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cillivnz · 27 days

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RUNAWAY BRIDE [Lord Dimitrescu]

pairing. Lord Alcides Dimitrescu x Ex!Wife Reader

genre. angst, smut.

warnings. nsfw (18+). infidelity, abandonment, cannibalism, gore descriptions, murder, separation, hunter-prey-chase dynamics, manipulation, pregnancy, cursing, pet-names, mention of cults, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, overstimulation, clit-play, breast/nipple-play, multiple orgasms, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, doggystyle, crying.

word count. 3.7k+

a/n. idk how i feel about this :,) sweet anon, thank you so much for requesting this! i apologise for not getting to work sooner, but i hope it was worth the time! feedback is always appreciated <3 NOT PROOFREAD. EXCUSE INACCURATE TRANSLATIONS (I USE GOOGLE)

translations. “Mireasa fugară” - The Runaway Bride. “draga mea sotie” - my darling wife. “mireasa mea fugitivă” - my runaway bride. “Comoara mea” - My precious. “căprița mea mică” - my little doe. “iubițel” - darling/sweetheart. “Draga mea” - My darling.

listening to. HIM — Lose You Tonight - Thulsa Doom Extended Dub

TEARING HELL FOR LEATHER, you were cursing Fate and her knack for irony, because as you galloped like a doe from one forest Spruce to another, you were sure you were being compared to one by your tiger hunters; a dumb doe, too.

For thinking you could outrun them.

Vampiric barbarians that chased prey like you for sport, and devoured your meaty, lifeless bodies for dinner.

‘None of it seemed to be a problem to you then, so why now, my darling?’

You could hear his voice ring in the eye of your mind, a taunt, perhaps a warning, that you had no choice now but to suffer the consequences of a lustful love that once became the root of your existence.

You had been the talk of the town, rather, every town coming under The Four Houses; firstly, for your damn-near blasphemous marriage to him, and then when you ran away from him, leaving him to be a bastard widow of sorts.

Lord Alcides Dimitrescu and his Runaway Bride.

“Mireasa fugară”

Of all titles given to you, from ‘his little doe’, to Lady Dimitrescu, or even ‘Mother Dearest’ by your adoptive children, the one that stuck was this.

As you tear through the verdure of the outskirts of your renounced Castle, you hope the now-grown men chasing you remember how you were their “Mother Dearest” as boys.

“Mother, that’s enough,” grunted Boian, your oldest, ever the most obedient and faithful, but his loyalties will remain to his father, and so he’ll hunt you down for his validation, if he must.

“Yeah, Mommy, aren’t you getting tired of the cats-and-mouse chase?” Cătălin intervened, a snarky comment always on the brat’s lips, but his mischief and naughtiness had always warmed your heart.

“Just come back to father— to us,” begged Dorin, your youngest. He had always been the most attached to the idea of you as his mother, clutching onto your dress and hiding behind you when his father would scold him for blinding the messenger raven by throwing rocks at it, and would always consider you to be the epitome of the ideal woman.

Your eyes well up at their cries for you, but you must do this. You mustn’t ever return to Castle Dimitrescu, the hellish abode of Satan himself.

Not after his cannibalistic tendencies were shamelessly rubbed in your face, a mortal noblewomen who lost the people of her kingdom to her husband’s appetite.

The night was cold, the frost blanketing over the foliage like a cruel lover’s intoxicating embrace.

Speaking of a noxious love, you were preparing in your chambers, to let go and breathe the air of freedom and quit living in a necromantic land ruled by tyranny.

“‘Ya almost done?” A thick transatlantic accent broke the eerie silence of your quarters.

Where the only sound heard was that of your beating heart, now, the planting of wet kisses along your spine was sounded, too.

“Karl…” you whimpered in hesitation,

“I know, bub, we’re leaving as soon as ‘ya finish packing.” He planted one final kiss on your shoulder before leaving you alone; once again the silence fell.

Your heart palpitated, sinking into the pit of your stomach with guilt, making you sigh as you second-guess your decision. It’s ironic how you spent your entire life in the belief of infidelity being the biggest sin— the ultimate blasphemy to betray whom you’re betrothed to, and now you’re forsaking your husband to live a “normal” life with his friend.

“Fuck me,” you groan. You were never one to use profanities so casually, but the given circumstances had you cursing like a sailor. Clutching your bag of belongings, you make your way outside of the chambers. You see your chamberlain bustling about the halls, eagerly preparing for dinner for the five of you— Lord, Lady, and children. She nods curtly at you, “Pasha, were must the Lord be,” you inquire. She immediately stops tending to the kitchen staff and pays full heed to you. “He is still at the Tower of Worship, mi Lady,” Pasha replies.

Right, so he’s still where he’d said he’d be; where he requested you to accompany him, but you refused, feigning a faux headache that your stress soon turned genuine.

“I am going to accompany him there, don’t wait for me for supper,” you dismiss her and her ‘but’s’ of concern for your health.

As you walk towards the Tower, your steps felt faltered, meek. The damp, chilly air only constricted your breathing and the large ruby on your ring finger that once fit you like a glove, back when he proposed to you on one knee, levelling your height then, felt like needles pricking into your soft flesh— a beautiful but bitter reminder of your imprisonment.

The ruby glowed when you walked past the Tower, as if telling you that the object of your desires— your demise— is in there.

You ignore all omens screeching at you, and disappear into the night; Karl Heisenberg waiting for you on the outskirts of the town in a chariot.

“What happens now,” you inquire, breathless from kissing Karl. “We’ll live off of regular means. I’ll look for a job in welding, and you— well, bub, with a face like yours you could start your own cult,” he smirks, nuzzling his bearded face into your neck.

You try to laugh but your conscious was grim.

“HE KNOWS, IT’LL ONLY A MATTER OF TIME!” Cătălin had a possessed look on his face, his raven hair wild in the wind, yellow eyes fluorescent in the dark.

Tears stream down your face, the wind carrying them to your storming children.

You were tired, wanting the nightmare to be over. Never having anticipated these to be the consequences— hell, had you known, you would’ve never accepted either man’s proposal— neither Alcides nor Karl.

Alas, a woman’s beauty is to blame for bad luck.

