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vyzz-undercover · 3 months ago

Text

im insane have a few kilos of:

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(6,600ish words) (please fucking sedate me)

{i dont usually write in whatever perspective having a 'you' in this sort of context is, so forgive any oopsies besties!!!}

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink

•intercourse [M/F]

•degrading language

•mild possessive behaviour

•pisspoor cliche of 'oh no you're freezing haha body warmth eh?' trope

•mr. sicarius' insufferable ego

•tumblr's dogshit formatting from phone notes to the app

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super special thanks to all the writers im too much of a spineless coward to actually @ because i only ever lurked on anon asks on old main for, like: moodymisty, mothiir, lemon-russ, the-raven-lady, scriberye and many others. you're all the unknowing reasons why i made an alt to post this, cheers for your amazing works and ideas!!! :3

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It was doomed from the start, honestly.

Not to say he had any hope that an assignment would ever actually go easily for once.

It's supposed to be an apparently simple diplomatic procedure. Namely, you get to stand around, run your ambassadorial trap and bat your lashes and trollop about in front of pompous baseline fools. While he, Cato Sicarius, stands at attention in pissy formal wear; pretending like he's not a hair-breadth from an aneurysm watching it all take place.

Oh, and not to forget the brother who's a head taller than him, in full plate, and isn't being held to a standard of mock-humility.

He realises belatedly he's forgotten the Primaris' name. That shouldn't happen. He never used to forget things. Eidetic memory shouldn't let him. He shouldn't be able to—or, well—maybe his subconscious deigned it unimportant and emptied it out the proverbial airlock of his mind. It was admittedly largely inconsequential. He'd been told, surely. He remembers he was a Sergeant of some sort from his markings. He also remembers being gawked at by the Primaris, borderline felated by eyes alone. He's Cato Sicarius, afterall. Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of Ultramar—of course he'd been inspiring awe. But for some warp-damned reason, alongside all those great titles, his Father'd decided to add Master Babysitter of His Ambassador to the list. But Cato does doesn't let it bother him. He's always got better things to occupy his time. Like furiously glaring at you across the thunder-hawk, even if you'd been dead-set on counting the rivets in the floor plating.

You'd looked absolutely idiotic in an Astartes troop seat. Like a toddler in an adult-sized wheelchair, draped in furs that seemed a size too big; hiding a dress that looked a size too small.

Simply put, the entire assignment was to be an event in circle-jerking—until shit hit the fan with all the painful similarity of a Nurgling thrown headlong into a thruster engine.

To begin with, it was a trap—a trap where he's separated from brother-Sergeant 'whatever-the-fuck-riel' in the commotion and responding bolter fire. That'd left Cato pointedly responsible for evacuating you, the useless little chatterbox, by the scruff of your fuzzy coat through side halls.

On another note, of all the accursed biomes, he hates tundras the most.

Pointedly, it's exactly what seventy percent of this backwater, shit-hole planet is this time of year; whereas the other thirty percent is glacial mush.

He discovers firsthand just how much sloshy ice-water there is to be found as he kicks in a shutter door and gets doused for the first time of many to follow; only to vault from the eastern rampart. Sliding down a long, raised and sleet covered run-off canal that passed over the keep's lesser residential rooftops with you in his grasp.

Melt water soaks you both as he scrambles fights to a halt on the steep decline before the drop off. Wobbling balancing on the edge for a second before he manages to scud back up and down a side chute, worming through the raucous hellscape of filthy baselines and too-tight alleys into the scrappy frozen wilds.

There was little time to hesitate when he decides breaking into a dead-sprint with a soggy ambassador thrown over his shoulder's the modus operandi of the situation.

He didn't stop until he was at least fifteen clicks away, or rather—he only stops when he's able to recognise a spot to hide and await for emergency evacuation.

A half-standing shack. Probably some peasant's hunting hovel. Clearly in poor condition, and honestly, a cave would've been preferable—but he isn't about to pass up the opportunity.

The door doesn't even swing open when he nudges it with his elbow. No, it falls inward, because of course it does, and he grumbles belatedly when it thuds.

The inside of the structure is a damnable mess, but, at the very least, it's dry.

He moves to tug you off his shoulder and toss you onto a pile of rags in the far corner, but he hesitates periodically. Even through his own wet outer attire, he can tell very little body heat is coming off you. His hearing catches on the way your breathing labours below the incessant chatter of your teeth.

Some wretched part of him implores he let you down carefully next to the nested mess of dirty cloth; and for once, he acquiesces to granting mercy.

You curl up into a ball on the floorboards almost immediately.

In his eyes, you're the pict of some drowned rat. The fur coat you'd been wearing over your dress is just as soaked through as everything else. Your hair is full of small, frozen rivulets at the ends, mixed in with powder snow and ice; and all the while, you're whining softly and trying to coil tighter into a fetal position.

He's trying very hard not to just stand there and dumbly listen to your little noises of weakness like a salivating dog.

Instead, Cato turns and lifts the door back into place against the frame; then he activates the honing beacon on his belt.

No latency pings, no close contact.

He grumbles again, eyeing your shivering form over his shoulder begrudgingly.

He hates you.

He hates that he's the one who's responsible for you.

The fact he is also currently out of his power-armour because of this charade only makes him even more irate, impossibly.

Sure, he has his combat bodyglove on under the tacky regalia, but it's no real consolation. He'd feel a lot better if there was a couple extra hundred kilos of plasteel and ceramite on him.

He could've had his armour on, had someone else been the one to babysit you.

He would have preferred anything but sole custody of your wretched, annoying existence falling on him. But because he's the only competent Astartes around ninety percent of the time, and you're the root of all problems—it means he's the only one who's capable of handling your stupidity. He can't even imagine letting anyone else do it. You'd probably deafen Trajan with your yapping if he was in his stead. Or Prabian. And if Titus had watch of you, you two'd probably be—ugh, he won't even dignify the thought. He can't believe the man'd been Captain of Second Company before him, or how or why Agemman gave the captaincy to him. He understands why Titus'd been struck from most records aside from high clearance. To say nothing of the fact that one would think being a Blackshield for a century would humble someone. But no, it seems crossing the Rubicon Primaris gave him his balls back.

Cato had almost flown into a blind rage when he'd heard him jokingly warning about rough weather to you on the embarkation deck the last time you'd been in each others general vicinity—because oh, of course Lieutenant Titus is suddenly a subsector-renowned fucking comedian as soon as you're there. Cato ought to subpoena the dribbling Inquisition like that little snake Leandros did. See how Titus'd like a real stage to perform on again. Maybe they'll have a new rendition of the cunted Rubicon Primaris to piece his sorry fat-arse back together once more by then. But he won't. He won't because Marneus would sulk, and Cato would feel bad. Plus, Cato's infinitely more likely to kill an Inquisitor than help one. But you—you little skank—you find Titus so funny. Hiding a giggle behind your hand, pretending to look demure and professional despite your wretched nature.

Why don't you smile at him like that?

You would be the death of him.

It was always all because of you. Every single time. Because you're so useless in any situation that can't be rambled out of. Which is all of them when you're involved, in Cato's opinion. His Father should leave the talking to professionals who wouldn't break a hip from a smack on the rear.

But now you are going to die of hypothermia, like a typical, pathetic little baseline—well, unless you start following his orders.

Cato tries not to think of how you were acting when rounds started going off earlier. Of course, like a spooked animal, you'd been all ears to his commands then. Hiding against him with your hands pawing at the side of his dress uniform as bullets careened across the dining hall, looking up at him with those big, terrified, caught-in-the-crosshair eyes—and, Throne, it had been so easy to pick you up. You were so soft flimsy, he could fling you around like a rag-doll if he really wanted. Manhandling you would be a singlehanded venture. He's liable to just hoist you up whenever you think yourself bold enough to bother him next. Grab you by your uniform's scruff and just pin you against a bulkhead, you'd be bent at the perfect height to—no—no, no.

Abruptly trying to distract himself, Cato draws his blade from it's ceremonial sheath and activates the disruption core, trying to stoke some sort of heated spark as he drove it into the fireplace.

He brutishly nudges it amidst the old wood and long dim coals. It isn't his finest moment of critical thinking, but it seems to be working; seeing as a few weak embers sputter to life.

Gratingly, he's aware that even a servitor would've known starting a fire in hostile territory was a fool's surest way at getting caught—but he has no other choice. Either he acts the moron and plays his poor hand, or you die from the shock of your chill; and if that happens, he'll have to face his Father's wrath.

And Guilliman would have his left testicle as a paperweight if you died under his watch.

In conclusion, if Cato is to choose between stupidity and complete failure, he's opting for stupidity. Which aggravatingly felt like an ongoing occurrence, ever since you started existing anywhere near him.

He reaches for your soggy swaddled form, and tugs.

Even practically hypothermic, you've still got enough of a two-faced-bitch's spirit hidden away in you to hiss and swat at him blindly. So much for his Father's claims you were of 'sweet, kind temperament.'

For a moment, he genuinely wants to throttle you for the outburst; but he swallows down the urge.

"You need to get out of those," he snaps, glowering down at you. "Or you are going to die."

Your response is a poignant little groan as you glance dizzily around the room.

Cato huffs, "There are blankets beside you, fool."

He holds up a dingy plaid throw, half fraying and stinking of stale mould. It was an assault on his vomeronasal organ, but he wasn't about to let you act the typical spoiled cunt routine of an Imperial ambassador. He would have you wrapped in it sooner rather than later, wether you liked it or not. You dying reflects poorly on him, afterall.

"T-T-Turn, p-p-please—" you say, but your stammering mangles the words into a juddering mess.

He growls, almost tempted to snarl something about 'the fucking audacity in thinking you can tell him what to do—' but acquiesces out of sheer force of will and pivots on his heel, settling into a martial line stance.

Cato can hear you struggling to wriggle free of your clothes. The whines of effort and heavy breathing, to say nothing of the almost comedic slop sound one miscellaneous article makes as it hits the rotted wooden floorboards.

Even if he's taking it to his grave, he's admittedly itching to look over his shoulder.

It's a completely degenerate urge.

But he's—he's wanted this. He's wanted this exact opportunity.

He's got it, now.

You're alone with him.

Nothing and nobody to distract or detract from your attention finally being all on him.

You make a fey little groan, and he takes that as a signal you're finished.

He rounds about-face, and, for lack of a better word, ogles the shape of your covered form.

You've dragged that pile of rags closer to the meagre fireplace, lying on it with the plaid blanket strewn over the top of you.

Even completely hidden beneath, he can see you are still shaking under the ratty thing. Even moreso than before, in all actuality. He supposes that's a good sign. It proves your feeble body is still well and keen on living.

But the suffocating concept you're bare weak, soft useless and needing pathetic underneath that scrap of fabric worms its way into his brain like a cancer.

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

Tearing his gaze away, he finds the embers his blade coaxed are a small flame eating away at the old timber now.

Looking back, your shivering's subsiding, but your rapid breathing is increasing; which is surely not good.

He has an idea, which definitely isn't influenced by depravity at all—shut up.

Cato tries for a moment to actually unbutton his attire. His fingers are too large, unsurprisingly. And with the body-suit, he's got no leverage of a nail or two to do away with the dainty fasteners. So, ultimately, he tears the regalia down the front, sending buttons flying—and continues to pry and rend the sopping garments off his arms and legs until they're a pile at his feet.

Then he sets about a more strenuous matter. He releases the locking mechanism at his clavicle, and promptly undoes the thick claps over his pectorals so he can pop free the catches beneath, peeling the layered material back and shucking his arms and hands loose of their constraints.

The top of his bodyglove hangs around his hips now, and he sighs. The chill is of no real annoyance to him. He's built to endure most conditions. Sure, it's cold—but Astartes run hot. And right now, he's boiling for so very many accursed reasons.

He settles on his side next to you and scuds himself to bracket the pile of fabric.

"Move closer," he bites out.

He tries not to groan when you actually do, and surprises himself when he manages to stifle the sound. Even through the blanket, he imagines his warmth is a welcome change to freezing.

"T-Thank you," you say softly, soaking in his body heat like a banal reptile under a sun's rays.

He likes hearing timidity on your lips.

