#sebastian lacroix x nines rodriguez

[toreadorcaretaker]

ventrue whump where they’re forced to feed on rats send ask

I went absolutely wild over this and made it really sad and disgusting. Thank you for giving me good emetophobia exposure lmaoooo | Image Sources: One | Two

Summary: After the Primogen seize control of LA, their Ventrue representative tortures LaCroix for disgracing the clan. He is force-fed poison in the form of rats. But an unexpected friend is on the way to help...

TW: vomiting, fever, starvation, forced to live in dirty conditions

It wasn’t enough to depose Sebastian LaCroix.

It wasn’t enough to see him executed through the proper channels, on his knees and begging for his life until the very last.

No, the Ventrue Primogen took Sebastian’s offenses a little more personally, as a fellow clan member. And of course, Strauss obliged in letting him handle LaCroix himself.

LaCroix was dragged into a dungeon in the sewers, just before dawn on the night the scarcophagus was taken from him. The night he lost everything. It was a bit of a blur after that, probably because he was trying to block out the memories of how he’d pleaded and fought, of trying to stand and being kicked down again, and again, and again... But he did remember a great deal of talk about how he had “disgraced us all” and how every shred of his own dignitas would be stripped from him in turn. It was restrained enough, in its way. No prolonged torture. Just the cell door closing above him with a rattle of keys. There was no reason the execution had to be anytime soon, the Primogen had informed him. He had plenty of time to rot down here.

At first, there was time to rage, to cry, to plot revenge. But after a few weeks, desperation took hold in earnest. He was in so much pain he could hardly think. His veins ached from the inside out with growing hunger.

But it always could (and would) be worse.

One day, there were clicking boots down the corridor. Idle, lighthearted, accompanied by joyful humming.

And there was a faint squeaking. No. He couldn’t be bringing…

A rat. An enormous, filthy, foul-smelling rat appeared around the corner, clutched in one gloved hand. Sebastian’s captor appeared next, grinning wickedly. They stared at each other for a long moment before he swallowed and forced himself to speak. “What is…you don’t mean…”

“Oh yes. Dinner is served.” He held the deplorable thing through the bars, wriggling and squeaking, and didn’t move a muscle. Sebastian just recoiled from it.

“Twenty-three days you’ve left me down here, and the first word out of your mouth is an unamusing joke. Lovely. Now bring me something that’s not poison.” The thought of being expected to eat that thing was already making him nauseous.

The Primogen just kept up with that maddeningly smug expression. “Traitorous rats get what they deserve. You are what you eat, after all.” He dropped the rat onto the dusty cell floor, where it scrambled away through the bars, seizing the freedom that Sebastian was denied. “Not hungry? Pity. You’ll look so gaunt at your execution.” He began to turn away.

“Come back at once!” LaCroix shouted after him, his voice rising in volume to follow the man down the corridor. “You want to talk to me about disgracing us? This is completely unbecoming! To play with a former Prince this way, like it’s some idle game to you! Torturing a political prisoner without due process! Your own sadism has run away with you! Can you possibly understand what I've done for this city? This is the behavior of the Sabbat! A SABBAT! Do you hear me!?” There was no answer. Sebastian let out a wordless noise of frustration, somewhere between a grunt and a scream. He sunk to the floor, and was mortified to find himself wishing he’d made a grab for that rat before it could skitter away.

The worst part was that the Primogen had been right. He would look gaunt at his execution. Absolutely ravaged, in fact. His beautiful suit was absolutely destroyed – coated in dirt and torn from being thrown against the rocky ground. His hair hadn’t been combed in weeks. And he could feel the cracks in his bloodless lips, could feel his veins collapsing on themselves. He was so thirsty, so hungry… he’d already gone days without a proper meal before everything unraveled. He’d been too preoccupied, pacing all day and night with nervous energy, sensing the oncoming storm but powerless to prevent it. And now, the hunger was so intense it deepened the cold in his bones and resonated against chilled, damp draft from some vent system up above. The former Prince clutched at his own arms and shivered. He’d never felt more like a corpse.