When the sound of thunderous strides tearing through foliage is no longer heard behind, you stop dead in your tracks, hidding behind the largest tree of the forest, a century old banyan.

Your haggard breath created a veil of fog around you, your eyes dart in every nook and corner for a sign of your predators, not knowing they’re circling you from each direction, until the leap in front of you.

“Mamă,” Dorin cooed, his voice soft. Cătălin pushed past him, cornering you further in. He wipes the sweat on his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes flick from a pale beige colour to an electric yellow.

“Say you want us to take you back to Dad,” he grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you to look into his eyes. Your pupils dilate, your subconscious felt manipulated into a trance.

“No!” You intended to slap away his grip, but what surprised the three was that there was no need for you to. Your own eyes glimmered a fluorescent amber, hypnotising him to back off.

“That’s enough,” Dorin intervened, his voice gruff, depicting maturity you didn’t know he was capable of possessing.

Boian stood closest to you know, your eyes watering with heavy tears, like the reflection of the sun in a stream.

“Rest, mother.” His eyes shined the brightest, compelling you to comply, and your tired mind just wanted it for the sufferance to end.

THE FIRST SIGHT YOU SEE when you awoke was of the gothic ridges adorning the ceiling of your— Alcides’ bedroom.

Wait, what—

You shoot up from your grave of silk bedding, eyes landing directly on the man you were dreading, the man you abandoned, the man you married.

His kept stubble grew into a full beard, tiny specks of grey were illuminating in his roots, and he was seemingly taller, with the pride of having stolen you from the world once again.

“Good morning, draga mea sotie,” he spoke with a nonchalant face, but you of all people knew when you heard amusement in his tone. “I take it you slept well, thanks to our oldest—”

“Keep my boy off of your necromantic ways,” you cut him off.

“Dare you suggest I cut off his diet? Starve my boy? Rob him off of his luxuries—”

“I’m suggesting you raise normal nobles, not cannibals in a cult,” your voice came out weaker than you expected, and the faux offense feigned on the tyrant Lord’s face turned into a smug grin, “There’s nothing normal about nobility, and you’re one to talk,”

“They told me what happened.”

Your eyes widen— the same eyes he’s referring to right now. “No. Th-that was an accident—”

“‘That so? How come you have the symptoms of a plague that never infected you, hm?” He moves closer, from the edge of the bed to right beside your bare knees. “Unless you’ve had it embedded in you, or you’ve resorted to our diet, the odds are not in your favour, mireasa mea fugitivă.”

“How dare you call me that,” you sneered.

“How dare you hide my unborn child from me.”

“How dare you leave me.”

You dare not look at him now, face turned away from him, clenching your jaw while your eyes well up with fury.

“Comoara mea, look at me,” his large hands grab a hold of your chin, and the gentleness took you by surprise. He makes you face him, and when you look into his amber eyes your expression softens.

He stares into your glassy doe eyes, parted plump lips quivering, “There’s căprița mea mică,” he smiled— not smirked in his usual conceit, but smiled— the smile you received when you stood in the chapel of the Tower of Worship, and swore yourself to him.

His lips find yours in a yearning kiss— gentle, longing, and passionate. You clutch his half-unbuttoned shirt, remembering how you’d have to stand on your tiptoes to button them for them, not that the trimmed chest hair ever bothered you, if anything, it got you hot and bothered, which is why you buttoned him up. The fabric crinkles under your grip, and whether you were holding onto him to push him away or pull him closer was something you couldn’t figure out.

His hands tear open your blouse, and you couldn’t help but compare the act with the way you’ve caught him ripping through human flesh.

You pull away.

“You know why I left, and why I’ll leave again,” your chest heaved, breathless.

“Because I’m cruel? A cannibal?”

“Like your little paramour was any better.” He spat, and your eyes widened.

He knew about Karl, “What?”

“Please, ‘y really think he left you in a tavern full of drunken hunters every night and day to weld weapons? He’d deal in his work for a pound of flesh from the very hunters whose tables you’d been scrubbing,” he revealed, running a hand through his onyx locs.

He knew everything.

“Karl couldn’t— where is he?!” The realisation of his a sense dawned on you.

“Being served— as dinner.” He smirked.

The metal man was dead.

“Come on, don’t tell me you felt for that bastard. He was your exit ticket, I know, but other than that what’s he got,” says your ex-husband, meaning to say, “What’s he got that I don’t— that I didn’t?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, so the tantalising question hangs over the cold tension of the room.

This time his hand grabs ahold of your nape, tugging the hair towards him.

“Don’t go all quiet on me now, my darling,” he cooed, voice husky and soft despite the harsh pain he was inflicting on your scalp.

“What do you want, Alcides?” You spat, and he smiled at his little spitfire.

“Another chance,” he spoke almost instantly, a request lingering in the air.

“—To do better for you, and my unborn child.” He’s patient, oh so careful with you, like this doe’s made of glass.

He grips your calf, causing you to wince. Immediately he searches for the reason of your pain, noting it to be a laceration.

“Lie back, relax, and let me take care of you,” he cooed, making his way to catch your lips, “Let me worship you the way I should’ve.”

You couldn’t help but lean into the kiss. He had a way with words, a way so profound that he had you wrapped around his abnormally large finger the minute he set eyes on you.

You succumb. And fuck, do you succumb?

“Mireasa fugară”, her Tyrant Lord— a cruel tale men would recite at the tavern table, laugh at Fate and her knack for irony. Perhaps, they’d compare her beauty to their distraught wives’, curse their luck for not making her theirs, they’d surely have treated her better than the Cannibal, and the barkeep ladies yearn for the sight of a mammoth hulking in their pub, offering a penny to anyone who’d tell him with whom his wife ran away with. He who hunts hunters for sport, lost all wits and appetite for destruction over a woman.

The men laugh, their ale clinks, the barkeeps scrub the tables with a satiated sigh. Such is life, a beautiful ending to a tragic tale.

His kisses follow the trail from the corner of your lips to your jawline, your prominent collarbones. He takes a minute to observe the glass flesh which was earlier always adorned in tyrian purple like a leash of love; now the slate was clean, the collar, erased— a cruel reminder of the last time you made love— so casually that night, and had he known it would’ve been the last for a very long time, he’d have given you a night to remember— not that you ever forgot.