He supposes it stems from his habit of humbling you. The opportunities are unsurprisingly plentiful. He often finds enjoyment hearing you back-pedal when he would cut you down for so much as genially inquiring on Astartesian discussions. Putting himself in the middle and shutting you out, even if you were welcomed in them prior to his arrival.

If you want to ask something of his Brothers, it'll be his answers.

All it ever took was a growl and a curt reminder to know your place. Then you'd fumble and take two steps back. Snipped down to size as you ought to be. Forced to suffer an ounce of the shame he feels. Oh, and then your big doe-eyes'd cast down at Cato's ceramite boots, fussing; trying to apologise to him.

In truth, it's adorable pathetic to watch.

You look so hurt.

It's an act, he's sure of it.

You play at being difficult to anger, and that makes you just that bit more grating. You've unknowingly caught him with an unfair advantage. One that his prowess as a statesman and a warrior cannot seem to scratch. He's always left feeling robbed in your presence. In a way that furiously giving in to the alien urge of palming himself afterwards doesn't ever fix. He's toey and irked to be excluded when you talk to other Astartes, but simultaneously darkly glad that you shy from such antics with him.

It's paradoxical, yes. But no, he's not a hypocrite. Though some part of him is scolding him for being one. No, he's aching to sink his proverbial claws into you—though he won't ever say it to a soul. He won't because he knows he's not supposed to have tastes such as this. A pit in his gut taunts that the stint he'd suffered in the Warp is to blame. But he's the commander of Roboute Guilliman's Victrix Guard. He is not aberrant. The sidelong, fraction-of-a-second glances Cato receives from his Primarch when you enter his office to give briefings surely mean nothing.

It's clear why you have his Father's favour, but he'll never admit that either. Aside from Guilliman's desperation to find baseline company for some strange reason. You're surely just a pet to him. Like a small rodent he pries off a little wheel and sets out in a clear sphere to roll about on the bridge, or something.

To say nothing of his brothers' behaviours.

They won't show it in a group, but he knows the Astartes beneath him preen at your every query.

It's complete lunacy.

It's heresy.

You must have somehow beguiled them all, just like you've done him.

But you're still right there—right where he wants you.

And damn it all, does he want you.

He wants—he wants you on your front, squirming underneath him. No, wait, he wants to see you—but then you'd need to be on top. He can watch, like that. Then afterwards he'll have you on your back, perhaps. Why not sideways? You're already like that, now. Or—or... who's he kidding, he'd take anything, and everything.

Throne, he's so hard he swears he is going to have a brain haemorrhage. He feels like he's already had one, honestly, for all his thoughts are hazing. It's a million leagues worse than the time you'd accidentally called him 'Lord Sicarius' by accident instead of your usual choice of 'Commander' and Throne, he'd rubbed himself raw after that.

Maybe if you weren't such a whorish little wretch, his fantasies wouldn't be running so rabid right now.

You wriggle and your half-covered back slides up against his front.

Cato's never held himself stiller in his life.

Your skin feels like fine silk to his spiralling mind; and even worse, your damnable wriggling doesn't stop. You start making little movements with your feet to try to get circulation back in them—and again, there's a fey similarity to your behaviours and some soaked rodent he recognises.

Decidedly, you've realised it's not enough and promptly jut your feet backwards between his quads. Still continuing the motions, but more furiously.

The touch is dangerously close to the cradle of his inner thighs.

He swears he actually feels the blood drain from his face in mortification. The touch is meagre, but it's real. It's more warming than any he's ever known. And of course, to add insult to injury, that blood drains straight to were he's already painfully hard—which is currently pushed against his navel, halfway jutting out of his bodyglove's zipper.

Thankfully, you withdraw yourself from between his legs and sigh again, snug.

Then, you shuffle closer.

Your rear scuds right up to the swell of his confined cock.

Cato's immediately beside himself in an instant, flying into a rainbow of emotion. First, he's disgusted. Then he's seething at the audacity—which makes him furious—and finally, he's... he's ecstatic.

He groans, raring like some rutting animal; but the sound ultimately leaves him as an angry, subvocal snarl of transhuman harmonics.

You flinch, and wriggle away sharply, and he repeats the sound again at the loss of contact. You're only a hair away from being there still, he can feel how close you are—but you remain just beyond him again.

"My—my apologies, Commander... I-I—" you blurt out, voice still a little chill stuttered, "I didn't... I didn't mean to overstep."

He inhales steadily. He notes you're doused in human stress hormones; but he's acutely aware of a honeyed smell just below the surface. It's so suffocatingly sugary it's actually hurting his nose to scent the air. It's addling his thoughts, turning his focus to mist.

He can smell you failing to juggle all the reactions and thankfully rottenly settling for the one that makes you reek of mollasses.

"Come back, shut up," he hisses. "And stay still."

Sweet-stink radiates again before you swallow sharply.

There's an eternal breath of time in which he's about to go mad with anticipation, and the instant you're slotted against him again.

Some base urgency sends him frotting forward, and the thick, leaking head of him that peaks out the top of his zip brushes against a warm cunt; all thanks to that blanket of yours having slipped loose slightly, and lo, the blessed horrid consequence.

He'd live off the way your surprised gasp makes his nerves thrill.

"Is—" you wheeze, "Is that...?"

He grimaces, unsurprised you're ever stupider than you look. Recklessly, instead of lying—instead of saying 'no, it's a combat knife,' his mouth decides he's to act the most pathologically honest town crier alive.

"It," he intones sharply, before the words "...is your fault," leave him as a rushed hiss.

A belated pause wins out for a moment, and he's mortified as he realises what he's just confessed. There's a leaden feeling at the back of his throat. One option to recover the situation is that he could just hit you on the head. What'd be a shiner of a punch to a brother would be a terminal concussion to a baseline. Then, he'd tell the Primarch, oh yes, you died. Very sad. How? To shreds. To shreds you say? Truthfully, he can't really bring any actual conviction to the plan. He wouldn't. The notion is merely a hypothetical, in a perfect world where violence solved everything. Because if you die, Guilliman will send him to an Agri-world to be some peasant's plough-puller or someshit for a few centuries—and Cato's going to kill himself before he has to suffer that indignity. Uriel would never let him live it down. He's bound to suffer the same consequences, ultimately. Even if he's got no idea what an Astartes with a sex drive would be liable to be punished for. Oh, right. Corruption. So now, there's a credible witness to his flaw and one that his Father'll believe, worst of all, and... abruptly, you reply instead of scream in revulsion, your voice a mumbled little squeak as you say, "I didn't know—I mean, I didn't think—"

"Believe me, I am well aware you lack the capacity to think," Cato cuts in, and swallows down a snort at his own mean spirited joke. He's fucked, and for some reason he's suddenly further struck by the hilarity of the bastard, warp-spawn wiles of fate and chance. May as well be hung for the sheep as for a lamb, he decides.

Your breathing gains a shallow edge, and he feels you make as if to inch away again.

"I said not to move," He growls, and keeps you flush against him—holding you there by way of folding an arm across you.

"I just... uh," you reply, "I'm just..."

Your ass grinds back against him.

There's contact, your skin against the flushed, drooling head of him that feels painfully tender—and then you ruin it by speaking again.

"Curious, I suppose...? I was of the belief the Adeptus Astartes didn't..." your voice is soft, at least; slow and distracted, "Have an appetite for... this sort of thing?"

Cato momentarily stays fixated on the breathiness of your tone, and has to remind himself he's supposed to be angry at being robbed of silence—so he grumbles, "I told you to shut your trap," and promptly smothers a palm over your mouth.

You make a noise that sounds vaguely like a mumbled curse and settle, breathing hard through your nose to compensate.

Still, your rear presses back against him.

Cato takes the gesture at face value and fusses, roughly wrenching his bodyglove down to his thighs with his free hand.

Unconfined, his cock slaps the small of your back, and he manhandles you to readjust so it glides between your thighs instead.

Everything in place, he skews his hips forward, and his eyes roll back at the smooth, sublime drag of skin against skin. It's genuine perfection, wet and soft and molten.

The little hitched breaths you steal through your nose with each roll of his hips make him grind faster. Pressing closer with each, until the abhorrent, sticky sound of him steadily fucking against you is nigh deafening.

"I go in or I stay out," he says, and he can feel his molars grate against each other as he adds, "...or I can stop."

You shake your head furiously, or at least as much as the huge mitt on your chin, maw and jaw allows.

"Then decide," he snaps. "In?"

Cato hears the cartilage in your gullet move as you swallow dryly and nod.

Chuffed with your allowance compliance, he hums—and then it's his turn to hesitate.

When he draws his hand from your mouth, he curtly says, "Stay silent," and starts as if to tell you to arrange one way, then decides against it; dithering uncharacteristically. Then, rarer yet, Cato stumbles his words as he adds, "Move on to y-your front, then."

He doesn't know why he asked for the least preferred option when he'd been deliberating over the hypothetical for so long previously but nonetheless you, miraculously, comply without complaint. And despite himself he frustrates as you roll, his cock slipping away from between your thighs.

Draped in covers, he can't see much of you aside from the shape of you slowly arranging onto your hands and knees; before your chest sinks, and your ass stays up.

Like a rabid dog, he scrambles onto his haunches and scuds over behind you.

He's not entirely sure what to do first, and harrumphs.

In answer, your back arches even further in a dangerously luring bow, a display of willingness whorishness that turns Cato's thoughts to mush. Ass up and still in the pile, covered in blankets and rags, it's painfully easy to tug you from them just enough so that a decent portion of your raised lower half is exposed to him.

All he's able to comprehend the very next instant in some hind-brain, primitive way is a shapely ass, and a pretty pink cunt.

He grabs your hip, and the size comparison is so stark his head swims. With the span of one hand, he could palm a whole globe of your rear.

He does just that, and spreads you to take a nice long look.

You've a glossy sheen of clear slick that's starting to string down where it's collecting between your labia, and Throne—it's that. That's the sweet smell. And it's all for him—you're everything he's wanted.

Inspecting, he finds the hole leaking lubricant and a much, much smaller one below it—the vagina and then the urethra, he reasons by way of thinking back on a baseline biologis graphics; and, eyeing lower to a hooded fold, he finds a swollen little nub.

Pointedly, he's got a suspicion of what it is and turns his curiosity to it.

It's an easy target for his large thumb, even as slippery as your lust has made you, and—

A shaky little keen, then your knees pull together; body curling.

"Keep your damn legs apart," he grunts, wrenching them wide, and splaying a big palm on your ass to lift you into an arch again.

He's tempted to just bask in the glory of it all, grope, smack, lick—make you beg for it until he's sure you know he's in charge. Until you're as high strung for him as he's ever been for you. But he's frenzied, and well beyond being able to linger on those broader wants; not when he's got an Ambassador to fill.

He's aware of what your clit's really for now, and keeps rolling the pad of his thumb over it until you're squirming. It doesn't take long until your hole is visibly twitching. Nothing but a sloppy, wet mess of your own whorish excitement for him, as you ought to be. Cato bites back a longing sigh as he gets the delight of watching a fresh rivulet of slick string down your thigh.

And when he works up the gall, he jams that same thumb to the hilt in your cunt.

Your insides squeeze around it, and you start shaking, then. But it's not from the cold. No, anything but that. You're warm now, and he's deliriously happy to find you're as soft inside as the rest of you looks and feels. Warp damn him, he's no better than some slavering genestealer wretch fiending for its pound of flesh.

Your smaller baseline frame makes every part of him look huge in comparison. Even his thumb is big. And you're so much less—and the fact the disparity is so glaringly obvious plays havoc with his brain; but he's got an idea. An idea that he refuses to acknowledge sounding painfully like a boarding action to him.

With little tact, he sidles up and positions himself so his tip slots right against you, while stretching your opening with his thumb.

Lining himself up with his other hand, he nudges your entrance, smearing precum in with your wetness while inching forward; sliding his thumb out in tandem with pushing his cock in—and his efforts succeed.

Cato's transfixed watching the head of himself fill the gap, sliding in—and you let out a muffled yelp, still half-buried in the blankets like some stuck animal; your thighs juddering as you suck in air.