The next feeding time, just twenty-four hours later, wore out his patience. At the presence of a heartbeat, any heartbeat, his instincts took over and he snatched the rat right out of the Primogen’s hand, sinking into it like a drumstick and gnawing furiously.

The taste was absolutely rank. It shocked him so much that he remembered himself and managed to drop it, stumbling backward away from its hideous scent and setting his jaw tight in an effort not to give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing him vomit. But it seemed he didn’t want to leave until he’d seen a show. He laughed uproariously and bent down to stare at LaCroix where he’d doubled over on the floor. “Dear me, is it not edible to you? Poor thing. Unfortunately, you no longer deserve food.”

Sebastian shuddered but held his ground. Breathe. Breathe. Don’t be sick. Think of nice things. His warm bed up in the penthouse. A fresh Marlboro just before sunrise. The Primogen’s head on a pike.

The Primogen tsked in annoyance and finally walked away. Sebastian exhaled in relief but had to hold his breath again immediately to keep from retching.

If the blood did him any good, he couldn’t tell. The nausea eventually faded, but his stomach hurt terribly, and his body broke out in fever. He spent the night pulling his coat closer around himself and cursing the mistake. If anything, he seemed to be worse off.

The second time, he couldn’t keep it down. Again, his body acted without permission, overtaken with frenzy at the sight of food, and seized the rat at once. But, further weakened this time, he vomited immediately, clinging to the bars for support. Tears of effort and humiliation coated his face. He couldn’t look at the Primogen and kept gazing into the far corner until the bastard was done gloating and left.

It was difficult to say how many times this happened. The Primogen must have decided this was an enjoyable game, because he played it nightly. It was always the same. He’d hold out the rat, Sebastian would take it, and he’d suffer the consequences, whether or not he kept the blood down. He could feel the poison working against his body. He no longer paced around the cell, merely huddled in a corner, too weak to move. The poison of the Primogen’s words worked on him too. He had disgraced the Ventrue name, hadn’t he? He had failed. He deserved this, much as he may curse the man for giving him exactly what he deserved. If he’d only fought harder, gotten to the sarcophagus faster… he tried to push these thoughts away over and over, but they always came back. He couldn’t last long this way – soon enough, torpor would take hold. It would probably be a mercy.

Sebastian had come to expect sickness whenever footsteps descended the stairs. So, when he heard a slightly different gait one night, it took a moment to register.

Once the familiar wave of dread wore off, he realized these sounded like heavy combat boots. “Who’s there?” Instantly wary, he struggled to his feet but just swooned back against the wall again, trembling from the effort. He glanced around the cell, realizing what an absolute mess it was, the dirt floor covered in rejected blood. His clothes were no better. Damn it all. They were probably coming to take him to his final death, and in this state too…

It was, in fact, the only possible visitor worse than that. A white T-shirt and jeans and an ugly denim button down hanging open. Grizzly muscle and a shit haircut and cheekbones too chiseled for marble. Nines Rodriguez.

He took a long look at LaCroix and whistled. “Jesus…Fuckin’ Camarilla. What did they do to you?”

Sebastian answered his pity with a glare. “I ca – “ his voice rasped almost enough to make him inaudible and he had to try again. If there had been any blood left in his body, he would have blushed furiously. Why couldn’t Nines be trying to behead him instead of staring directly at the red stains on his collar? “…I can’t imagine what concern of yours that might be. What…how can you be here of all places? Have they already sunk so low as to ally with the Anarchs?”

Thankfully, Nines demanded no further information. “Gettin’ weapons.” He pulled out the ring of keys the Primogen had carried. Sebastian noticed it was dripping with blood. “You’re ‘weapons.’”

“Pardon me?”

