who wants a father @blestache

who wants a father @blestache

ik its 4 am but listen… if u have bg3 muses or verses… @impietied

i got bg3... im gonna be so annoying

someone calls him a kiss-ass and he loses his mind. someone says or shows that they hate him and he loses his mind.

my letterboxd reviews are either "this film is 5 stars because i liked it but it could be gayer" or "this film is one star because it's shit but i still love it. and an extra star because there's an actor i like in it"

https : // falsifies . tumblr . com screenplay and story by five. featuring an original character based in the crime genre, with themes of: revenge, obsession, and deception. general rules apply [ ... ] please read this if you haven't already. this blog will include content unsuitable for minors and is 21+ (unless we're friends). more information regarding content warnings and the character is under the cut. discretion is advised. (affiliated with @dogrots)

PINTEREST. TUNES. SIDEBLOG.

content warnings: heavy serpent/snake imagery, violence and what can come with it (blood, gore, death), murder, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, strong language, possible blasphemy / the mocking of religion (namely catholicism and christianity), mentions of suicide (pertaining to npcs), suggestive / usfw themes.

disclaimer: dima is not a good person, and no amount of "true love" (platonic, romantic, etc.) will change this. he manipulates people into doing what he wants, and there is always a level of manipulation in any of his relationships. he has killed people, and manipulates people into killing others and/or themselves; he's a life-ruiner for many - enjoys having this power over people - and doesn't plan on ever stopping.

name, dmitri o'rourke (more commonly known as dima or, for those in the criminal world, hamlet). age, usually portrayed in his early to mid thirties (though i'm not opposed to writing younger dima). identity, unlabeled (he/him, doesn't mind any gendered or non-gendered terminology) + bisexual and greyromantic. occupation, professional photographer + conman. languages, russian and english are his dual first languages, ukrainian, french, italian, spanish, latin, and greek; knows a little of a lot of others.

his main verse takes place after he's killed the mastermind of a heist group he was invited into (after a successful enactment of their plan), after learning he had something to do with the death of his late fiancé (who may be mentioned in threads). most of the group believe he was killed by a known enemy of his, but the mercutio and desdemona of the group know the truth.

dima is the biological son of an assassin, who was the handler and "mother" to another boy she picked up off the street. he was born under the radar, no birth certificate, nonexistent -- every piece of paperwork he has currently was forged by himself. the only reason dima wasn't immediately taken out after running to the u.s. is because of his mother, his "brother," and his own skill.

* if you'd like to know more, just shoot me a message or an ask. if we're mutuals, you can also add me on discord (thehorrors.). a full bio and pages on npcs & the like will be up sometime in the future, but for now, any more information will pop up in rambles posts, ic posts, or during chatting / plotting.

eros meets mania, mania's touch a gentle caress over sharp stubble, eros with a familiar gleam in his eyes. they're laughing at something lincoln says against the skin of dima's thigh, the light from the sun pouring in through half-shut curtains is orange as it begins to rest [...] warmth that's perhaps too warm, volatile, ticking -- though if either of them feel the true nature of it, it goes ignored (as it usually does when they're together like this, as if they're a normal couple and their circumstances are normal -- a normality they both know is fake and unachievable for them).

the silence that follows laughter is as volatile as the warmth, but their smiles and the familiar gleam in lincoln's eyes betray the tension. dima watches him, careful and with a burning that, somehow, rarely ever manages to actually burn the man resting against his thigh. (it's what's kept dima with his hand at the back of lincoln's neck, and kept him looking down at him with what someone else might discern as devotion.) [obsession is devotion's lover.]

dima runs a hand through lincoln's hair as lips are pressed against his flesh, sits up and presses his own lips to crooked nose. he carefully, always carefully, removes himself from lincoln's gentle hold, treads silently to the window across from the bed and opens it. he stands there for a moment, closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, cool evening air calming the always burning that permeates his veins. he brings a hand up to rub at his shoulder, his neck, and when he turns and opens his eyes, lincoln is leaning against the headboard, watching him with his always-sparkling eyes.

"i love you," lincoln says, not breathless, not as if it were ripped unwillingly from his cords -- it's purposeful, heavy in a way that doesn't crush but fulfills. dima's soft smile brightens, head tilted, and stares at him with something akin to reverence. (reverence, noun: a deep respect for someone or something. does he respect lincoln? it's a complicated answer dima can't quite answer, himself). he basks in his love, holds his hands over his heart dramatically with a chuckle.

"I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU, EVEN WHEN I HATED YOU." (@dogrots)

it's said as purposeful and fulfilled and sweet, but suddenly the warmth is burning again and dima's smile twitches, the bright leaving his eyes. his hands fall from his chest, and he steps back to lean against the wall beside the window, brings a hand up to chew at the skin at his fingertips. his eyes narrow, calculating, darker, and then he pushes himself off the wall and moves slowly to the bed, sits on the edge and leans over. he rests his head against lincoln's chests, reaches blindly for one of his hands.

"you've hated me?" he makes sure to add extra hurt, plays with lincoln's fingers. "what- what reason- what reason could i have possibly given you to- to hate me?" soft, pained, torn, careful. he gnaws at the insides of his cheeks. "is it- is it because of..." he trails off, deliberate but seemingly unsure. he lowers his voice to a whisper, ducks his head farther against the strong chest beneath him, "alistair? or- or did i do something?"