Honestly, he's glad you've smothered yourself like that, because he can't imagine keeping it together if you were actively watching him. He thinks the stark reality of it would have him run right out of the shack. Even the idea of having your pretty damning eyes on him makes him swoon sick.

With an over-eager roll of his hips, a shiver races up his spine. But he earns a cry from you.

He takes a deep breath.

There's a twinge of pain-smell and the vaguest hint of blood in the air, but it's impermanent compared to the amount of lust.

He pushes a little more, and you ripple internally around him; making a racketing, breathless noise—twitching before slacking, and then twitching again. A few perfect little moans escaping you at last.

Abruptly, all he's able to give a fuck about is the sensation of wet and hot, and how you're finally all his—it's a strangling fit, but it's satisfying a craving bone-deep. Infinitely better than his war calloused hands.

You feel sublime, and it's pure bliss finally getting what he's wanted for so very long.

All those rest cycles wasted furiously humping into his own clenched hand, all those hours of torment seething about your latest unintended slight against him.

He's so dazed by the new sensation he's massaging small circles with his fingers on your flank, humming lowly. Who would have known all he really needed was to hilt in a warm, velvety, absolutely sopping wet cunt to come around to you? Maybe you're not so bad afterall. That is, for an insufferable little cock-sleeve; but it's nothing Cato can't grin and bare. He can almost imagine tolerating further babysitting assignments, if it means he can use you as a hole to ram his frustrations into like this.

He continues petting you, absentmindedly.

But the involuntary mercy didn't stop you from jackknifing when he bucks in more—each little motion seating him deeper and deeper. He's stunned he fits. You're so... small, and Throne, he feels monstrous even fixating upon the disparity; nevermind the shiver that races up his spine at the thought.

He yanks you backward and you stop squirming for a moment.

When your wriggling starts up again, he holds you still with the sheer willpower only a neurotic control-freak could muster. He stops your motion, yes—but your insides also stop shivering around his cock and he's resentful of that.

Nonetheless, you make to move again then, keening and bothering him; but you're seemingly struck daft when he bottoms out at last, hitting your cervix. Your internal muscles tense on the intrusion, practically cramping around him, blinding him with ecstasy for a heartbeat as you clench down hard; and a squeak of surprise escapes you. Your legs lock stiff for a moment, air venting out your lungs in shock.

You garble out a sweet, hoarse curse that sounds more like a sob than anything.

Cato supposes the theatrics are what an orgasm on something his size does to a woman. And he finds he's appallingly keen to see and hear you do it again. Keen to feel it, too. He adjusts himself and grinds, making sure you're getting every bit he's got to give. It's no small feat of restraint from Cato to not simply drive into you with all his might like a hydraulic press.

Maybe that'll make your tight little hole cinch up again? He thinks you'd like that. No—no, you should be begging for him to keep fucking you. You should be thanking him while you're at it too, really. Thanking him for deigning to take you to begin with.

Your arch falls away to a prone slump with a whine, thighs trembling, leaving him straining forward to stay in you.

He is irate at your antics, now; and his retaliation betrays it.

Cato seizes your hips and yanks you back up his cock, shimmying you a little so he's nice and sheathed and stuffing you full, nigh folded under him. Warm cunt stretched taut around the base of his thick cock, like a perfect scabbard.

He's suddenly absorbed in watching your covered form consciously trying to counter the overwhelming forward mass of him starting to drive into you like he was part battering-ram.

"Better than all those limp-dicked, bastard lordlings you've let empty in you to even chance a cushion near my Primarch's table, hm?" His tone is little more than a scathing drawl, pulling almost entirely out of you just to dip the head of himself in.

You moan into the fabric smothering you, and he holds you with a controlled desperation.

"Answer me, you little shit."

He watches you nodding desperately beneath the cover a second later, failing to get an actual reply out around your huffing and puffing.

Cato groans, "Far keener for Astartes cock, aren't you?"

You nod again, needy.

"Throne, you're pathetic," he chides harshly, delighting in the soft whine of protest you make when pulls out to the tip one last time. "All that haughty bullshit, just to turn out to be so—so easy," then he's sliding back to the hilt and starting his rutting anew, grinding into that perfect spot that has your insides shiver around him again and again. "Isn't that right? This is all you're really good for?"

Beneath him, you're too much of an insensible mess to even think about answering; and somewhere in that depraved miasma of sound, he swears you're trying to say his name.

So, understandably, he inches forward on his knees and boxes you under him. Pinning you under the span of his bulk, two big hands firmly planted either side of your blanketed head.

He can see a few strands of your hair sticking out from beneath it and he can see the fog of your breath and the tip of your nose through a tented section, and only one of your hands—clawing out at the scraps of fabric.

"Prick-dumb animal," he sneers, flagrantly showboating; trying to sound as if he's not feigning lucidity and completely at the mercy of his lust.

He drops from his hands to rest on his elbows, manoeuvring a forearm under your head to prop your chin up. He's so bent over you that your ass is practically glued to his massive pelvis.

You can't stifle yourself now.

The sounds you make when he starts ploughing into you again are unrestrained and absolutely debauched. Practically music to his ears. He can feel your saliva smearing across his arm, and he's absolutely stupefied at the mantra of 'Sicarius, S-Sicarius, Sica-ah—rius—' you start panting. To say nothing of the keening whimpers that escape when you're not crying out for him. Louder with each thrust, and warp damn it all—his perfect memory is never going to let those gorgeous sounds go. He's going to fiend off you mewling his surname like a full dose of battle-chems until he fucking dies.

Cato groans and delights in the involuntary squeeze you make around his cock again; your hips skewing up into his own, meeting him.

He just wants one more thing—he wants—no, needs—he needs to hear you scream his name in that reedy voice. Telling him that you like him playing guard for you, and you're all his and you love hi—

Rather abruptly however, you're cinching down on his cock as you come again. Throne, your cunt may as well be Marneus' clenched powerfist the way you're wringing him for everything he's got. Crying out like you're inconsolable, and so painfully eager and—oh, fuck. He tries to hold off, but it's of little use. The dam cracks, and it's all too much for him far too quickly.

"You rotten w-whore—" the words leave him in between ragged, staggered pants, gritting his teeth even though it's achieving absolutely nothing. "Stop s-squeezing, I-I—"

He's finishing in you the next second and letting out a rough, unbecoming moan instead of the rest of his sentence; despite trying to muffle himself against your shoulder and save face. Emptying all his pent up spend as deep as he can inside you and rutting himself deliriously into oversensitivity. The simple feeling of it is a more profound experience than he can even begin to explain—and he's rendered daft. Fighting just to stay awake against the warm, coddling bliss running rife in his nerves as his muscles twitch.

Still trying to recuperate, he's drunk with afterglow for a few seconds. Head beside yours, sharing the same air and hurried breaths.

In his stupor, he notes that your hair smells nice even after everything. And he tuts softly, resting his eyes. Lulled by the soft sound of your hyperventilating evening out and the continuous, weak fluttering of your cunt around him, hot and tight, and still a perfect fit.

He almost understands why mortal men so frequently fought over baseline women, now.

Almost.

Because then you start squirming again.

Pointedly, he opens his eyes and begrudgingly lifts himself away, slipping free and leaving a big sloppy smear of combined fluids across your ass and thighs as he settles into a kneel.

You're still presenting yourself as Cato scrubs a palm across his face, and blinks slowly.

He glances down for a moment and swallows.

He's hard—still.

Just as ready to rut as he was to start with, despite the fact he's only just finished.

And, much like a beast in season, he genuinely contemplates another round—what would be the harm, anyways? He could be sliding himself back into you, right then, and he doubted you'd do anything but buck up to meet him. So much for some diplomatic prodigy. You're little more than a mewling wreck. And what better way to prove it than another wet layer of your mixed fluids on his cock?

A soft sound escapes you abruptly and he looks back to the place he's itching to slam back inside of.

A few fat rivulets of his cum drip out your abused entrance, but you're too well-screwed to even care, it seems.

He thumbs one of your folds aside and smiles smugly at the mess.

You poor thing, it must be so humbling to be put in your place. He hopes it felt good. Having your better's cum leaking out of you like a banner on a conquered fortress.

He's tempted to stuff his spend back into you and give you another load to drip. Let it leak down your thighs as you pad past his men on the flagship, that'd make them well aware of who you really admire—

At that brilliant jarring thought, blazing post-clarity arrived; an abrupt and unsettling feeling. The fact he'd even—even dignified your almost Slaneeshi-tier temptation—the fact he's raring to go again—he must already reek of your lust, and you of his—and Emperor have mercy, one quick scenting betrays everything, his men would tell their Father, and—you—you groan and worm yourself back under the blanket, likely truly feeling the chill now without his body to warm you.

The urge to say something becomes almost suffocating all at once, and Cato opens his mouth—just to be interrupted by a beep.

Hesitation seizes him, and he eyes his pile of half-frozen attire in the far corner.

Eighteen and a half seconds pass and it beeps again, indicating a second for every minute of arrival estimation.

The tracker beacon has finally done it's job.

But the matter of hastily cleaning up what insanity just happened becomes the real concern now.

Suddenly stuffed to the brim with adrenaline, Cato gets to his feet with Astartesian speed. He tries to take a step but sways, almost toppling. Looking down, he realises himself; and gingerly stoically waddles marches away from you, his bodysuit stuck around his knees. There's a cupboard in the other corner, covered in a frosted cobweb that looks a little like gossamer. Rifling through it provides him little. Most of it's contents are iced through, but a bottle of what stinks like absinthe is good enough, and he doesn't think it matters what he cleans up with. He definitely does doesn't look like a servitor on broken wheels as he scuds on his heels back beside your pile. And if he suffers any more injuries to his ego, they definitely don't include him bungling a kneel and being forced to wobble down on to his haunches. It's not his fault he's mentally accommodating for power armour that, currently, isn't there.

Pausing, he pokes the mound of scraps you're under, trying to rouse you.

When your answer to his 'kinder' effort results in you whining and curling up tighter, he settles for tossing any mercy out the window with a petulant grunt; and identifies the shape of one of your legs and tugs you half-free by your ankle like a speared fish, earning a yelp as the cold assaults you.

Grabbing one of the loose rags in your pile, he saturates it with spirit and scoops you up under the hips, before starting to wipe away the evidence.

You begin thrashing almost immediately when the rag makes contact. Then you're practically yowling, "It hurts, it h-hurts—wait, wait—" and okay—yes, maybe using high proof alcohol to clean the smell and slime of his cum off your freshly fucked hole wasn't his best idea. In his defence, you're one of the most stubborn baselines he's ever met, and you should learn to handle a little pain. Secondly, booze is the only thing that stays liquid at freezing.

"Enough with the bloody caterwauling, woman," he barks, effortlessly holding you steady despite your struggling. "It's not that bad, toughen the fuck up."

When he's done with you, he's actually remorseful of the situation. Certainly not his finest choice. Because now you're sniffling weakly, fussing about the residual stinging; and then you promptly scramble back under the blanket.

"There was nothing else I could use, okay?" He says sourly, scowling at the bundle of fabric you disappear into; before tossing the soiled rag he'd used to clean you into the fireplace to ignite.

He grabs another from the pile and douses it, wiping himself off—and at last, he's finally able to start to pull his bodyglove up over his hips. Wiggling and straining to fit the thick, skin-tight material over his still very much erect cock.

From the edge of his vision he can see you've peaked your head out to watch as he fixes the sternum latch in place.

He gives you a cursory glance, but nothing more.

He ultimately expects you to look away like the mouse you are—but no, what actually happens is worse. You just keep silently raking him with an expression that makes him feel like he's made of glass and every secret he's ever had or ever known is laid bare.

He can't stand it.

It makes Cato want to sneer at you fiercely in the hopes it would scare you off, remind you he's an exemplar of the Adeptus Astartes and shouldn't be stared at—something, anything except that look.

"Get up," he turns sharply and snorts.

The beeping is once every two and a half seconds, now.

Two and a half minutes, then.

"You let me fuck you," he bites out.

You're sitting now. Covered in one of the larger articles of rags. A tartan, fraying thing crumpled atop you, frowning and looking dejected. Then you open your mouth to speak but promptly stop. He can tell you're trying to form a diplomatic reply, and he grumbles, fuming.