Alcides got to work, gently suckling on your pulse points. His beard pricked your soft flesh, sending jolts of arousal through you. You bit your lip, holding back moans, but the minute his mouth landed on your breasts, you were a goner. He kneaded them, caressed and fondled them. He noticed how your breasts had swell up, your body preparing for sustaining the child that hadn’t even developed into a bump yet. His serpentine tongue peaked out, encircling your hard nipple. Wet kisses trailed along the valley of your breasts, every inch of your body was covered in his essence.

When he reached your belly, he peered at you. Amber yellow eyes were blown out in lust, staring into the crests of your soul as his lips pressed into your flesh in a chaste kiss.

“It’s happy,” he began, causing your trance to break momentarily, “To have its parents back together,” he continued. A swell of overwhelm gathered in your heart, but that was every moment in a relationship with Alcides.

All thoughts and sense left your mind when his face was between your thighs. His broad shoulders were enough to have you fully spread out for him, even more than you’d like. He observed your body, the flutter of your walls, the blood rush to your clit, all were odes to his heed, and with immediate urgency.

The first lick to your cunt sent you spiralling back to doomsday. What every fibre of your being tried to prevent was unravelling right before your eyes, and the worst part? You wanted it to happen, you craved it, needed it like he needed human flesh. Maybe you two weren’t so different in your desires, you gnaw at his being alive and he eats corpses.

“Prettiest pussy,” he spoke, smothered in your thighs. His gentle licks were putting pressure on your sensitive spots, the texture of his abnormal tongue had always coaxed your soul to ooze through your orgasmic tides. Your clit was constantly taunted by the tip of his tongue, flicking and sucking on the bundle of nerves, relishing in the sight of you writhing and pulsating.

Soon enough, his tongue slipped into your velvety walls, the wet muscle stretching your constricting walls in a manner so painfully good.

Sex with Alcides had always been excruciatingly good, and tonight this artist put on his finest performance for his favourite audience of one.

You were squirming in his grasp, trying to get away before coming undone, but he wouldn’t budge, if anything, his tongue dove in deeper into your clenching pussy.

With fervent rubs of your clit, he had you coming in his mouth, a celestial maiden quenching the thirst of a mortal with ichor.

You struggled in overstimulation, but Alcides only lapped further at the juices dripping down his chin.

“One,” he rose, parting your legs further. He positioned his fingers on your mound, pressing down firmly. The feel of your cunt convulsing with need sent him tremors down his spine. He eased a finger in, and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. The sharp digit sat fat and deep inside you, slowly curling to the rhythm of its master’s drum.

Your clit throbbed, and with senses as heightened as yours, it ached. Alcides was quick to soothe or intensify the pain, leaning in to lick leisurely at the bud, while his finger teased your sweet spot.

Another digit in had tears welling up in your eyes, and soon the stream flowed down your cheeks as his rhythm picked up pace.

“Hurts, iubițel,” you whined, and Alcides froze.

‘iubițel’, was something he hadn’t been addressed as for years. A genuine smile flashed on his handsome face, you’re accepting it— accepting him.

“I know, Draga mea, but you can take it,” he got back to sucking your clit while scissoring your cunt open with his thick digits. “Alcides, fuck!” You moaned wantonly, gushing all over him. He grinned from ear to ear, eager to coax more of that squirt out. His movements tripled in velocity, and soon enough, he pulled out only to replace his digits with his mouth, drinking every spurt of your juices.

“Two,” he groaned, licking his glistening lips.

He pulled you closer by the neck, crashing his lips onto yours in a passionate tango of tongue. He was quick to turn you around, manhandling you on your fours came naturally to him; too easily did you comply.

The feeling of his fat cockhead rubbing against your tender entrance was nostalgic to say the least, but fear of not being able to take him soon crept it. Even when he’d fuck you day and night, you could barely, just barely accommodate the mammoth’s monster cock, and now that it’s been years without practise, you could only pray to Gods you wouldn’t rip in half.

As the tip slide in, you felt a wave of euphoria crash your shores of uncertainty. Concealing in lust was the love you had now opened yourself up for.

Alcides spread your ass, relishing in the feel of the plump fat of your curves in his large palms. He gave your hips a squeeze before letting his palm fall on the swell of your ass.

You gasped at the smack, looking back at him through wet eyelashes. “My little doe, my beautiful, beautiful wife,” he gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

He pushed in further and further until no inch was left, until your thighs were clad together and your bodies conjoined.

Feeling merciful, Alcides decided to let you adjust to his intrusion. As you clenched and cried on his cock, Alcides took a minute to close his eyes and smile on cloud nine. The feel of your warm, tight, wet cunt choking his cock to death was a feeling he longed for, and it was then he knew no other desire of his could amount to you. He would leave it all for you. He will.

“Alcides, fuck,” your pornographic moans were sound in the whole chambers. He set out a slow pace, yet every thrust was felt in your cervix. “Good G-God, darling,” Alcides moaned, his breath hitched as your tight channel gripped him like a vice.

He snaked a hand to settle between your thighs, pinching your clit.

You were in tears, beads of sweat pearlescent on your body, brows furrowed in pleasure and pain, a beautiful symphony.

“Slow down—” you managed to shriek, but Alcides was too far gone to act on it, he could only bring you solace to endure what his desires have in store for you. He kisses your spine, bathing your silk skin in wet kisses.

He pounded into your cunt, the whole room rumbling with the thrusts of the titan above you. He had an ironclad grip on your hips, slamming them back on his cock as he pistons into you. “Fuck, I couldn’t live without you,” he croaked.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he beseeched, causing you to nod rapidly, face buried into the sheets.

“Alcides, I’m going to—” your tears and slick stained the sheets, you broke down on his cock, the sensation, the memories too much for your precious and fragile little heart to endure.

He pulled out.

He glared at your gaping hole, your flustered face crying in frustration at the painful denial.

Alcides slams inside of you, “I need— need to look at you while I cum,” he groaned, resuming his animalistic thrusts.

Your legs wrapped around his narrow waist, nails ripping through the flesh of his broad back.

Rutting into your cunt, he bent forwards to catch your bouncing breasts into his mouth, squeezing the two together.

He left your hip to abuse your clit, tormenting the swollen bud with overstimulation.

