many polygons, maybe go for a 6th gen style at best.

Do a good job with colors, textures etc.

And while your game does a good enough job at copying Moebius, Druillet, Barlowe, Nihei etc, I guess you could also try neat tech shit like reflections or "portals", like the 2006 Prey game.

In general: Make your game look like a painting, not a movie.

And about my stuff?

My game looks ugly for a lot of reasons like its weird resolution, me focusing more on other stuff, the fact that it's my first game, etc.

But I do hope someday to not only get better art but also better at taking influences more seriously.

Lot of stuff in Nortubel already copies some things and I hope to be better at copying some things even if I can't do it alone.

Chances are that even in Nortubel itself, I'll end up with some trendy elements but I still wanna give an impression of some creativity and preferences.

In general, this blog post could've been an article or video done better by someone (So feel free to use this as a reference), because if I'm terrible at "critique" or "essays", I hope to be much better at making games and actual stuff.

This post should also be useful for anyone who wants to be a dev.

Edit 3: Could've mentioned Concord because I heard Metal Hurlant was an inspiration, but the game doesn't seem like it went far enough with that.