"Tell anyone of this—" Cato's well aware he's being cruel as he adds, "—and I'll wring your little neck, Father's favourite pet or not."

You finally look away.

And he finds he can't stand that either.

So, to souse his bruised ego, Cato decides he's going to burn the shack down as soon as the transport lands and you're onboard.

He also decides he's going to burn that tacky formal tunic of his too, simply because he can.

#warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #cato sicarius #warhammer fanfic #ultramarines #reader insert #cato sicarius x reader #warhammer 40k #my bad everyone i got lost in the sauce this long af #writing

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lxnarphase · 2 months ago

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do you have any advice for new writers who want to start posting on tumblr?

Oh man, I'm gonna give you a list of things I wish I could've told myself when I first started posting.

Some Basic Tips:

Don't be scared to post! You'll never see growth in your followers, mutuals, and even your writing if you don't post!

Be open to asking others for help or advice if you struggle with writing. I sometimes ask some of my mutuals for help or read fanfiction to see how others write a scene. Then, I take the knowledge and write it in my own way. For example, I do well with writing dialogue but find myself always struggling with how to start the story.

Don't be afraid to post about non-writing things, too! Remember, you deserve to have fun on your account, so post what you want. You aren't a machine. You are a person!

The number of notes you get doesn't determine your worth or skill in writing. In my opinion, Tumblr has shifted a bit, making it harder for smaller writers to get likes, reblogs, or comments on their works.

But at the end of the day, in order to enjoy being a writing blog on Tumblr, you have to enjoy what you are writing and posting. Do not feel like you have to force yourself to write just for the numbers, let it happen naturally. Things will start out slow at first, as all things do, but you'll get to a point where you can barely keep up with things.

Post and Blog Formatting + Style:

Formatting is really important! Break up paragraphs, ask a friend to be a beta reader, and for longer works, go back and proofread if you have the time! It's okay if you have minor mistakes, though. I tend to miss things in my writing, and when I return a week later, I just fix them. No big deal!

Nowadays, aesthetics is HUGE for fanfiction posts and your account. Channel your creativity and style! Make your blog super pretty in your own way! It can be pink and cutesy, black and edgy, simple and clean, or colorful and cluttered! Don't have a blank blog!

PUT YOUR AGE CLEARLY SOMEWHERE! In your bio, pinned post, SOMEWHERE IT IS EASY TO SEE. I have had writing accounts follow me but no age, so I don't feel comfortable engaging with them.

You can take inspiration from other accounts (don't outright copy, though) on how they format their fanfictions. You will probably notice a lot of accounts have headers, dividers, or colored text. You can do that too, as it can catch the readers attention.

I get headers from doujins and mangas I read, websites such as Pinterest are good for cute ones, and Twitter is your go-to for more NSFW headers.

Create a tagging system to make navigating your blog easier, and have a pinned post with links to your rules/byf/masterlist/etc.

Try to put warnings in your writing. A lot of people have filters on to avoid the types of content they don't want to see, but there are the occasional people who don't put warnings in the writing post itself. It could be a simple tag or a list of themes at the beginning of the post.

An example would be a post with the tag #dubcon #tw dubcon OR putting "cw: dubcon" in the post itself before the writing itself.

This is a tag vs. in the actual post

Tagging and Reblogs

Speaking of tags, USE THE TAGGING SYSTEM! If you don't tag your post with popular fanfiction tags, it will be hard for people to find you.

Only the first twenty tags will show up in Tumblr search, including your own blog. Reblogs will not show up in tracked tags or searches.

However, don't feel bad for reblogging your own works again. Do it as many times as you want. You created something and should feel proud of it! I still reblog things from January just because.

Making Mutuals

Don't be afraid to engage with other accounts. That's how you make friends on here! But here's something important:

Be genuine. Make mutuals because you enjoy each other's work, AND both have fun talking with each other! If someone doesn't add you back as a mutual, that is okay; don't feel like they have something against you! Making mutuals shouldn't be your only goal when posting on Tumblr. Otherwise, you might tire yourself out mentally. It took me a while to make mutuals on here, but I'm glad it did it naturally instead of trying to force it.

Asks and Anons

Once you build a following, you will get the most wonderful, loving, and supportive anons in your inbox! Cherish them, respond to them, and have fun with them! Because there is a very high chance, you will also get assholes in your inbox.

I say this from the bottom of my heart but do NOT give hateful people your attention because that is what they thrive on. I still get them, but when I tell you I am at so much peace, I block and delete the messages and carry on.

If a certain message bothers me for a bit, then I just take a little break, talk to some friends about what happened, and do what helps me calm down so I don't act rashly. Don't be afraid to turn off anonymous messages for a while. This is YOUR blog, not theirs.

Don't feel pressured to answer every ask or fulfill every request. Take your time because that can burn you out! I love socializing so much, but sometimes I just pull a blank on how to respond to my asks. I always ensure my mutuals and followers know that I'm not ignoring them and just tend to go blank-brained with some asks, OR I save some of them to look at when I'm sad!

Overall, just start and DO IT FOR YOURSELF.

That's the best advice for when you want to make anything. You just have to start posting and learning and improving as you go on. Hopefully, this will sort of help. I know it's not the best list of advice, but it's just some things I would tell myself back when I first started.

If you have any other questions, I can try my best to answer them!

#˗ˏˋ ★ check it out .ᐟ #this is much longer than i meant it to be #SO SORRY #˗ˏˋ ★ guides .ᐟ

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gallus-rising · 3 months ago

Text

mp100 horror fic recs 👻🎃

For a while now I've been thinking about mp100's amazing horror potential and how it really doesn't get enough attention. SO! For the spooky season why don't you settle down with a nice scary story ;D

All of these fics are complete and have no shipping. I've only linked 1 fic per author so this list doesn't get bloated, but all of these wonderful authors have other fics just waiting for you to read them ❤ Some definitely freaked me out more than others, but I'm not gonna give any particular ratings since "scary" is so subjective. All fics are properly tagged and you know your own limits better than I do.

Also feel free to add on your own recs!! My general reading preferences and parameters when making this list is only a small sampling, so please share any and all of your favs ❤ Hope you enjoy!

If you see an "N/A" instead of a Tumblr UN that means there wasn't one linked in either the fics' notes or author's bio. If you know the author or are the author yourself feel free to let me know so I can edit the post :] And now in no particular order I present:

The Immeasurable Dark: @tinkertoysdamn Immediately breaking my own "no ships" rule just this once because I can't resist a good House of Leaves inspired story! If you've read HoL is you know what's up. If not expect a fucked-up house and impossibly large spaces, funky text formatting and footnotes, maybe a minotaur. Ship featured is background established serirei.

a pilgrimage: @tooomuchtofu Divine Tree arc bad ending. Told from the PoV of an unnamed worshiper on their first visit to "the capital" aka an overgrown Seasoning City. Uses second person pov wonderfully to build the dread.

And Who Is Killing Me?: @sammisafetypin Koyama beats the shit outta Mob a little harder than in canon, hospitalizing him and delaying the 7th Division rescue arc by [TIME NOT FOUND]. The Awakening Lab kids are so minor I tend to forget they even exist, but oh my god does this author make you care about them! This fic is written with great suddenly swapping PoVs that keep you feeling off kilter without making you lose track of the story. It's the longest fic on this list by far but 100% worth every second of it. A real gut punch.

Adoration: (N/A) The Divine Tree takes a particular interest in Reigen. I don't think I've ever seen anyone properly touch on how creepy the Psycho Helm constructs themselves are like this fic has. God, those things freak me out so much. Features "shipping" in the sense of a sentient broccoli becoming fixated on a guy. Keep in mind that the Psycho Helms look like Mob if you think that'll squick you out, but for me personally it added to the horror.

Similarities: (N/A) Reigen receives a fucked up email. Ends on the sillier side, but BOY is that email fucked up!

The Water Ran Clean: @bandtrees A Mogami-mentors-Mob AU and a damn fine one at that. Love the sort of fragmented style it's written in, and the exploration of Mogami's fucked up moral code is great. There's some Choice viscerally described imagery here 👌👌 Features a drawing of Mob covered in blood just in case that freaks you out; but worry, it's not his :]

An Outlier Among a Sea of Common Denominators: @hebezunet A rewrite of the early Divine Tree arc that asks the question we've all been too scared to consider: What if the brainwashing was like cordyceps? In particular I want to highlight the opening scene where after eating the broccoli powder cookies Teru has to physically rip florets out of his body to resist being brainwashed. Very gnarly stuff.

Prison Surveillance: (N/A) Touichirou was a very bad boss so Hatori pulls a The Ring to torment him in Psychic Supermax Prison. Was written pre-season 3 so Hatori doesn't work for the government.

Stairs: (N/A) Reigen and Mob have a job in the woods. There are some stairs. Inspired by an r/nosleep story which the author links to if you'd like to check that out as well.

Fight, Flight, or Fraud: @cowardlybean So everyone's got a really specific supernatural fear, right? Something that could absolutely never happen in real life but when you see it in media it freaks you the fuck out? Mine is someone I know being killed and replaced by an evil doppelganger and I'm the only one who knows. I've not seen anything since The Magnus Archives that's properly captured that fear like this fic, which is some of the highest praise I can bestow.

In Quicksand: @ghoststrawberries Reigen catches a nasty cold and by that I mean he gets possessed. Very fun the way Reigen's train of thought and feeling shifts around as the evil spirit tries to influence him while he's unconsciously resisting it. The scene where the gang realizes Reigen's been possessed is a real "OOOOOH, SHIT!!!" moment, but I won't spoil ;D

Playing Human: (N/A) Espers and psychic powers might not be real but spirits are. Poor baby Mob is a ghost possessing his own dead body. Features Dimple as the bad guy.

Mithridatism: If I may be so self-indulgent to list one of my own fics here :3 Absorbing evil spirits while still alive was actively killing Mogami and I wanted to dig into that! Features my Signature™ (lol) "HEY, DON'T EAT THAT!!" style of body horror.

#mp100 #shigeo kageyama #reigen arataka #dimple #serizawa katsuya #ritsu kageyama #mogami keiji #fanfic recs #horror #(i wasn't sure if i should tag every single character so i just picked the major recurring ones >.>)#*furious pecking*

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cornfieldsrambles · 6 months ago

Note

I saw your explanation about lords in black and I have a question: tgwdlm the main lord in black is pokey, in black friday it is wiggly, and in npmd, who would it be?

oh god that post is going to haunt me forever (joke)

well, NPMD isn't really that simple I don't think. It's all of them. All five Lords in Black. And I think that makes sense.

Let me back up and explain. So NPMD happened after both Nightmare Times had been released. Obviously NPMD had been "in the works" before then, but for the actual finished show, I think Starkid assumed that a substantial amount of the people watching would've seen Nightmare Time. So I reckon they wanted to give something new to those people, while also not excluding people who hadn't watched it. That's just my assumption, though.

Not every Nightmare Time story is directly related to the Lords in Black.* About half the episodes have a bit more of a 'monster of the week' vibe. Hatchetfield Ape-Man, Forever and Always, Perky’s Buds and Killer Track are some examples. Generally, the pattern goes: a monster of the week, then a Lord in Black, then a monster of the week, then a Lord in Black.**

So when NPMD rolled around and (again, this is kind of me speculating) Starkid wanted to give something new/rewarding to those who watched Nightmare Time, while accommodating those who didn't, so they decided to do both. A particularly memorable and exciting monster-of-the-week is the main event, and we also get to see the Lords. Hatchetfield lore is referenced but you don't need to know much about it, and the stuff you do need to know is communicated through what the characters learn. The Waylons were in a cult and had their weird book which they used to worship Wiggly and co., and now they're dead and their house is cursed or something. Got it.

The other thing about Nightmare Time is... we've already seen each Lord in action. Heck, including TGWDLM we've seen Pokey twice. So what's better than one Lord in Black? FIVE LORDS IN BLACK!!!!!