“Cum with me. Cum with your husband,” he was lost inside of you. Rambling sweet nothings like never before, making every cell inside of you swell up with love and lust.

“Alcides!” You moaned, feeling his warm seed shoot into you.

“Oh my god!” You saw stars.

It finally came to you, in bits and pieces of your being, Fate isn’t cruel, but comic.

“Three,” he groaned, crashing beside you.

Three earth-shattering orgasms for the three years you abandoned him.

“I love you, I’ll do anything for you,” he caressed the side of your face.

“I love you, too,” you sighed, feeling exhaustion embrace you.

You spent so long running, only for your strides to lead you back to bed with him, to home.

Fate isn’t cruel but comic, because the bones you were so against finding devoured in your house became your daughter’s favourite toys.

Just like her father, Alcides, Alcina Dimitrescu loves the grotesque, but her doe of a mother even more.

main masterlist. more of Lord Dimitrescu.

#lord dimitrescu #lord dimitrescu x reader smut #lord dimitrescu smut #lord dimitrescu sons #lord dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu genderbent #resident evil village #resident evil #lady dimitrescu #size difference #resident evil dimitrescu #monsterfuck #monster smut #vampire smut #divorce #ex wife #makeup sex

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bump1nthen1ght · 8 months

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A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 3 (Bukkake)

Kink: Bukkake

Pairing: Male!Orcs x Fem!Reader

Other kinks: Gang Bang, Spit Roasting

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1197 words

Kinktober Masterlist

If someone had told you this morning that your night shift at the tavern would end with you in the bedroom of a traveling adventurer, you wouldn’t have believed them.

If they had told you it would end with you in the bedroom of several adventurers, you would’ve thought they were insulting you.

If they had told you 're relatively boring tavern shift in your fairly boring town would end with you in a bed, surrounded on all sides by sexy orc adventurers, you would’ve slapped them atop the head and told them to stop reading so many dirty novels.

And yet-

“Fuck, you’ve got a good mouth on you, barkeep.” The orc, who you think is named Thrak, mutters.

“A good pussy too. Nice and tight.” The orc behind you, Parod, gives a hard slap to your ass. It makes your throat clench with a whine, something Thrak clearly appreciates. He runs his hand down the side of your cheek, giving you sweet caresses that don’t match his hurried thrusts, his balls smacking against your chin.

“Plus, look at that ass. I could watch that ass walking around this bar all day.”

The bard, Kog, slaps your ass too, his other hand still preoccupied with playing with your clit. Despite already spending himself in your ass his cock is rock hard. His musicians training must come in handy, as he easily navigates circling your clit and stroking himself at the same time.

“Maybe we should take you along with us, darling.” Sitting in the big chair nearby, fat cock in his scarred hands, remarks Hagu, the band's leader. You remember his name the best, despite a brain addled after orgasm and orgasm. He had made you scream it, over and over, when he bent you in half in a mating press to start this whole night off. “Become our personal cum dump.” Hagu stands up, erection bobbing against his stomach as he walks to you. He runs his knuckles along your sweaty face, not even perturbed by his bandmate’s cock thrusting in and out of your mouth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

When you first approached the band to ask for their drink order, you’d have never guessed Hagu had such a filthy mouth. He seemed the perfect, stone-serious leader for the raucous group, left in charge of the coin and easily silencing the boys if they got too rowdy. With his deep voice, that tantalizing half broken tusk and scar across his lips, he seemed the perfect brooding stranger. Even before they had propositioned you for a night in their room, you had considered hopping into Hagu’s bed.

Not that the rest of the boys weren’t gorgeous. Kog was the smallest, with a smile built for charming and long piano fingers. Thrak and Parod made a perfect duo, one barbarian and one rogue, bouncing off each other’s laughter and sly comments with ease. If they hadn’t seemed to love adventuring as much as they did, you’d think they’d thrive as a traveling troupe. Everyone would swoon.

Not to mention their giant cocks. That helps too.

“Still breathing, sweetheart?” Thrak half-jokes, patting your cheek when your eyes roll back. You give an unsteady thumbs up, moaning again as Parod pummels your g-spot. You’d think two cocks would have been enough to stretch you out, but Parod is girthy, and the pleasure burns.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Hagu says, rubbing the back of your neck. “Do you love all these dicks ruining you? Don’t you just want to forget about all those silly responsibilities, and just live as our cum slut?” Your addled mind, half wondering if he really means the offer, nods enthusiastically. It gets you a congratulatory pat on the ass, though at this point you can’t tell from who. “That’s a good girl.”

Just those words are enough to send goosebumps down your arms, an urge to prove him right making you throw your hips back and to slather your tongue all around Thrak’s dick. Nails dig into your hips and shoulders, Parod’s grunts humps stumbling just a bit.

“F-fuck, I’m close.”

“Me too.” Thrak pants, squeezing your cheeks. “Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Her face, she wants it on her face.” Hagu commands, languidly stroking his cock. ��She wants us all on her face, don’t you?”

Thraks pulls his cock out your mouth, drool dripping down your lips as Hagu grabs your chin again. The emptiness burns as Parod slips out of your pussy, resting his pulsing cock on your ass cheeks.

“Well?” Hagu squeezes your jaw, a slight tinge of pain as he yanks you to look up at him. His cock blocks your view, veins pulsing up his shaft. The other boys are uncharacterisitcally silent, all deferring to their leader's commands.

“Yes, c- cum on my face, please!” Your voice keens, whiny and desperate. Once again you think back to the beginning of your shift and how vastly different you thought this night would go.

“You heard her, boys. Pretty girls who ask nicely-” Hagu tugs on his shaft, moaning in between words, “-get what they want.”

It’s a cacophony of breathes, groans, and the slapping of skin as you're surrounded by 4 orcs, tips leaking with pre cum as they furiously jerk off. Your battered pussy, still a bit sore from being stretched open, grows slick nonetheless. The anticipation is killing you, licking your lips as your stomach grows taut.

Hagu, always the leader, starts everyone off.

“S-shit.” He growls, hands twitching as he aims his cock right at your open mouth. A hot stream of cum shoots across your lips, more and more spurts following to coat your tongue. The other boys are quick to follow, falling in and unloading all over your face. Thrak and Parod aim for your cheeks, giving the courtesy of avoiding your eyes. Kog is a little less controlled, whiny moans leading him to shoot his cum all over, some even reaching your forehead as his cock spasms.