“You want to put Strauss through the Venture company paper shredder for whatever happened here? The rest of ‘em too? Well, let’s do it. Common enemies and all that. Don’t worry, I’ll still kill you after.” The door swung open. Open. The door was open. But Sebastian couldn’t move. He opened and closed his mouth, wondering how precisely to convey to Nines that he couldn’t walk at present without dispelling the illusion of his own usefulness.

Nines swore again. “They really did a number on you.”

Sebastian bristled. There was absolutely no need to dwell on that. “What, do you think you’d look any better if you were in my place?”

“No, I just – look, shut it for a second, I’m just trying to think what to do. Wish I’d brought blood bags, but they’re back at the base. I didn’t think it would be this bad, but…” he shook his head, resigning himself to something. “Listen, this is about to be a bad time for both of us.” He bent over LaCroix, who tensed away from him. With unfathomable alarm, he realized he was about to be scooped off the ground.

“Don’t!” he hissed, “You can’t! I’m – “ disgusting. Revolting. Unworthy even to be touched by an Anarch. And the Anarch was equally disgusting by his very nature. Which of them, he wondered, would really sully the other more?

“Pipe down before you get us caught.” Nines did hesitate though, long enough to take off his jacket. He wiped the blood and sweat and dirty tear tracks from LaCroix’s face despite yelps of protest, and then wrapped it backwards around Sebastian’s chest like a blanket. The denim wasn’t the softest, but it was intoxicating, suffused with Nines deep into the fabric…with the scent of his blood…blood that wasn’t rat blood, and smelled so rough and musky and…

“Hey don’t pass out on me, okay? Prissy fuckin’ Prince… I can't believe they managed to rough you up even worse than I would've. That's truly creativity. Come on, one, two, three…” And, lifted in the arms of the Anarch leader, LaCroix’s new life began.

[marquisedegramont]

i. blog rules

౨ৎ Do not interact if you're racist, homophobic, sexist/misogynistic, transphobic, ableist, xenophobic, fatphobic besides I’m like six out of the seven of the things you’d hate on that list. Any hate will be blocked/ignored. And also discourse in fandoms. But I’m okay with answering asks that pertain to advice (I’ll try to give good advice to the best of my abilities hopefully.)

౨ৎ I don’t really do requests anymore because my academic life is taking over me + mental health issues. If you send in something I might write it, if I like the idea. Feel free to ask me for sequels I think that’s really lovely that people like my writing <3 Please also be more descriptive in your requests, and include a broader concept. But if you don’t mind anything I’m gonna write for your little idea then don’t worry about it!

౨ৎ Note that my writing style can be triggering sometimes as I use vile imagery and rather dark metaphors which include graphic descriptions of gore and cannibalism but I’ll try toning it down

౨ৎ English is my first language I just don’t respect English enough. And I also know five other languages that I respect more than English.

౨ৎ I also don’t like it when people give unwanted criticism. Or they reply to my fic saying they don’t like the character I’m writing for. It’s just plain out stupid if you do that and I trust that you have a brain that’s working.

ii. fic rules & boundaries

🔪 will write: fics, hc lists, quick drabbles • bd/sm • sub!reader or sub!character • afab + amab!reader • darkfics • hurt/comfort • blood & (light) gore • whump (focused on caretaking sorryyy) • light cannibalism • threesome/polymary (ffm, mmf, fff) • character x oc (if ur my friend hehe)

🗡 will not write: underage/illegal age gaps • rape • s/a • vomit in terms of sex • scat/shit • piss/omorashi • necrophilia (unless it’s a zombie or a vampire) • extreme gore • real people x reader

⛓ kinks i would luv to write: bondage • femdom • brat taming • teratophilia • sub men • praise

iii. fandoms & characters

john wick

john wick • marquis de gramont • the adjudicator (cont.) • santino d’antonio • ask for others cause i can write most of them

vampire: the masquerade - bloodlines

sebastian lacroix • nines rodriguez • jeanette/therese voerman • cuthert beckett • ming xiao

resident evil

lady dimitrescu • dimitrescu sisters • donna beneviento

˚｡★ all works belong to @marquisedegramont. please don’t from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms because i will be very sad and you don’t want to upset me right…. 🥺