So having not just Wiggly, but ALL of the Lords - with brand new Tumblr sexyman forms to boot - and showing them in a new and interesting role of pretty much the Deus Ex Machina of the show (this is hands-down the most helpful they've ever been) is something that feels very new and very rewarding to NMT watchers. Like "Oh my god! I know those guys! But it's all of them! This rules!"***

But also, showing Wiggly again gives the non-NMT watchers something to latch onto. Showing his brothers is in itself the new exciting thing, like "Oh my god, it's Wiggly! Wait - there's more of him? What the hell?!" At its core, their purpose in the plot is simple and comprehensible. It's deal-with-the-devil plotline, it's not rocket science. That, and showing all the Lords and dropping crumbs of lore could also get non-NMT watchers excited and interested, and would hopefully entice them to watch Nightmare Time. (Which I am once again encouraging you to do! There's so much you're missing out on!)

So TL;DR - My guess is that Starkid wanted the show to be rewarding to Nightmare Time watchers, and accessible to non-NMT watchers. They did this by combining the two main Nightmare Time episode formats (monster of the week and Lords in Black) in a way that felt new and exciting, wasn't too lore heavy to confuse non-NMTs, but was just lore-y enough to get them interested and feeling rewarding for NMT watchers who already knew about this stuff. So that's why they used all five Lords.

Wow I did not mean for this to turn out so long, I am sorry lol

*If you want to be pedantic, you could say everything/most things in Hatchetfield lead back to things like the Witchwood or the Starry Children or whatever, which arguably lead back to the Lords, but what I mean is not every Nightmare Time is about one or more Lord in Black directly making a mess. The 'monster of the week' things I mentioned are all related to stuff that happened years and years ago, so they don't count as much.

**Okay, NMT2 doesn't really stick to this formula as cleanly, but that doesn't really matter for my point.

***This was pretty much my reaction, after a lot of incoherent excited yelling lmao

#hatchetfield #nightmare time #the guy who didn't like musicals #black friday #starkid #team starkid #the lords in black #hatchetfield lore #hatchetverse #nerdy prudes must die

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novacorpsrecruit · 6 months ago

Text

Theme: social media / modern media AU

Don’t Hate the Player by daynight (Ao3) @daynightinc (tumblr)

M | wc 6,373 | minor cw cut scene cyber sex (I read it at work 🫡)

Steve Harrington doesn't really play video games. Not his thing.

Somehow, however, he's ended up in an utterly delusional, one-sided relationship with an NPC.

This is so fucking unique I’m literally hanging it up Video Game Hall of Fame. Rochester, here I come. Steve is bullied into playing ‘Upside Down’ an 18+ MMORG, as Dustin tells him the most efficient way to get a hold of him is through [reads notes] the in-game messaging system. Sounds right. Steve gets enamored with the game, playing hours on end even without Dustin. And Steve finds Keswardia the Banished, an NPC merchant, that he can’t stop visiting.

I’ll be honest I fucking love video game lore. It’s one thing that sucks me into games so hard. The world building in this fic just for the video game is so good!! I want to eat it up. And the fact that Steve stumbles into Keswardia destroys me. Read it, you’ll get it.

Gareth the Matchmaker by Steviesbicrisis (Ao3) @steviesbicrisis (tumblr)

G | 15/16 chapters | no cw

Gareth is in charge of the Corroded Coffin official TikTok account, he's playing Fuck Marry Kill with the three random celebrities filters and trying to make the other guys join as well.

When it's Eddie's turn, he's having none of it until he sees the three celebrities on top of his head.

He has no clue who these people are, but the one in the middle? Eddie is sure he's going to marry him someday.

Eddie has yet to find out that the guy is none other than baseball player Steve Harrington, 1/3 of the "Ladykiller Trio", currently playing for the Yomiuri Giants. In Japan.

And when things get too complicated for Eddie's liking, thankfully he has Gareth on his side.

I honestly think this is the first time I’ve ever read a social media AU that’s only through images and with a complete story. There’s screenshots of the text messages, Instagram, news articles, TikTok’s. This is such a unique storytelling method and everyone is so in character, you forget that it’s not real screenshots. (I hardly ever read anything that’s incomplete but I made sure to hit subscribe when I first saw it was on Ao3.) It’s a WIP, but chapter 16 is supposed to be an epilogue, so even if you don’t like reading WIPs, I highly encourage this one!!

WHO IS EDDIE MUNSON FUCKING by beetlesandstars, witchjeons (ao3)

M | wc 2,445 | no cw

Summary: eddie: oh god

oh no god please no

FUCK

FUCK FCUK FUCK FCK FUCK

NOBODY LOOK NOBODY SCROLL UP

PLEASE

nancy: did you actually just sext the fucking group chat

eddie: so. like

Or, Eddie accidentally sends a sext to the group chat. Chaos ensues.

I fucking die reading this. This is an entire fic made of chat rooms and it’s so fUCKING funny I’m not even joking.

Eddie accidentally opens a can of worms when he sends the wrong message to the wrong chat and chaos ensues. All of their personalities fit so well in a modern setting and it feels like you’re snooping in someone’s phone. I really recommend anything that Jo writes that has chats (and in general)!

Eddie Munson/Hotdude Official Megatherad! By MixAddams (ao3) @mixsethaddams (tumblr)

T | wc 1,906 | cw Reddit simulation

Summary: The general public spent 30 years thinking nothing of Steve’s presence in pictures beyond him being ‘that one hot dude in the background’ because whatever, he was just another part of Corroded Coffin’s entourage.

Imagine the scramble on the band’s subreddit to reexamine every picture he’s ever been in when, the day gay marriage gets legalised in Indiana, Eddie posts a picture on Instagram of the two of them with the caption “Finally. We’ve been engaged since 1989.”

(Because of the formatting is infinitely clearer on desktop or tablets than on mobile)

I absolutely love this. This is literally peering into the Stranger Things universe in 2Kwhatever and peering into the mess that is Reddit and the Corroded Coffin fan base. This is so fucking brilliant I just !!!! Please read.

Seth tbh I don’t think I realized this was your fic I love your brain, I’m kissing your brain.

Consensual Catfishing by foresthearts (ao3)

M | wc 32,108 | cw miscommunication

Summary: When Eddie gets a message on instagram from an account claiming to be the famous pop-star Steve Harrington, he knows immediately it's a catfish. He's not dumb. The account has no pictures and people like Steve Harrington don't just randomly DM guys like Eddie.

Still. What would be the harm in letting it play out? It's not dangerous if he knows he's being catfished. No, if he knows about it, then it's basically like a fun little roleplay. No harm, no foul.

(Eddie is not, in fact, being catfished)

*slaps the screen of Ao3* This baby can fit so much into it! Mistaken identities, identity porn, mixed media, famous Steve, slightly less famous Eddie, podcasts, text messages, tumblr posts, and dungeons and dragons.

Eddie, a DM for a Dungeons and Dragons online podcast (vodcast? wtf do you call it when it’s a video series), gets a message from someone pretending to be his (slightly former) celebrity crush, Steve Harrington. Eddie goes along with it, joking about it on his show, and maybe he kind of falls in love with the catfisher…

While Steve Harrington finds out an internet celebrity is into him. He reaches out to the famous DM Eddie Munson in hopes he can get over his former relationship with his bandmate.

This Untitled modern AU by @steddiealltheway

G | ficlet sized | no cw

Summary: A wrong number leads to Steve making an unlikely friendship.

This fic rattled my brain so much, when I was searching for it I thought it was on Ao3/10K fic. I absolutely love this piece! Robin goes out on a date and Steve (lovingly) jokes that Robin is going out with a serial killer. Steve texts Robin’s new number, just to ensure she’s safe and not actually with a serial killer… only to find out that he has the wrong number. He creates a friendship with Not Robin (of course, after finding out Robin was indeed safe), and maybe he falls along the way, too.

Found God in a Tomato by beetlesandstars (ao3)

M | wc 5,725 | no cw

Summary: Eddie: just met the cutest guy on god’s green earth and i didn’t get his number

basically it’s over for me

Steve: Oh? Where?

Eddie: at this little coffee shop i like

i’ve never seen Tall Pretty Gorgeous here before though so. i will probably never see him again.

shoot me

Steve: Tall Pretty Gorgeous huh?

He must’ve been something

Eddie: YES Steve. he WAS

operative word being WAS!

i can’t believe i didn’t ask for his number

Steve: What’d he look like?

Eddie: oh, you know

his beauty was beyond compare

with flaming locks of chestnut hair

with suntanned skin and eyes of roasted beans…

his smile soft like summer rain

his voice was like a breath of spring

and i cannot be normal now, joleeeeene

I actually found this fic while searching for the above untitled tumblr fic (when I thought it was on Ao3) and stumbled upon another great Jo creation!

A text to the wrong number creates a friendship through sending songs back and forth (the best kind of friendship). And ugh!!!!! I just love this so much.

i couldn’t see (you were always right beside me) by oriscribes (Ao3)

T | wc 13,609 | cw they’re fucking idiots

Summary: Three hours later Steve logged off to get ready for his shift at the hospital. He was several levels higher and had finished the quests in Darkshore with the help of Greyhawk. He also had a friend listed in his friends list.

Greyhawk had said that being friends would let them be able to tell when the other was online so they could quest again. Steve really liked the sound of that. He didn’t have many friends his own age. He and Robin basically lived in each other’s pockets at work, but with Robin’s new girlfriend and their sleep schedules, they didn’t end up getting to hang out more than once a week.

A new friend sounded really nice, especially given that it was unlikely he would ever get along with his neighbors. The only resident Steve’s age on this floor was the neighbor he hated and that was very unlikely to change anytime soon.

Steve hated his neighbor. And then Dustin and the other kiddos left for college and Steve signed up for some online game called World of Warcraft. Which was how Steve met a Night Elf druid named Greyhawk.

Oh my god did we ask for more mistake identities because THIS FIC IS LOADED WITH THEM!!! I cannot stress how much I loved this fic. I just discovered it two weeks ago and it is embedded so deeply into my brain I just !!!!

Steve decides to join Dustin and the rest of the party on WoW, to bridge the distance college has created, but somehow never joins their party as he makes a new friend online. Steve uses WoW to relax from the real world of his stressful job at the hospital, the ongoing feud he has with his neighbor and his cat (Cowboy!!!!!!), and the constant nagging he gets from Dustin to meet his other older friend Eddie.

Eddie, on the other hand, found a newb on WoW and somehow adopted him as a new friend, helping him level up and teach him the game. If only friendships work out this well in real life, then maybe he could help his grumpy neighbor not be so … well… grumpy.

Please remember to leave kudos and comments on the fics you read/enjoyed! Support your writers 🖤

Prev fic rec: fics that fucked me up (so you should read them too)

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic recs #fic recs #novacorpsrecruit fic recs #lmao I left my note to find the untitled tumblr fic so that tells you how much it rotted my brain

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flowers-of-io · 2 months ago

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Destinytober - Ghost

Read on Ao3 with formatting that isn't broken by the mobile tumblr app :)))

Nkechi-32 takes a deep breath, and exhales Light.

The Lost City is brilliant in the sunlight, overgrown buildings letting the brightness in through wide open windows and cracks in the ceilings. The floor is all grass, lush and green, and when she walks it feels like stepping on soft carpet—a little springy, a little uneaven, enticing her to take off the heavy boots and wade through it barefoot. Perhaps she could indulge in a little picnic, when the job's done.

Because of course there's a job. Much like Micah, to have sent her out Ghost-hunting when she'd barely arrived. Nkechi refocuses her optics as Agu flicks through the sensors on her HUD, trying to lock in on their target, but there is so much Light here it's near impossible to track down a single errant signature.

"I think I got something," he informs, and Nkechi sees it too—a speck of yellow on the heat map, some fifteen metres away from them and approaching. She turns the corner just as Agu says, "Wait, the signature doesn't ma—"

"Hi there!"

"Whoa!" Nkechi takes an abrupt step back, barely avoiding bumping head first into something small and violet. She didn't account for how fast the Ghost was moving.

"Oh, sorry!" It draws back as well, and she can see its shell now: Reef-made, delicate metal cut into shapes like flower petals and glazed over. It is strikingly familiar.

"Pulled Pork?" She laughs in disbelief. "Whatcha doin' here?"

"Nkechi!" he chirps, and cartwheels in the air. "We're patrolling! Oh, and by the way, my name's Glint now!"