All in all, it's just 15 seconds of pure bliss, hot cum warming your skin. The salt of sweat and semen has your mouth watering. You’re happy you had the wherewithal to tie your hair up when you guys started, or else it’d be coated by now.

Thrak and Parod collapse into the big comfy chair behind them, while Kog sinks into the bed beside you. Their green chests heave, skin dark with a furious blush as they all catch their breath. Even Hagu, ever composed, seems to take a moment. He wipes a palmful of sweat off his brow, before brushing a thumb across your face.

“Let's get you cleaned up, beautiful.”

Hagu easily sweeps you off the bed and into a bridal carry, leading you over to the small bathroom afforded to tavern rooms. The other boys, still in a post-nut haze, follow their leader anyway. Kog gathers up your strewn about clothes from the floor, making sure to keep them away from his sweaty skin.

What a way to end the night.

#my writing #kinktober 2023 #reader insert #monster romance #female reader insert #kinktober

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obsessive-valentine · 5 months

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just read yandere barbarian and I LOOOOVED it

he seems so gentle and caring but at the same time so rough and problematic. It's so cute! I would love to see his reaction to their darling gifting them a handmade accessory they made (like a flower crown or a necklace or even a bracelet)

Thank you SO much ❤️ he definitely is problematic and may come across stoic and heavy handed but not as much as he is loving and definitely softens considerably when he’s around his love. Fair waning-I may have rambled a bit on this one.

…

He’d falter for a moment, he’s so used to giving but never expects anything back nor thinks he wants anything back until you do gift him something. You have gotten more comfortable around him and the people of the camp, time had truly begun to heal your mental wounds, and in a moment of peace and thankfulness of the most recent gift you received you made him piece of jewellery.

…

He came back from his morning duty and entered the tent to fetch you for breakfast, his face stays poker but his posture relaxes and his stress wrinkles on his forehead lessen at the sight of you, everything you wore was gifted by him, from the clothes to the jewellery and hair pins and the shoes he got made especially for you by a fellow tribe member. “Let’s go, we got food to eat and it’s your day to feed the hens” you almost forgot about the hens while you fashioned old wire around a beautiful rock you found, the barbarian got you some jobs around the camp -all easy ones with animals- after seeing you begin to get bored.

“Wait I made you something” you rushed to stand up when he turned his back to open the tent and hold the front open for you, he dropped the fabric door again before raising a eyebrow “oh yeah what might it be?” Part of him didn’t believe you the it would be one of those jokes you love playing, til your hand shot out palm up cupping a necklace made from carefully twisted wire and string with the rock you found during one of the walks he took you on in the last camp which had a river of smoothed rocks from years of tumbling down stream.

His mouth opened you couldn’t tell if he wanted to say something or he was shocked maybe both, he took the necklace from your palms and promptly put it on, wearing it proudly over his shirt where as his others lay under. He wordlessly took you into a hug and kissed your cheek “it’s beautiful my love, it’s priceless, thank you” he whispered into your ear as his rough hands gripped your sides. He pulled back grinning with pride and maybe a slightly bigger soft spot in his heart for you.

He promises to give you a couple dozen more gifts to maybe come close to amounting how much this means to him. He wears it everywhere even the battle field, it’s his good luck charm and when it wears thin he spends hours twisting wire and thread onto to strengthen it so it will last him his life time.

#yandere barbarian #yandere oc #yandere #x reader #val-asks

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featherlesswings · 18 days

Text

I know they’ll never comprehend this but a thing I have noticed and get tickled about in regards to Travis Willingham & That Type of CR fan is this.

Them: Travis is Like Us. He is an Alpha Male, he is a True Man. He *hates* playing his weird little old man character and can’t wait to kill him, and was CLEARLY mad that Sam brought him back. He *actually* wants to play a minmaxed hyper masculine ideal character, but they *won’t let him*

Travis : EHEHEHEHEHEHE dirty old man humor!!! EHHEHEHEHE Chetney is so fun and silly and weird, I am having the best time!!! Also Essek with long hair is HOT. Also I hope the girl I RP’d a threesome with gets with the non-binary rock barbarian, because they’re cute together! Also I REALLY hope Orym & Dorian bang!! Also Chetney’s naked again, lol WHOOPSIES!

Like. How can they be THAT obtuse? This is why I typically stay out of the youtube comments. This type of guy is either complaining about female players/their characters being “OP” or announcing what Travis is *actually* feeling or wishing he could do or wants to do next. Don’t get me started on how much they complained about Fjord giving up his patron and “downgrading/becoming weak.” They really don’t get that that was a combination of Travis not wanting to play an evil character, and going with what made sense for his character as a huge boy scout at heart who didn’t want to be incredibly powerful. He just wanted to be a good leader.

#anyway #critical role #fandom wank #toxic masculinity #the dnd fandom is a lot #critical role spoilers #cr c3e94 #the mighty nein #critical role campaign 2 spoilers #travis willingham #let that man have fun #also he’s the CEO you think he can’t choose what he wants to play???#ALSO ALSO Respect the Alpha was a joke ABOUT THOSE GUYS #Travis really said That’s what YOU sound like

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spacebarbarianweird · 1 month

Note

For the parental HCs prompts:

Hide and seek with the amazing Alethaine? Vampire vs. Barbarian vs. Dhampir and

see who wins (I bet on Alethaine because she sneaky!)

Summary: Astarion plays hide-in-seek with his daughter but it doesn't go smoothly.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, dadstarion

Alethaine's age: 6-year-old

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Dadstarion prompts

“Now my turn to hide!” Alethaine squeals as she waves to Astarion from the ground.

Astarion chuckles and jumps from the branch. There is no point in hiding from Alethaine – as a dhampir, she just knows where he is.

Sometimes Astarion thinks it’s a blessing – his daughter will always be able to find him, no matter what. But then he remembers the 7000 spawns released in the Underdark. How many of them have already conceived children? Pale half-vampires, born one foot in their parents’ graves?

And how many of them have decided to hunt vampires?

Will Astarion ever be safe, after all? Or will his mercy towards his victims be the end of him?