[callmehopeless]

An Old Romantic

Nines Rodriguez x Reader

Words: 689 Plot: The gang at The Last Round are having a chat about the Camarilla; somehow, the conversation turns to the fledgling. Nines gets uncomfortable, and Damsel finally gets the truth out of him. A/N: I love Vampire: The Masquerade. It’s one of those games that, much alike KOTOR, will always hold a place in my heart as an absolute timeless classic of RPG gaming. If you haven’t checked it out yet; get on it. You’ll love it. But most importantly, you’ll love a man after my own chaotic good heart; Nines Rodriguez, my Brujah crush.

Nines ran his fingers across the laminated red table, the shiny metal warm against his cool skin. The last few nights had been long; the Sabbat had been more active than usual, and he’d had to cap a few of the bloodsuckers that pushed his luck. He scoffed. Like they didn’t have it coming. Damsel pushed up beside him, strands of her scarlet hair flicking out of her cap. Nines could smell the night air clinging to her shirt, the slight whiff of fresh blood on her breath. “Busy night?” Damsel smirked. “Cut the crap, Nines. You’ve been sulking here like a lost princess all fucking night. What gives?” Nines shrugged off his jacket, throwing it down to the floor. “Planning our next move. LaCroix is getting clever.” Damsel laughed coldly, her silver eyes rolling back to the ceiling. “That’ll be the day. LaCroix, LaCroix, LaCroix. If you love LaCroix so much, why don’t you just march over to Ventrue Tower and join Cammy in this shitty little charade?” Nines sighed. Damsel was always refreshing, but sometimes he just needed time. You’d think he’d get enough time to himself nowadays; but he could never catch a break. He sort of liked it better that way; or better than it had been before, when he’d had no one to watch his back. But still; things were difficult at the moment. His thoughts were a wreck of jumbled pieces that weren’t fitting together. He didn’t know how he was supposed to do that while she was bantering in his ear. Nines picked up one of the menus; they were useless to him of course, but he’d memorized every item. Every fucking brand of cheap whiskey in the place. And boy, were they cheap. “Yeah. Look, I’m not going to lie to you; there’s a lot going on in my head right now. I don’t want people getting the wrong idea and thinking I’m the guy with all the answers-” Nines began. “-Nah, they don’t. They think you’re the big boss on campus, but they’ll learn the ropes. Either that or they’ll crash and burn. I don’t give a shit either way.” Damsel interjected, twitching her nose. “What’s this really about, Nines?” Shit. “Didn’t I just tell you?” “No, you railroaded me. I do the railroading. I know when I’m being railroaded.” Nines ran a hand through his hair, sharp bristles against his skin. “Think we’re asking too much of her? LaCroix chews up fledglings and spits them out. Don’t know if we’re doing the right thing by keeping her around him.” Damsel blinked. “Holy shit.” “Don’t” Nines breathed, gritting his teeth. Damsel breathed out suddenly, pushing up to look Nines in the eyes. “No way. No fucking way.” “What did I just say, Damsel?” Nines spat. “So I’ve known you for, what? Fifty years? And you’re telling me I’m not supposed to be...flipping the shit that you’ve finally expressed some form of desire to fuck someone?” Nines rolled his eyes. Typical. That was so unbelievably typical of Damsel. “It’s not like that. Kid’s got heart. I knew that the first time I decided to show up and call out LaCroix. Got guts, too, to deal with the shit she has to. But she’s beautiful, and she’s smart, and I’m not the only one around here who thinks that.” Damsel was quiet for a few moments, a small half-smile on the corners of her lips. She opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again, shaking her head. “Never took you for an old romantic”. Nines scoffed. “I’m not. I’m just not blind.” “Does she know? I mean, fuck, you’re going to tell her, right?” “I’ll think about it. Sometime when this is all over, maybe. Maybe never. Who knows?” Damsel stood up, her eyes flashing as she walked towards the stairs. She picked up Nines’ jacket, throwing it over to him. He caught it in his lap as she started off towards the bar. “If you tell anyone Damsel-” “Yeah, yeah. You’ll bury me in a sewer somewhere. Now can we just find someone to eat? I’m fucking starving.”