"I take it this means you've found your Guardian," she says with a smile.

Agu emerges from his hiding spot and gives the other Ghost a good-natured nudge. "Did you find them on some asteroid?"

"Nope!" Glint cartwheels again, then stops and narrows his optic in thought. "Actually, the Dreaming City is technically built on an asteroid, so I guess it counts...? I don't know. Especially now with the curse and everything."

He is still talking when a shadow drops down from the rafters behind him, landing on two legs and then unfurling into a cloaked figure. With her instincts honed over centuries, Nkechi doesn't even flinch.

"You weren't joking about people calling you shredded meat, huh." The Hunter pushes their hood back and extends a hand to her. "You're Glint's friends, I take it?"

"These are Nkechi and Agu!" Glint says before any of them can reply. His voice gains an almost ceremonial tone when he adds, "And this is Crow, my Guardian."

Nkechi doesn't meet her Ghost's eye, but she can feel the look he is giving her. She shakes Crow's hand instead, and lets Glint ramble on.

They actually saw the missing Ghost, he tells her, a few hours ago by the eastern edge of the city. Crow offers to help track it down. He is quite nice, Nkechi thinks; his countenance seems to be in a state of constant battle between the natural Hunter confidence and the sheepishness of young Guardians in conversation with someone much older. They make quick work together, and she has to admit, he's not half bad a scout, even if Glint almost ruins their cover by chattering like a wound-up toy right in front of a flock of Husks.

Later, after escorting the wayward Ghost to Micah, Agu and her sit together on one of the Tower balconies and watch half the sunset, half the buzzing courtyard below.

"You know," he says, "that's not really what I pictured when I said he might find the greatest Guardian of all time."

"What, a prince of the Reef?"

"A Hunter Vanguard."

Nkechi laughs. "With how well filling that position had been going for the past few years, the odds really weren't in his favour."

"You think they're a good match?"

She looks down at the black-and-white Hunter leaning against the kiosk and chatting with a Legionnary. Glint is a tiny splotch of purple in the folds of his cloak, nestled against his cheek.

"Yeah," she says with a smile, and pulls her own Ghost closer. "Almost as good as we are."

#my fics #destinytober #destinytober24 #destinytober 2024 #nkechi-32 #agu #pulled glint #our little brother #destiny 2 #:>#the final shape spoilers

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valve3nthusiast · 1 year ago

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Octomer Ratchet is so good. I can imagine any chromatophores he might have going wild while pursuing Drift, if he has any natural camouflage abilities.

Perhaps he plays a game with Drift, hiding among coral and rock formations in order to "sneak up" on him, his usual brights reds and whites distorting to match their environment-- Maybe arousal causes some colour changing as well?

IDK I just really like the idea of Ratchet changing colour (or at least hues) like a mood ring lmao maybe it even frustrates him a bit, like oh no my fucking chromatophores are going to give away this huge crush I have -- he might try to hide in corals or swirl up a bunch of sand with his tentacles initially

If Drift is a land dweller, then maybe they figure out Ratchet is interested in him by studying how Ratch's colours change, and what patterns/colours only appear when Drift is around...

...and maybe Ratchet's attempts at hiding/playing hide and seek (lol) are mistaken for aggression at first, because they don't know why he's doing it

and then they guess it's some kind of broody behaviour, like maybe he's trying to defend a nest or egg clutch that he doesn't really have?? Because Ratchet's grumpy but not usually aggressive and it's weird behaviour from him as far as they're aware. So then he gets a little pity from the facility staff but it's hilarious because he does want to Do It but all the guessing isn't quite right. Like yes it's about Doin It and Eventual Eggs but not in the way they think. Communication Issues lol

"stop giving me extra companion fish out of pity and just give me Drift, do you not see my cream and burgundy-red colouring, is this somehow not clear enough? Oh god here he comes, sand sand sand I need more sand why is this coral so small" no it is not clear to them, Ratchet. lmaooo

Anyway this is earthstellar but Tumblr will only let me send asks from my main blog and not my TF blog lol so ayyy just wanted to say, loving this mer AU situation 🐙💖

This is such a good concept,,, besotted Ratchet accidentally telling on himself with his own colors is genius. Also blushy Ratchet is adorable <3

Hmm a really clear concept just came to me... Security guard Drift at the marine research facility, Ratchet is the only mer there who constantly avoids him, so he just disappointedly assumes he gives Ratchet bad vibes

One night when he's on a skeleton shift, he passes by Ratchet's tank and suddenly notices that something is fucked up with the filtration pumps (or whatever I don't know how aquariums work)

He immediately makes an emergency call to the aquarium techs who are at home. They tell him to get Ratchet moved till someone arrives to fix it. So he's hesitantly going up to the tank like, "hey buddy I know you dont like me, but I gotta pull you out of here for a bit, it's not safe" Ratchet quickly pulls himself right into Drifts arms... and now he's carrying a big squirming octomer. Drift's pretty surprised, but he brushes it off as Ratchet wanting out of his tank

When Drift finally gets to the temporary tank he expects Ratchet to jump from his arms and signal for him to basically fuck off... instead, he goes to put Ratchet down, only to get pulled into the tank with him. Now he's sitting in chest high water, pinned by a heavy wiggling octomer in his lap

For Ratchet, life is good 😎👍

Drift, meanwhile, is mentally repeating "don't get hard" like a mantra, while a purring Ratchet's tentacles caress every inch of his plating. Since it was the middle of the night, they have to wait a good bit for someone who can fix the pumps to get there and make Ratchet's tank safe again...

Maybe, as the hours go on, Ratchet gets a bit friskier... or maybe he just leaves it at intimate exploration, because he's too busy watching Drift whimper and twitch underneath his tentacles <3

#sorry this strayed a bit from your ask but the concept gripped me and would not let go #valveplug #mine #dratchet #drift #ratchet #merformers #3nthusiasts inbox #the octodratchet au

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ink-and-dagger · 2 months ago

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Heyyy Inky!!! Guess who it is! (jk) It's me Galaxy!! I've written the DWM song!!! And recorded it! It's called 'One Drink'. (hehe) It's not done professionally in any way, shape or form, but it's certainly finished. It's just a demo of me singing (badly-ish, ignore my baby voice gah I sound like a twelve year old) with a guitar backing, but I do imagine that if I ever do record this, it will be with more instruments than just guitar. 😅 I really really really really hope you like it. Really. Think of it as a love letter from me to you for writing DWM, because it really has been a major part of my life <3 This link will take you to the audio recording (it's on a google drive. Copy and paste it into your browser!): https://drive.google.com/file/d/1QWXoZ8yZHFXhCAlHE4OZURTQGXzL9tlU/view?usp=sharing And I WAS gonna include a link to a google doc with the lyrics on it... but tumblr's being fussy and won't let me insert it. So, I've decided to just put the lyrics at the bottom of this ask, which is gonna make it very long but oh well. Shit happens. Also, if the audio recording link doesn't work - please please please tell me. I'll figure out another way to send it!

Anyway, the recording is accessible for anyone to copy into their preferred browser to listen to (if it works), so if any other DWM fans see this feel free to listen/read! Again, I hope you like it, Inky. Love you and everything you do <3 - Galaxy P.S. Inky, I would love love love to know every single one of your thoughts on lyrics as well if that's possible!

One Drink - Lyrics. A DWM song <3

Saint was a sinner

And he was feared by almost everyone

He was a ruthless killer

A devil, modern to our time.

She, oh she wasn’t perfect

But compared to him; an angel from our sky.

Astrid. Always searching for her horizon

But it seemed like something she could never find.

She shared a drink with him one night

Apparently she’s the only one that would

He pulled the bottle off the shelf, his inhibitions down you can tell

There’s something he’s suppressed

And the walls began to fall

I guess opposites attract after all

One drink that started it all x3

They, oh they weren’t perfect

They would fight all the time like you and I

One fight, got a little too consuming

The pain was a knife through her heart

He thought he jinxed them

He thought this one was a little too far gone

Their only saving grace was the rose tattoo upon her waist

A symbol that in time they’d be alright

And the walls began to fall

I guess opposites attract after all

One drink that started it all x 6

Saint was a sinner

But she found her horizon in his eyes

GALAXYYYY

I'm squeezing you so tight that you'll need to visit a chiropractor to straighten you back out again. I absolutely love this and i'm so honoured that my story inspired you to create a whole ass SONG?! Thank you so so much.

Also what are you on about singing badly? You've got a great voice! Really pure and folksy - it suits the style of song so well, especially with a solo guitar. Can totally picture you singing this song at nighttime sitting by a campfire with the local townspeople hanging off your every word. Also it's so damn catchy - I was already singing the chorus to myself after just the first listen (I may have listened to it 10 or 20 times since hehe)

Here's a one click link for anyone who wants to listen to Galaxy's amazing song!

And I LOVE all the lyrics! They convey the core essence of Silco and Astrid's characters and story so effectively. That's some serious skill my friend. You did in 200 words what it took me over 138k words to do lmfao.

I started to attempt to write out all my thoughts on the lyrics in this post but I had so many thoughts that it quickly proved too crazy to format on tumblr. SO, I put them in a google doc instead lmfao. You should be able to see my comments on the highlighted text but tell me if not.

Thank you again, truly from the bottom of my heart.

#inky answers #ten thousand smooches for Galaxy <3 #drink with me #DWM #DWM song #original song #silco x astrid #astro #astrid #silco #silco fic #silco x reader #silco x oc

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illustrious-ia · 1 year ago

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[ 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ]

⌈ @viinlz sends a file request ! ⌋

-> “Can you write a fluff content with bsd Characters?”

—Their Grace responded with:

HELLO MY BESTOFRIENDO TY FOR RQSTING I LOVE U SM I WOULD ROB A SIGMA FIGURINE FOR YOU [ I'm broke asf ]

BTW I NOW ABSORBED THE ABILITY TO ACTUALLY WRITE STUFF WITH HCS FORMAT MYEHEHEHEH

Ehm. Anyway, I'm still gonna write ye a Ranpo scenario soon. I'm just running out of ideas rn so I hope this hcs will suffice for the time being. ^^

Cw/Tw: None

— Hmmm, where shall we start? So this fucker of a detective will definitely be a very clingy and affectionate person.

— Wanna get some work done when he is in the presence? Nuh-uh! Cuddle with him first! Zero work was done that day and congratulations you got a pissed Kunikida. Yay!

— He's the type to sit on your lap and eat some sweets while you're working on your computer. Oh, and of course he will share his sweets with you! Look at how generous he is!!

— Oh? Why are you taking his snack and putting it in your mouth yourself... No! You go focus on that work and he will feed you himself! If you still won't budge he will pout and w h i n e

— Sometimes, he surprises you with the fanciest snacks that perfectly match your preferences! And if you happen to mention a certain food or snack in passing, it magically appears in your hands a few days later! Take a look at how generous he is!

— He's been working extra hard to earn the money to buy you both those fancy snacks so please praise him! Even though he's only gonna boast about how nice and considerate he is, on the inside he is truly the happiest when you appreciate things he has done for you.

— When there's only him and Kunikida in the room, he will talk to him about going easier on you. Why? Well because he said so! Kunikida is so done with both of you at this point

— He may take you along with him to investigate some cases. Well, let him do the work while you're admiring how hard-working he is in the background. He will still ask you for your opinion tho. If your opinion lines up with his deduction he will kudos you for that and maybe ask what food would you like to have after solving the case. If your opinion doesn't match, then he will flick your forehead a bit and “stooopid” ing you once then he'll explain what his deductions are in the simplest manner so you'll understand it easily<33

— Oh, he will definitely use his ability to figure out what mood you're currently in. Feeling a bit sad? He will come over to you and give you your favorite candy while trying to cheer you up a lil bit. Someone pisses you off? You can talk shit about that person with him! And maybe if Ranpo is feeling it he will find information about that said person and talk them so they won't bother you any longer<3333

— You want some alone time? No problem! However, I must say that you're his biggest inspiration to get work done. Once you're feeling better, he'll even offer you a cuddle session. How wonderful is that?