“But I will hide very very well, much better than you!” the six-year-old elf’s ears twitch in anticipation.

It’s a dark night, way past midnight and the dark woods of the Unicorn Run are as unsettling to mortals as possible.

But Astarion and his daughter aren’t mortals; thus, the woods have become their playground. Here, in the dark of the night, Astarion can forget about his vampirism and his limitations in the daylight. Here and now, he is the father of this little girl and he plays hide-and-seek with her.

What can be more normal?

“Alethaine, don’t run too far away, '' he tells her strictly.

She nods and grins. Another weird quirk of the little dhampir. Astarion can’t catch her scent, so he tracks her the same way he does with Tiriel. Her heartbeat is so quiet he can’t hear it. She is invisible to him the same way she would have been if they were mortal elves.

“Count to… twenty!” She tells him and once Astarion turns away she disappears in the woods.

Astarion tries to hear her footsteps but they soon fade away. He stops counting and slowly moves forward.

There is something natural about this game. Something that appeals to his predatory side. Astarion makes no sounds looking for the hiding girl.

Thanks to the dark vision he sees perfectly – and he also catches heartbeats and breathings of different night animals that hide in fear sensing the presence of the undead.

Alethaine is nowhere to be seen or heard.

Astarion feels the wave of panic but suppresses it. She just hid somewhere in the bushes or in the leaves. Soon when he fails to find her she will run to him laughing and mocking him for “failing such a simple task”.

But it doesn’t happen.

“Alethaine!” he calls her out. “Alethaine, are you all right?”

No answer. His daughter has just disappeared.

Old habits that refuse to die heighten his new fears. He lost his daughter. Something bad has happened to her. What is he going to tell Tiriel? What if Alethaine is wounded? What if someone kidnapped her?

What if she’s fallen down on the rocks and died?

“Alethaine!” Now his voice trembles and he feels his body freeze.

Mistakes mean punishment. Punishment means pain. Even now when there is no one to torture him, his mind can perfectly do it.

Astarion calls for Alethaine and searches her across the area, but she is just gone as if taken by a fey. Maybe she has been? There are so many dark creatures who love to mess up with little kids. Well, whoever and whatever did this must know that Astarion is very good at breaking contracts and beating the shit out of powerful bastards who deceive and manipulate.

Another wave of fear makes his skin itch.

The sunrise.

He looks to the east and sees that the skies are turning lighter and the stars start disappearing.

“Fuck!” Astarion’s voice is already hoarse. “ALETHAINE!”

He needs to come back to the town. Run to their home that was built in the underground part of Daggerlake and tell Tiriel what has happened. He is embarrassed, he hasn’t felt so much guilt since…. forever.

He had one job – to take care of their daughter. And he failed. He’s lost his child in the woods.

Of course, he couldn’t be trusted. Who the fuck would think he could be a good father?

Astarion rushes home driven by a terror only the undead know. The fear of burning.

“Astarion!” Tiriel who’s spent the whole night in the tavern in the upper-town and probably has just come back stares at him anxiously. “Where… Where is Alethaine?!”

“I am so sorry… She… just…disappeared…” Astarion sits on the porch and grabs a fistful of his hair. “It was sunset… I couldn’t… stay…”

Tiriel casts a glance at him and he subconsciously expects anger but sees nothing but motherly fear.

“It’s all right… I am going to look for her. She has probably just hidden somewhere”

“What if something bad happened to her? I will never forgive myself!” Astarion sniffs.

Tiriel, still dizzy after the merry night, takes her two-handed ax. “I will find her. Don’t worry. How far were you from the tunnel?”

“Maybe half a mile. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have taken her to the woods”

“Don’t be stupid, love. You can’t be outside the lower town in the daylight. When else are you supposed to play and walk with her?” she kisses his cheek.

Astarion nods but he knows Tiriel is scared to death, she just never shows it up when he is afraid too. And he is sorry for that, too.

Alethaine has cried her eyes out.

At first, it sounded like a good idea to hide a bit further in the woods. Her dad is a vampire and he can find her! But then she saw a weird-looking butterfly and followed it, enchanted by its blue wings.

And the dhampir got lost.

She started calling for Dad, but he couldn't hear her and she had no idea how far she wandered. Then, Alethaine decided that maybe Dad returned home and she needed to do it too but the narrow pathways of the dark woods took Alethaine even further.

She has never felt so lonely and scared in her life.

Alethaine cried hoping her dad would hear her, but no one came. Now, she is sitting on a small boulder in the center of the clearance and the sun is showering the woods in its light.

Alethaine is hungry.

And tired.

It’s way past noon, the last time she ate was when she left home with dad – mother told them she would go to drink some ale in the tavern.

The dhampir sniffs.

She wants home. She wants to eat. She wants to sleep. She wants her parents. Her stuffed toys.

Alethaine starts crying again.

“Alethaine!” She hears her mother’s voice from a distance.

“Mum! Mum!” Alethaine jumps on her feet. Her dhampir hearing immediately identifies where Tiriel is, and the girl rushes there.

The red-headed woman lifts her up and hugs her. Alethaine wails and presses her little face to her mother’s shoulder.

“Where have you been?!” Tiriel pulls Alethaine away and starts looking at her arms and legs trying to see if she is wounded. “Dad told you not to wander too far, how come you’ve disappeared?”

She sniffs.

“I wanted… I wanted… To hide better… And then… there was a butterfly…”

Tiriel squeezes her lips and Alethaine senses how her mother’s fear is being replaced by anger.

It's not easy to make Tiriel angry, but Alethaine, like any child, managed to do that.

“Your father is scared to death. I was scared to death. What if someone took you?”

Within the next half an hour Alethaine hears all the possible stories about children who were taken by feys, and hags, eaten by wolves, kidnapped by giants, frozen to death, drowned in rivers, and died of open wounds. Every story feels like a slap and, even though none of her parents have ever gotten physical on her, Alethaine suspects being spanked wouldn’t be that scary in comparison to the horrors her mother tells in the barbarian voice she uses against her enemies.

“Let’s go home” Tiriel lifts Alethaine up again. “No sweets till the end of the week. And you aren’t going to play outside until you learn how to follow the rules.”

“But mum!”

“You heard me, Alethaine.”