[hopebliss]

A DRUMMING OF ASPHALT

SUMMARY: It’s routine - a short walk for a Ventrue bureaucrat and the Anarch leader. (hinted!gretel x nines rodriguez, 1.6k words)

“You won’t compromise.”

A statement, not framed as a question. A statement strung out, vowel and consonants clicking, in a manner that suggested Gretel had said this before, time and time again.

Defeated repetition. Nines Rodriguez supplied his usual answer, as expected. “No.”

They had found - through a similar kind of repetition -  the quiet routes in L.A, the streets that were easy for two Kindred to meander through, lined with empty warehouses and the occasional rumble of midnight traffic. Pavements well-mapped by a pair of clicking Ventrue heels and well-worn Brujah boots under hazy city lights.

“That makes life difficult, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Difficult for you and the LaCroix. The Camarilla.”

“For the city, too.” Her side-glances during these nights were sparing, still, she used up one of her quota then, slate grey hewn sharp behind dark-rimmed glasses. “It cannot carry on like this.”

Familiar sentences; as if they hadn’t already circled around this topic, night after night, long after she had first entered the Last Round bar, spine rim-rod straight and refusing to move five feet away from her Toreador friend. As if their hissed arguments hadn’t eventually dragged them onto the street, pacing around L.A like tempestuous animals in a cage.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Nines voice, caught between a drawl and a snap. Impatience coupled with resignation. They would be here again, in a couple of nights, when Gretel would return with another set of negotiations - the same as ever before, but glossy-laminated and presented with slick new titles, a new barbed wire cage around old stories. “Listen, Rushforth, you’re the ones who chose to stampede back here as if nothing ever happened. You’re the ones trying to push against us and failing.”

“Failing? Your Anarchs aren’t exactly standing steady on two feet.”

“They’re not mine. They don’t belong to anyone. That’s the whole point.”

Tremere theorists and scholars often talked around the houses when it came to a Kindred’s state of unlife. Kindred biology was a point of fascination, a series of contradictions within itself: they were alive and yet they weren’t. Not exactly changed but transformed into something else entirely, human and monster coalescent in the same form. 

Breathing was one of those funny things: lungs that should be dormant twitched. A mimic of a sigh and Nines reached inside his shirt pocket.

It was mildly concerning when Gretel realised her first instinct wasn’t to think gun. Either the past few weeks had dulled her, or she had learned to recognise when Nines was reaching for his cigarettes.

Oh.

“Don’t pretend to care for the city either.” He continued, splintering the two-second silence with a flick of the cardboard carton lid. “Can’t be here two seconds and pretend to give a shit.” And, absurdly, he gestured the carton in an offering.

“No thank you, I’m trying to quit.” She caught his look. “It’s a bad habit.”

“I’m pretty sure there are worse things in your line of work, Cammy.”

“Still bad.” She reached over and took one. “Just because I haven’t lived here all my life does not mean I’m not invested.”

A lighter was soon procured and the two naturally slowed down on the sidewalk. The sharp lines of Nines’ face grew deeper in the darkness. “Invested. Provin’ my point there Rushforth - you Ventrue putting all your stock into who you think is useful and when they’re not? You don’t want to know anymore. Cut your losses and head to the next big thing. L.A is just another kind of Camarilla project to you all. A conquest we’re paying for.”