— If it is possible, he'll offer you the world and everything nice inside it. He just loves you to that extent ♡

#[ 🗃 ] their grace's charge #fluff #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #ranpo headcanons #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs headcanons #ranpo fluff #bungou stray dogs #bsd ranpo #bsd #ranpo x y/n #ranpo x you #my miserable ass doesn't know how to write fluffy stuff rip

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staybabblingbaby · 7 months ago

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SKZ x Coordi (Intro Part) a1 d3

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader is a successful makeup artist with a notorious and prolific career and no self awareness. Reader joins JYP as a part of Stray Kids' team and encounters their hazing ritual for new coordis: flirting.

Word Count: 1,178 Notes: This spawned because of my conviction that I could never get my makeup done by a professional bc I would fall in love. Getting your makeup done by someone else just feels very intimate to me (ik its not, ok, I'm just touch starved T^T). It's sort of lending itself to long one-shot style formatting, but for tumblr purposes I'm posting it in parts. Also, I think I accidentally avoided pronouns for Reader? Not sure how but I didn't see any when I was reviewing this part. Will update as I post (idk how to add emojis, just imagine a thumbs up here pls TT^TT). Needs to be edited for clarity. Warnings: None that I know of? Reader has weird self esteem but it's not bad?

Masterlist Link :D | Next Part Link <3

You're fairly sure, by the time your sunbae finishes showing you around and giving you the low-down on your new duties, that you'd gotten this job over other make-up artists because you were the safe choice. You suppose it's not an awful thing to be thought of as safe and professional. You can’t help feeling stung anyways.

You'd come to this conclusion after your sunbae, while showing you a few of the dressing rooms in the company building you'd be working in, casually drops, "oh, yeah, if you end up having relations with one of the idols, just make sure the media and management don't find out. No one else will rat you out." mid-tour.

You'd had to stop and give your sunbae the most confused and alarmed look you could manage, and when she'd seen she'd immediately laughed and made the face back at you. That made you crack, and the two of you ended up giggling together for a minute. Once you'd calmed down, she elaborated.

"It's a bit of an open secret that the unattached idols will sleep with a willing coordi every now and then," she explained "As long as management doesn't find out, and the media is entirely clueless, it's pretty much useless to try and stop it." You’d nodded along, fascinated by how similar celebrities were around the world. Sure, the cultures surrounding them were different, but there was almost always a similar sort of system when you were contracted long-term somewhere.

"Staff are pretty safe options for them, at least here at JYP.” Your sunbae had continued, “They vet our staff and stylists really well." You’d nodded again. The background check had been intensive and you’d had to sign a lot of release forms about it. It was one of the things you’d liked most about this opportunity, actually.

"Your group in particular have probably fucked at least 2 dozen coordis between them." You’d choked on air and turned to her incredulously again. What was with her and dropping bombs like this on you? It was your first day! She’d just laughed and rolled her eyes at you. "Why are you so scandalized? There's 8 of them." She reasoned, "That's, like, 3 flings a piece. Not that many." You’d conceded her point with a tilt of your head. You're sure the actual numbers aren't so even, but she had made an excellent point regardless.

"I guess that makes sense," You’d mused, "I mean, they're grown men, right? Their hands must get awful tired." That startled a laugh out of your sunbae and you’d grinned at her before you continued. "But, sunbaenim, you won't have to worry about that from me." You’d stated confidently. She’d shot you a questioning look, so you’d continued, “They’re both my clients and my coworkers under my contract. Two types of people I categorically refuse to sleep with.”

She’d laughed again, simply saying “That’s probably for the best.” and moving on with your tour. You’d let yourself be distracted by memorizing everything she was telling you and promptly forgot all about your scandalous conversation.

Despite moving on, a seed of doubt had been planted in you. You couldn’t help but think back to one of the odder questions you’d been asked when you were interviewing for this position. As an independent make-up artist you’d had to negotiate everything yourself, and at the time you’d assumed it to simply be part of their vetting process.

“What are your views on workplace relationships?” They’d asked. At the time you’d simply said you strived for friendship with both your clients and coworkers, but that you preferred professionalism over all else. Which was true, obviously, but after that conversation with your sunbae you couldn’t help but add a new context to the question.

That doubtful seed sprouted at the end of your tour, when your sunbae gave you another warning.

“Don’t mind the boys, by the way,” She’d said out of nowhere. “They’re playful, all of them, but they’ll respect a boundary to the death the moment you set it.” Once again you’d had to look at her, hopelessly confused, and you’d become pretty sure at that point that she just liked getting a reaction out of you because she snorted a laugh at whatever face you’d made and explained herself.

“I mean that they can be pretty loud and playful with both each other and staff. That includes being flirty and touchy.” she said, “I think it comes with the territory of being an idol. All that fanservice must do something to them.” She laughed, and you’d smiled along, still somewhat confused of the warning.

She must have noticed, because she elaborated further, “It can be flustering for new stylists.” She explained, and you finally started to understand, “A lot of the time it’s the first time a new stylist has been so close to an idol, you know? You have to prepare for it, like, mentally.” She made a weird gesture toward her head and you’d giggled at her antics but shook your head.

“I’ve seen so many beautiful people at this point in my life that I'm pretty sure I'm immune.” you’d declared with a chuckle. You weren’t lying either, you’d seen so many examples of so many different culture’s beauty standards you could probably write a book on it.

You’d sort of made it your career’s goal to learn as many different styles and skin and face types as you possibly could. You’d done pretty well by that goal so far, doing everything from tiny private boudoir shoots to high profile fashion shows, just about anywhere you could get to, from Cairo in Egypt, to Hollywood in California, to tiny barely-named towns all over Europe.

“Idols are different!” Your sunbae insisted, “There are hot people everywhere, but idols are built different. They’re manufactured to be desirable.”

“So are models,” you’d dismissed with a wave, “Honestly, sunbaenim, I’ll be fine. If anything, it’s the idols you should worry for.” you’d given her a saucy wink and she’d howled with laughter and clapped in delight. You’d giggled right along with her, and when you’d both calmed again, you continued. “No, but really, I’ve been told I can be quite intense when I’m focused, so maybe you should be warning the group instead.”

She’d waved you off, saying “It’ll do them some good to be humbled by someone they have no chance with.” with a devious giggle. And that had been that. The click of a conclusion sliding into place in your mind had sounded and you’d become certain that you’d been the safest of the candidates who’d applied.

It hurt, just a bit, because you’re used to being selected for your experience and ability to mimic and blend styles, not for your personal beliefs. You stave off the hurt by reminding yourself that reputation matters in this industry. If they hired you because you value your professionalism, then you’d show them exactly how professional you could be! You’d wrapped up your tour with mixed feelings and lots of determination.

#Baby Writes #Coordi AU #skz fanfic #skz fic #Stray kids fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #w.i.p fic #w.i.p

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datrb · 7 months ago

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afternoon boss

I got a few questions regarding your CG designs (get as nitty gritty and as detailed as you want lmao)

Firstly i notice you use a lot of turtleneck (or turtleneck-like) designs when it comes to clothes for the CG. Any particular reason why? or do you just have a preference for turtlenecks?

Second off, p e l o

When it comes to designing characters I'm a bit of a hair nutjob and i like to believe that hair reflects the personality of a person. Obviously, the colored streaks in their hair are a given, but besides from those, is there any reason you picked the hairstyles you did for the CG? Anything based on personality or purely for aesthetics?

(also ig this is a follow up question but do you ever plan on doing summer clothes for the gang what with the season coming up?)

CG hair headcannons

Oh, Anon, you have no idea what you have brought upon yourself... I swear, when it comes to the designs i become the ultimate yap lord, so brace yourself.

I'll cut this post right here because my blog is already cluttered enough with my yapping.

Okay. First things first, the turtlenecks... Imma be entirely honest, i didn't even notice it myself until you pointed this out, but yeah. They indeed do almost all have some type of a turtleneck or turtleneck adjacent thing as the base layer.

I don't have an actual reason aside, maybe, the fact that turtleneck is really a no-brainer type of base layer and, well, i do actually wear then quite a lot irl, so that might play a role as well. (Hell, i am literally wearing one as i am writing this post)

HOWEVER, among them there is one who has a proper reason for that to be a part of his design. That character being Second. More observant probably would've already noticed and heard me mention it, but all mainline hollowheads have this zip-up type of thing as their base layer. Victim, Chosen and Second all have this same exact thing. Only difference being the sleeves or lack there of. That one's intentional. Others... I was just a bit lazy and, well, i will probably change those since i am working on doing some changes to their designs.

But yeah the HAIR hehehehe, oh i can detail their hair routine down to the amount of product they use, so you better get yourself somethin' to eat, because we're here for a while.

But before we dive into it, i wanna note that the coloured streaks aren't "a given" if i wanted, i could've gotten along perfectly fine without them at all. But i actually made a set of "rules" for designs in my interpretation. And one of those rules dubs "Every stick has at least one streak of hair of their respective colour. Rest of the hair can be any colour." This applies to literally all of my designs. King, Victim, Dark, even mercenaries. It's a rule that i cannot break.

Also, i will touch on other characters as well because, well, i finally got a chance to and at least King is an especially interesting case in that regard.

I'll do in a list format because it'll just be easier.

TSC (Second) - Second has very soft and FLUFFY hair. It's straight, rather thin, but very fluffy. There honesty is no proper reason behind his hairstyle other than "general vibes" and "what hairstyle would give off an early teen vibe?".

Red - Red's hair is a bit wavy, but it's practically unnoticeable, it's rather soft, but doesn't seem like it due to it being rather thick. I gave him this little ponytail, because i wanted to incorporate the yellow team's headband into his design, but thought putting it on the head would be too basic, so why the hell not. Also, this ponytail helps balance the "animal lover" and "highschool football team" vibes.

Yellow(why does Tumblr not have yellow colour for text??) - Yellow has hard, thick and almost uncontrollable hair. No wonder the moment he got the goggles he started using them as a hair band to keep it at least somewhat in check. For Yellow i tried to go for a "math student" vibe, but it eventually turned to the more "that one engineer that built a time machine in his garage" type of thing. Oh and also by doing that i was trying to avoid the "karen" hair he had originally. I still can't look at his old ref sheet with a straight face.

Green - Green most definitely straightens his hair and styles it a versy specific way. You cannot convince me otherwise. His hair is thick and almost curly, but it's also very soft. For his hairstyle i wanted to give him more of a DJ vibe, which would bean some crazy hairstyle. This one seemed like a good blend of something a stereotypical "speedster" character would have as well as something you would see at a 2010's rave party.

Blue - Blue has thick, almost curly hair that likely really doesn't like to be styled at all. It just has a mind of its own and you can't tell it what to do. Pretty much like Yellow's, honestly, except here you have curls and not just a paintbrush. Blue's hairstyle came from my wish to give his otherwise almost cottagecore type design this little sprinkle of madness. And what's better way than to give him uncontrollable curls, am i right?

Purple - Purple has curls. His hair is soft, a bit fluffy and rather thick. Purple having long hair is widely accepted that it's basically fanon at this point, i don't think i need to explain my decisions here. I do think that he has an undercut tho, because i believe him to have A LOT of hair. And, speaking from experience, it gets very hot.

King - King i believe to have rather thin, soft and perfectly straigh hair that would not be able to hold shape if you tried. I decided to give him long hair because i HC his wife to be dead, so it would make sense for him to start growing it out as a way to remember her (he literally wears it the same way she used to. At least after the redemtion. Before that it's too messy). Also, i believe his hair to have lost a fair share of colour due to stress, making it almost grey.

TCO(Chosen) - Chosen has the same hair type as Second BUT his is not as fluffy because it's not as well-maintained. They also share hairstyles, except Chosen's longer, as he didn't really have much options in terms of how to cut it. This one was intentional and while designing Chosen i unironically only had one directive: "Make Second, but old and edgy." I think i delivered.

Victim - I already mentioned that Victim's entire appearance was heavily influenced by my friend who suggested him looking like a ninja in the first place, and that also applied to his hair. Although, now i stepped away from it, but one can never go wrong with a "slick, sassy and extremely cunning villain". Victim's hair silky smooth and is extremely soft. And much like his workers, basically never goes out of line.