Alethaine places her cheek on her mother’s shoulders. The fear is taking its grip on the dhampir’s half-dead heart and she just wants to hide under the blanket at home.

Astarion tries to occupy his mind with something at least. Worrying won’t do him any good. He needs to wait till Tiriel is back and, gods, he hopes Alethaine has just got lost. And that nothing bad has happened.

It’s been too long.

Tiriel left at the early summer sunrise. And now it’s almost evening.

Astarion takes one of his books out. It’s a collection of short stories for kids he found in a dungeon a year ago, but, once he opened it for the first time he realized it’s actually a guide on how to join the thief guild written in Thieves Cant. It’s been years since he practiced the language for the last time and it feels like a good mind exercise.

And then he hears the familiar scent.

Tiriel is coming back.

Astarion can’t understand if she carries Alethaine or not, and he’s afraid his wife is coming back alone.

He rushes outside and sees Tiriel coming back with Alethaine in her arms. The fear lets him go and he runs to them to truly make sure she is fine.

“Where did you… Gods…” he gasps, taking Aletaine from her hands. The girl's face is puffy because of how long she’s cried.

“She ran away. And got lost.”

“I told her not to…” Astarion presses Alethaine to his chest as if fearing she would disappear.

“Well, I suppose she’s learned her lesson. And will learn it even better,” Tiriel repeats what punishment Alethains is going to receive.

Astarion places sleepy Alethaine on a bench and helps her to undress. It's obvious the girl needs to bathe and eat, but she is barely conscious so he decides to bring her night dress and let her do the rest once she wakes up.

The word “punishment” ties a knot in his stomach.

“Tiriel, she almost died! I think it’s enough punishment,” he says once Alethaine is put to bed. The girl hugs a plushie dragon and immediately falls asleep.

“It's not enough, '' Tiriel says, closing the door. “Astarion, please, I know what it reminds you of. Punishment, disobedience. Running away. Your master twisted the idea of a family making you call him his father and other spawns your siblings. But there is nothing internally bad about punishing a child for breaking rules.”

“She almost died!” Astarion insists. “She is scared.”

Tiriel shakes her head.

“Alethaine is much stronger than me. She can already take my ax! She is stronger than you and, soon, she will understand it. And if she decides to run away in the daylight you won't be able to stop her. Imagine her hooking up with someone older than her, who can manipulate her? Alethaine will just go not knowing what dangers lie ahead! And we won’t be able to do anything! We need to punish her for what she did. Because what she did could have killed her. Actions have consequences and we both have to be on board with that. You can’t be “the good parent” in this scenario. Because if you spoil her rotten and I try to impose rules, she will just do whatever she wants.”

Astarion clenches his fists. Rules. Disobedience.

And now one more terrible similarity.

Many of his victims, the ones who weren’t just lonely travelers or drunkards, were those careless young people, girls and boys, who, for some reason, thought nothing would happen if they got wasted with a handsome stranger in a shady tavern. Or someone would save them from vampires if they fucked up.

Kids who knew no dangers were coddled by their parents from this dangerous world and were killed for that.

“I agree. She needs to learn,” Astarion finally says.

It doesn’t go smoothly. Alethaine, probably being sure that it was all just words, asks for gingerbread after dinner and starts crying after a rejection.

“No sweets,” Tiriel reminds her.

Alethaine looks at Astarion with her puppy eyes but he shakes his head showing that there can’t be any disagreement between him and Tiriel.

Then, they don’t let her go to play with the neighbor’s kids who come to pick her up on their way to the river which causes another meltdown that stops the moment Alethaine realizes her cries aren’t working.

Unluckily for her, both her parents can withstand much worse things than the meltdown of a six-year-old.

The young man in a rich red doublet looks anxious. All his arrogance and pride have disappeared the moment he realizes people call Astarion a vampire for a reason.

“Will you… Will you do what I ask?” he cocks his head. The heir of one of the local jarls, the boy has gotten used to getting what he wants. And now he is bound by a pact with a hag who will turn him into a gnoll if he fails to deliver her his bride, and he needs to ask a vampire for help.

“One hundred and fifty gold. And you pay the half right now. I will come to your father for the rest once we’ve done” Astarion plays with his dagger trying to look as distraught as possible.

“That’s insane! Eighty gold!”

“I have a family to feed, boy. '' Astarion chuckles. “Besides, you were dumb enough to make a pact with the hag. What did you want? Money? Power? More lands? Didn’t your parents teach you not to meddle with things you can't understand?”

The young man huffs. Then he notices Tiriel, who watches the whole conversation in silence – and cringes at the sight of a fresh bite mark she hasn’t hidden.

Astarion suppresses the desire to beat the guest.

“I was dying in the swamps… She… It…”

“Offered you salvation because you told her you would do anything?” Tiriel finishes the sentence.

“I can hire an adventure party to slay the hag! I thought you were going to help me with the contract but you aren't the only one who does this kind of work!”

Tiriel laughs. “There will be at least six adventurers and each of them will demand a fair share. And if they make it out alive, there will be one with good intimidation and persuasion skills - and you will end up paying much more. Oh, and there is a big chance they will make a deal with the hag and will bring you to her because hags usually have more things to offer.”

“They… They won't!”

“I've been an adventurer since I was fifteen. Trust me, I know my kind. I would have made a pact with the hag.”

“To be fair,” Astarion adds. “You murdered the hag.”

“Wyll dealt the final blow. And I was staying in the corner of her lair contemplating what choices led me to have a tadpole in my brain, a vampire in my bed, and ‘killing the devil’ in my to-do list.”

“The devil you’d made a pact with, which I told you not to do,” Astarion reminds her.

“Hm, it ended up well, didn’t it? I was also advised against giving you blood and meddling with your master. I did both,” Tiriel presses the young man’s shoulder causing him to yelp in pain. “Astarion is your best choice. You don’t need a monster hunter. You need a magistrate.”

The young man looks absolutely defeated and then calls his bodyguard, a half-orc woman who puts a few small sacks of gold on the table.

“Don’t involve my father in this, once you’ve done, come to me and I’ll pay the rest”

“No,” Astarion bares his fangs. “We go together. And you follow my every order”

Tiriel takes the money and leaves the room to store the gold in the basement of their house.