“And it’s not to you?” She shouldn’t have bristled. Shouldn’t have let the hound dig his claws under her skin. Flint to the flame, like the one she balanced between her fingers. Ironic, considering the danger of fire to the Kindred. Since when had she been so drawn to self-sabotage? “The great last ‘free’ state. The Anarch playground. It’s chaos, it’s not sustainable, you’ll burn out before the year is over.”

His answer arrived after a plume of smoke. “We won’t. Even if we do, ‘least we keep our pride. ‘Least we don’t treat everyone around us as expendable.”

“They’re not-” Too quick, too hasty, she wanted to curse it, “- expendable.”

“No?” Nines looked at her, then. Gretel wondered how many could stand that gaze: Nines Rodriguez did nothing in halves, nothing without the fullest push of intensity. It was different than the Prince she served, having long weathered the shifting of clinical disinterest to scathing hyperfocus of Sebastian LaCroix. It made her feel too solid. Too heavy. Too present.

But the Ventrue can take the heat. And she did. She met him, eye-for-eye, grey-for-bright-blue. “No.”

They had stopped again: another empty side-street caught in a gasp of forgotten industry, grey brick and glass interrupted by the slick outlines of graffiti. Modernism claiming old ground, just as it had every decade, looking different every time. The twenty-first century was colour and nihilism in one unholy package.

His cigarette was fading out, fingers curling tight.

It had been part of Gretel’s training - as a Kindred, as a Ventrue, most importantly as the childe of the new Camarilla protege - to predict the question before it arrived. To be clever and duck against the verbal blade of politicians, the simpering placating of diplomats. To read the weighted curve of a mouth, the flick of a tongue against fangs.

She knew, with certainty, what Nines was going to say.

“Who?”

There was a stone lodged in her throat, in her chest, in her stomach. An inevitability in the sudden knowledge that Nines knew. 

That he knew about capricious Cassandra and how close Gretel followed her into the Last Round, echoing a familiarity with every movement. 

That he knew about the rainbow reflections of Becca, neon lights glinting off the edge of the pier as they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

That he knew about Hester, drawing in Gretel’s pride with her talent and obstinance towards conformity. 

That he knew about Katya and her blood-soaked, ichor-lined brilliance and Gretel’s worry for her, and her awe for how far she could reach - if she wanted.

She couldn’t give them to him. To anyone. Not yet.

“It doesn’t matter.” It does, they both agreed silently, but Nines didn’t push. Thankfully. “The Camarilla will not stop, will not cease. The Prince has never strayed from his goals. I’ll keep coming back, and if nothing changes then it doesn’t matter who’s expendable or not, the whole city will burn.”

“You’re the ones rolling in, pushing for war-”

“It wouldn’t be war.” A room exploded outward, her Sire blackened and charred, melting into the wind. Her scalp bleeding, hands slick and slippery, ducking her body against a hail of bullets. 

Gretel knew war. 

Had he ever served, or had he been tucked away in L.A, ducking from the jaws of gangs and cops alike? “It would be a slaughter. It would be needless.”

“Is that a threat?” His voice was quiet, pulled tight. The wolf prince raising his hackles.

“No.” The edging night was draining something out of her. A blanket of darkness, unperturbed by the absence of street lines ringing the roads from the Last Round. A smear of grey against a broad shoulder and Gretel was automatically reaching out. “Yes, perhaps. You have ash on-”

A hand grabbed her wrist just as her fingertips brushed the indent of bone and muscle. Nines was suddenly there, cold as all Kindred tended to be, but her arm burned all the same.

For a moment, there was nothing but the pressure of his thumb pressing the dip of her palm. Her elbow locked, the flat of the  arm pressed against the inward curve of his chest

It didn’t hurt. Her sensibilities dictated that somehow, somewhere, that must be wrong. Enough space for her fingers to uncurl, for nails to scrape against the thread of a worn shirt, to collect and fix the irregularity how she wanted.