TDL(Dark) - I believe Dark to actually have quite hard but rather thin hair. It's very spiky when not tended to. He actually has the most hairstyles among all of my designs, standing toe to toe with King, for whom i have 4 hairstyle designs. His AvA5 appearance (the most commonly drawn slick back) actually came from the most stereotypical cartoon-ish villains. The design i ended up giving him was not intended as Dark it was just a random sassy looking character i drew as practice while working on overall artstyle for my human designs. But then i looked at him, made a few minor adjustments and there he was.

So yeah. I believe that's the most important ones. Lemme know if you wanna hear more, i'll make sure to also provide examples next time, because i am actually writing this on the go, so i don't really have access to my laptop.

I actually thought very little about WHY they would wear a certain hairstyle other than "it fits their vibe" which imo is usually the exact way people go about their hair, so it does kinda fit. (At least that's the way i go about my hair...)

#alan becker #animation vs animator #ava #ava headcanons #ava designs #dat yapps #dat answers

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years ago

Text

Topsy Turvy Days in Heartslabyul

Oops, off to a late start with the prompts 😅 Tumblr queue didn’t work as intended, rip

The Queen of Hearts, and her Spirit of Strictness.

Kalim Al-Asim…

… really looks up to his fellow second-year Riddle, so he promised him that he’ll do his best to live up to Heartslabyul’s illustrious legacy! (Both Riddle and Jamil were highly concerned in spite of his words, and they each provided Kalim with their checklists and reminders on what to do and what NOT to do.)

He tries his darnedest to study up on the rules of the Queen of Hearts!! Problem is, memorization’s never been Kalim’s strong suit so he gets all the rules mixed up. What was he supposed to do after a hedgehog sneezes? When does he have to hold tea today? Was it herbal or lemon tea he's meant to have after dinner? (Oh well, he thinks, deciding to just wing it with his best efforts and a big grin on his face. Jamil will be proud of him for trying, right?)

It's clear that Kalim's not the same kind of a leader as Riddle is. He's very lenient with the rules and expectations, both on himself and on others. If anyone's running late or struggling with an assignment, chances are that Kalim's right there with them. He doesn't let that get him down, though! When he notices someone else in trouble, he's the first to extend a hand and a smile (“Hey, I’m late for a really important date too!”), offering to walk with them to class so they can be tardy together, or asking if he can study with them.

Kalim greets his temporary dorm mates Rook and Ruggie with aplomb. “Let’s do our best together, you guys!!” he says, willing to once again fully place his trust in others. Truthfully, he’s heard discouraging things from others about Ruggie and Rook—about how Ruggie’s a thief and how Rook invades people’s privacy—but he doesn’t let those words cloud his own notion of them. He wants to get to know those two himself, then discern their character… because to Kalim, everyone has some good in them, and he intends to find that ray of sunshine and bring it out!

The flamingos and hedgehogs love him, holy crap. Kalim's not exactly proficient in Animal Languages, but he's somehow able to communicate with them by reading their body language and guessing how they're feeling. The flamingos follow him in a conga line-esque formation, while the hedgehogs nestle in his cardigan and other nooks and crannies. There's just something so warm and comforting to them about this friendly newcomer! (Kalim spends his time with them cuddling instead of using them to play croquet.)

Organizing anything? Don't count on it to go smoothly. Kalim's so used to having servants (and, well, mostly Jamil) handle the logistics, he doesn't know what to do on his own! The other Heartslabyul students look to him for guidance, but he tends to be carefree and extravagant about what he thinks would work for an unbirthday party. "Some bright, shiny streamers would look good here and there! How about silk with gold thread and rubies?", and, "Oooh, let's get some music going so make some happy feet! Should we fly in an orchestra?" Ideas pile up in excess for the dorm to execute, and it becomes incoherent and difficult to juggle at times.

Kalim's habit of excess bleeds into other areas as well. He takes his tea strong, and practically clears the Heartslabyul kitchen of its milk and sugar, plus whatever other add-ins he can find in the cabinets. It's not as though he selfishly brews for himself though! Kalim's more than happy to put on a pot of tea and to summon snacks to share with all of his Heartslabyul dormies! He serves them himself, and, as the gracious host, he keeps the conversation and the laughter flowing as he piles their cups high with cube after cube of sugar.

Even though Kalim may not have the planning down, he makes up for it with heart! Sure, the decorations may not match, the music is all over the place, and the food’s overdone (or underdone), but the garden is still filled with happiness as he flits from guest to guest, encouraging them to eat, to drink, to dance, to be merry!! Kalim doesn’t leave anyone unattended to, he wants to see them all have a good time!

“Gahahah! Heartslabyul’s so lively, I can see why Riddle’s so proud of his dorm!! When everyone comes together like this… it reminds me of the banquets we throw in Scarabia, but it’s also different somehow. The atmosphere, the energy!! Maybe it’s just a special kind of chill magic that only Hearyslabyul has! It’s a kind of party that doesn’t need a reason for celebration. We can just celebrate that we’re here today, hanging out with all our precious friends!! There’s no amount of gold or jewels that’s as valuable.”

Rook Hunt...

… is positively brimming with excitement for what this new experience will bring! He made sure to bring his camera and a fresh scrapbook to document every waking moment of his time in Heartslabyul—as well as every waking moment of the lives of his new dorm mates. Fufufu... Why, they won't even notice he's there!

Rook's super into trading his Pomefiore threads for Heartslabyul ones. In fact, he went on a long spiel about fashion being a form of self-expression (nay, ART!!) and how he feels as though he's a great tree shedding its leaves in the autumn and reemerging in the spring with a shiny, spectacular new set of leaves. ("Er... glad you're so fired up about this. Just try to make sure the dorm isn't on fire by the time I'm back, okay?" Trey pleads of his clubmate.) Rook promises—as he slips on his own version of Trey’s fedora, complete with a biiig black feather in place of the clover.

Memorizing the rules is a cinch for him—but even though Rook tends to them as dutifully as Riddle would (Vil would never forgive him if he didn’t), Rook also goes out of his way to lend his assistance when he can, particularly with Kalim. The huntsman is there to gently coax, encourage, and guide his underclassmen… but sometimes he’s just as content observing them fumble or ignore the rules entirely. That, too, is something he finds to be beautiful, in its own clumsy way.

He has no trouble navigating Heartslabyul’s long, twisty hallways. They actually offer a lot of interesting avenues of exploration if one is willing to poke around (which, as you can imagine, Rook indeed does to sate his curiosity). It has made him far more dangerous than it already is, allowing him to quickly move all around the dorm. He sometimes teases his juniors about this, asking “Is it this way? Or perhaps it is that way. Who’s to know, fufufu… Every adventure requires a first step, so why not take it? You may just find yourself pleasantly surprised with what awaits at the end of that path.”

The rose gardens have become his new “hunting grounds”. At any given moment, an unsuspecting Heartslabyul student could be painting the roses, only to startle when they realize that it’s not the green leaves of the hedges they’re staring at, but a pair of keen green eyes in the hedges staring back at them. “Bonjour. Lovely weather we’re having today, wouldn’t you agree?” he’ll ask, emerging from his hiding spot like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Rook’s zest for life cannot be ignored. The Heartslabyul students can’t ignore it, even if they wanted to. His speeches and soliloquies practically reverberate in the corridors, overpowering the various clocks tick-tick-ticking on the grounds. He’ll comment on the smallest thing, finding joy in the flowers that the dorm has worked so hard to cultivate (he actually talks to the flowers like they’re real people) to the energy everyone puts in to have a dazzling show (unbirthday party).It’s annoying at first, but some students come to appreciate the weird morale boost? encouragement.

While there aren’t many fairies, beastmen, or merfolk for Rook to observe (at least not compared to the other dorms), he marvels at the animals that Heartslabyul has raised! Such healthy, happy little creatures! Oh, and how they flock so adoringly to Kalim!! How Ruggie so expertly converses with them!! Rook thanks the Great Seven that he’s able to bear witness to these candid moments.

People swear up and down that the laws of physics somehow bend to Rook’s whims. For some Great Seven forsaken reason, roses seem to follow Rook wherever he goes in Heartslabyul. He’ll appear out of nowhere, and suddenly he’s accompanied by a dramatic gust of wind, sparkling sunshine, and a shower of crimson rose petals. “It literally only happens with him,” Hearslabyul Mob Student A-kun reports to the school newspaper. “I don’t sense any magic when it happens, but he MUST be intentionally fucking with us.”

“The kingdom that Roi des Roses oversees is a beautiful one, brimming with whimsy and blossoms. There is not one second where I do not find myself entranced by its wonders. However, what I find most enchanting about Heartslabyuls is, above all else, the effort with which the Queen and her card soldiers put forth to maintain the beauty we see today. It is thanks to their dedication that we, and many future generations, can enjoy the fruits of their labor. Marvelous, no?”

Ruggi Bucchi...

… breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that he’ll get some time away from being run ragged by Leona. A hyena’s got other things to tend to! He fully intends on taking advantage of his time at Heartslabyul to pack away at anything they might have to offer him!!

He sticks out like a sore thumb in Heartslabyul—his mischievousness and rough-around-the edges personality doesn’t initially mesh well with the more straight-laced and meek, obedient members of the dorm. That’s fine by Ruggie, since he’s aware he’s not here to make friends. It’s just pragmatic overall, and at least everyone has a mutual understanding of it. (Buuut if anyone messes with him, nothing’s stopping him from pulling a little prank or a wallet or two… They’ll never see it comin’—)

Ruggie’s mildly (okay, a lot) salty about having to be in the same dorm as Rook for a while. He does whatever he can to avoid being in the same general vicinity as the huntsman (in spite of Kalim’s efforts to help everyone get along). If they have to be in the same room, you’ll find Ruggie hugging his back to the wall and glaring at Rook from across the room. He knows from experience that if his eyes move off of that guy, Rook will suddenly be centimeters away from him and talking his ear off about something stupid.

He doesn’t care to look at the rules. If he gets caught red-handed, so what? He’ll find a way to cleverly smooth talk or sneak his way out of suffering the repercussions. It’s debatable whether those same excuses would work on Riddle, but they’re at least effective with Kalim (who expresses nothing but empathy for Ruggie and immediately lets him off the hook). “Nishishishishi! It’s true what they say, there’s a sucker born every minute.”

Screw the rules, Ruggie has money (… making to do. He has money making to do)! It starts with offering his services to fill in for the busy Heartslabyul students’ chores! There’s a lot of them who would rather goof off or focus on other work, so he ends up turning a considerable profit doing their part of unbirthday party prep for a premium. (Since all the work is concentrated in one area, it’s very time efficient too!)

While Ruggie’s mostly looking out for himself, that doesn’t mean he offers nothing to Heartslabyul. He has a lot of knowledge that ends up being of use to the dorm, from new unbirthday party recipes using ingredients freshly sources from the gardens to new ways to reuse or to repurpose common everyday items. “It’s like that DIY and life hack stuff Cater-san goes on about, ‘cept unlike him I had to learn all this stuff myself, not on Magicam,” as Ruggie describes it.

As an expert in Animal Languages, he's the first person the Heartslabyul students go to when they need help handling their hedgehogs and flamingos! Ruggie grumbles about lending his help for free at first, but he very quickly turns around and starts cozying up to the animals. (It later becomes very apparent why; some Heartslabyul students found him picking up eggs in the flamingo hutches with a sheepish grin.)

Speaking of food, there’s tons of good (and free!!) eats in the Heartslabyul gardens! You might catch Ruggie there picking up whatever looks edible and tossing them into a basket. (Admittedly, it has led to just many stomachaches and weird trips as it has to satisfyingly drowsy food comas, but it hasn’t stopped him from going back for more.) He also brings plastic containers to unbirthday parties to shovel uneaten food in for later. If there’s leftover tea bags or leaves (either is fine, he’s not picky), he’ll also save those to reuse.

��I used to think Heartslabyul would really cramp my style with all of its rules. They make no sense, no matter how you think about it!! But it’s actually not so bad here. Actually, it’s kinda cozy. Nice vibes, plenty of food and sweet, consistent stream of money… I don’t wanna be anywhere near that weirdo that’s always after my tail if I can help it, but for the most part… Nishishishi, I guess I could get used to livin’ this lifestyle!”

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