“Doesn’t matter.” He parroted back. She could almost feel the sound - the deepness - coming from inside of him. “You’re not gonna protect them like this, you know that. LaCroix’s got you playing for the wrong side. For the one that’ll get them killed.”

“What side is the right one then?” Her shoe slid closer despite herself. “Yours? A revolution clinging on? Rebels without a plan?”

“The side that doesn’t treat its people like playthings. The side that looks after their own.”

“Is that what you want, Rodriguez?” Words that weren’t laden in spite, words that ran away from her, tempered down by the gravity emanating from him. This is how you get caught in his orbit, his momentum. It’d be easy, too easy- “To look after me?”

She had meant it as a joke, deprecation - to him, to her, either way, she expected him to reel back.

He tightened his grip instead, looked like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.

 “I could. Them too.”

A beat.

Somewhere, a broken exhaust pepper the air like a gunshot. Gretel’s arm was suddenly at her own side - when had she torn it away? - and she was turning and she was walking, quickly, a jaw slack, slamming shut. Cold air burned the arch of her cheeks, seared her eyes hidden by her glasses.

Ash, still collected under her nails. She wiped them against her coat, but it was resolute in clinging to her cuticles. Stubborn. Damn him -

“I’ll tell the Prince that you don’t accept.” Sentences, hewn,  meticulous once again. She felt the weight of him, his stare, even when he was behind her, even when she was walking away so quickly. That’s what it was - the peturbing nature of it - of being flayed open so nonchalantly. It wasn’t the meticulous unravelling of a Ventrue Prince, it was the Brujah who could burn you open immediately.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days then.” Nines called after her.

To her utter fury, he sounded like he was smiling.

A grin stitched into the night.

[loreillustrated]

FANDOM TAG

I was tagged by: @ednavey

You have to choose 3 fandoms, answer the questions and tag 10 people

I tag : @wiredraw @acathea @arcadegannonn and anyone else who wants to do it.

Fandoms : The Elder Scrolls / VTMB / Dragon Age

The first character you loved : Eno Hlaalu / Nines Rodriguez / Zevran

The character you didn’t expect to love so much : Ondolemar / Sebastian LaCroix / Loghain

The character you relate the most to : Mannimarco / Jeanette / Anders

The character you’d slap : Ulfric / Vandal / Anora

Three favorite characters in order of preference : Mannimarco, Elam Drals , Ondolemar / Nines, LaCroix, Beckett / Zevran, Morrigan, Anders

A character you loved at first but don’t anymore : Martin Septim / Smiling Jack / Cullen

A character you did not like at first but yo do now: Mankar Camoran / Damsel / Leliana

Three OTPs (oc) Ralen x Mannimarco , Banus Alor x Alval Uvani , The Night Mother x Sithis  / (oc) Lev x Nines and nothing else really *shrug* / M!Lavellan x Iron Bull, M!Mahariel x Zevran, F!Surana x Leliana

[fansxaesthetics]

MASTERLIST

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

-Alphonso Mackenzie

-Daisy Johnson / Quake

-Elena “Yoyo” Rodriguez 

-Grant Ward

-Jemma Simmons

-Leopold Fitz

-Lincoln Campbell

-Melinda May

-Phil Coulson

-Robbie Reyes

Assassination Classroom

-Akabane Karma

-Nagisa Shiota

Borderlands

-Angel

-Athena the Gladiator

-Gaige the Mechromancer

-Janey Springs

-Lilith the Siren

-Mad Moxxi

-Maya the Siren

-Mordecai the Hunter

-Nisha the Lawbringer

-Vaughn

-Wilhelm the Enforcer

Butterfly Soup

-Akarsha

-Diya

-Min-seo

-Noelle

Doki Doki Literature Club 

-Monika

-Natsuki

-Sayori

-Yuri

Drakengard / NieR

-A2

-2B

-9S

-Caim

-Devola & Popola

-Emil

-Five

-Four

-Kainé

-One

-Three

-Two

-Zero

Legend of Zelda

-Lana

-Linkle

-Saria

-Zelda

Life is Strange

-Amberprice (Chloe Price x Rachel Amber)

-Chloe Price

-Max Caulfield [1]

-Max Caulfield [2]

-Nathan Prescott

-Pricefield (Chloe Price x Max Caulfield)

-Rachel Amber

Marvel

-Bucky Barnes

-Kamala Khan / Miss Marvel

-Loki Laufeyson

-Peter Maximoff / Quicksilver

-Peter Parker / Spiderman

-Shuri

-T’Challa / Black Panther

-Valkyrie

-Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch

Mass Effect

-Fem! Shepard

-Liara T’soni

Mystic Messenger

-Jaehee Kang

-Jumin Han

-MC

-Saeran Choi

-Saeyoung Choi

-V / Jihyun Kim

-Yoosung Kim

-Zen / Hyun Ryu

Overwatch

-Brigitte Lindholm

-D.Va / Hana Song

-D.Va [Cruiser Skin]

-Genji Shimada

-Hanzo Shimada

-Lúcio Correia dos Santos

-Mei-Ling Zhou

-Mekanic / Mekamechanic (Hana Song x Brigitte Lindholm)

-Mercy / Angela Ziegler

-Pharah / Fareeha Amari

-Pharmercy (Fareeha Amari x Angela Ziegler)

-Sombra

-Symmetra / Satya Vaswani

-Symmetra [Oasis Skin]

-Tracer / Lena Oxton

-Widowmaker / Amélie Lacroix

-Widowmaker [Côte d’Azur Skin]

-Winston

Pacific Rim

-Chuck Hansen

-Mako Mori 

-Newmann (Newton Geizler x Hermann Gottlieb)

-Newton Geizler

RPG Games

-Garry (Ib)

Sense8

-Riley Blue / Gunnarsdóttir

-Wolfgang Bogdanow

Shadowhunters

-Alec Lightwood

-Clary Fray / Fairchild

-Isabelle Lightwood

-Jace Wayland

-Lucian Graymark

-Magnus Bane

-Malec (Alec Lightwood x Magnus Bane) [1]

-Malec (Alec Lightwood x Magnus Bane) [2]

-Raphael Santiago

-Simon Lewis

Vocaloid

-Hatsune Miku

-Gumi Megpoid

-Luka Megurine

-Rin & Len Kagamine

Yandere Simulator/ Lovesick 

-Amai Odayaka 

-Asu Rito

-Ayano Aishi/ Yandere-chan

-Hanako Yamada

-Kizana Sunobu

-Kokona Haruka

-Megami Saiko

-Mida Rana

-Muja Kina 

-Oka Ruto

-Osana Najimi

-Osoro Shidesu

Youtubers

-Miniminter

Z Nation

-Addison Carver

-Citizen Z

-10k

Miscellaneous Fandoms

-Ellie (The Last of Us)

-Enjolras (Les Misérables)

-Jaylah (Star Trek)

-Jodie Holmes (Beyond: Two Souls)

-Joi (Blade Runner 2049)

-Jughead Jones (Riverdale)

-Ladybug / Marinette Dupain-Cheng (Miraculous Ladybug)

-Maya and Riley (Girl Meets World)

-Norman Jayden (Heavy Rain)

-Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)

-RWBY Characters (RWBY)

-Samus Aran (Metroid)

-Sebastian (Stardew Valley)

-Victor (Fallout: New Vegas)

Random Themes

-Badass / Fun loving Lesbian

-Bisexual Hippie

-Bisexual History Nerd

-Christmas [1]

-Christmas [2]

-Internally sad but Happy looking Trans Boy

-Soft Indie Trans Boy

Not seeing your fandom and/or your fave character? Send us an ask!

[snipsystripes]

somebody wrote another Nines Rodriguez x Sebastian LaCroix fanfiction