Suddenly, the guest looks up at the ceiling and mutters something incomprehensible. Astarion follows his sight and sees Alethaine standing right above the table upside down. She wears her black dress and her long hair is braided.

“Is she a vampire?” The bodyguard asks.

“Dhampir. This is my daughter, Alethaine. Princess, don’t scare my clients. Come down and say ‘hello’.”

Alethaine does not react. She just sits on the ceiling and observes the visitors. Astarion shrugs.

“Not very talkative today,” Astarion continues. “We go at sunset through the underground tunnels. Don’t worry, I won’t drag you to the Underdark. Unless you really piss me off. Wait for me in the tavern. Now go, I need to prepare for the road.” Astarion bares his fangs again, enjoying the fear on the guests’ faces.

Alethaine jumps from the ceiling once the strangers leave.

“I don’t like them,” she says.

“I don’t either. Did you want anything?”

“Daddy, are you going to be away for long?”

“Maybe a month. Don’t worry, I will be home before the winter starts”

Alethaine frowns.

“I am sorry. For running away. I won’t do this again. Can we play in the woods when you are back?”

Astarion studies his daughter’s face. There is an honest guilt in her pitch-black eyes.

“Apologies accepted. Come here.”

Alethaine wraps her pale hands around his neck and he enjoys the sound of her heartbeat for a few moments.

“Can I go out with my friends while you are away?”

“Yes. But only in the town.”

It takes Astarion an hour to get ready for the trip into the wild. He knows Tiriel wants to go with him, but they’ve agreed not to leave Alethaine on her own while she is so small.

“When you are back, I will give you a very good rest, if you know what I mean,” Tiriel playfully smiles and kisses him goodbye.

Such a normal thing, he thinks.

A father is going to do some work in the wild.

His little family will be waiting for him.

Such a normal thing and so precious to him.

Tag list

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centaurianthropology · 1 year

Text

Ashton and Silence

One of the things that has fascinated me this campaign is how ready-built Ashton is to be a leader, but how Taliesin plays low charisma to constantly stop them from being one. Ashton has great ideas, and tends to be one of the two most grounded members of the group. He has excellent moral intelligence (far better than they’ll admit), and one-on-one Ashton excels at talking people down from their worst points.

But they also are in constant pain, and they’ve spent their entire life being told that they’re worthless as anything other than a slab of muscle. So they silence themselves. And the more unfamiliar the environment or the more people around them, the more they clam up.

Last episode was one of the best examples I’ve seen yet. Ashton was almost entirely silent this episode. He admitted to hating camping, likely to do with the chronic pain, but also to do with the unfamiliar environment. Ashton is a city barbarian through and through, and they thrive in cities. They are far more confident in cities, even when they don’t know them as well as Jrusar or Bassuras. But the wilderness? On an unknown continent? He’s already on the wrong foot.

And then they go to the village, and before they know it things are spiraling. It turns out this place was a powderkeg waiting to blow, with two factions that are, at least from appearance, both highly suspect. The Vasselheim faction are clearly outsiders come here to impose their culture on the locals, taking too much from their land, bleeding their farms dry for distant tribute, and recently sending more and more armed thugs and more religious oppression. Add to that the Flameguide being clearly an asshole who won’t listen to reason (very classic lawful stupid paladin, and I agree with Emily, likely a Conquest Paladin, some of the worst to deal with), and the Dawnfather folks are clearly assholes who aren’t wanted there.

But though the townsfolk in general seem sympathetic and just want to live free and worship as they will, their charismatic leader also seems to be full-on with Ruby Vanguard ideology. She wants to tear the gods down, mistaking gods who are behind a divine gate and can’t interact with humans without a great deal of faith, with the corrupt religious institutions that sprung up around them. But at the same time she gives a distinct feeling of hating those institutions because she’s not them. She flat-out said that she didn’t want to stop with the town. She wanted her own elemental worship to take over the world.

It’s a great set-up, because the townsfolk just want to be free, so they’re throwing in their lot with someone who has grand and terrible ambitions. It’s Ludinus writ small, and playing out on an intimate scale.

And the team wasn’t really given any choice. Once they were exploring the options, they were already sort of stuck with the elementalists. And they mostly just want to prevent casualties, but the people in charge of those potential casualties have no care for the people who could die. They see only glory and their own faith.

Orym spoke up, because that’s what Orym does. But Orym’s confidence has been shaken, and there was little to no way he was going to manage to sway two fanatics. Denise sort-of spoke up, as did Laudna, both trying but both also failing. Bor’Dor and Prism were both basically on the side of ‘let’s fuck up the gods, whoo!’ from the off, Bor’Dor because he doesn’t really know what’s going on, and Prism out of academic bitterness. In another life, she would have been hard-core Rube Vanguard fairly easily.

And then there’s Ashton, silent in the back, deeply uncomfortable, surrounded by an elementalist group that feels a lot like a cult with a charismatic leader. How much must he be associating this with the Hishari? Does it have any connection? Some remnant faction? Are they fighting on the side of his nightmares?

But they say nothing. They stay silent. They are barely noticed, despite being a big rock person in an elemental-worshipping town. People should be all over them in fascination, but they aren’t, because Ashton has practically vanished. They needed to speak up. They needed to stand with Orym to try to de-escalate things, but instead they are sneaking in the background. Why? Lack of confidence. Self-loathing. Fear. This is where Asthon’s low charisma springs from: they will never trust themselves to do the right thing, to say the right words, to really step up and be counted. So they hide, and things crumble.

#Critical Role #CR spoilers #thoughts on the most recent episode #Ashton Greymoore

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thisisnotthenerd · 7 months

Text

guess who's back! that's right, it's another edition of thisisnotthenerd's d20 stats. this time we're talking level progression.

a few disclaimers: this is only inclusive of initial and final levels. i may go through each season to find the exact points of change and the full progression at some point, but not right now. i don't have the time for that. this is already incredibly long with just initial and final levels. anyways:

level progressions

these are sorted into a couple of categories: major level progressions, minor level progressions, nonprogression seasons, and nonleveled seasons (which basically just means they are non dnd seasons).

to start we have:

major level progression seasons

this includes most of the intrepid heroes' seasons, plus a couple of sidequests that had or are in the process of having major level changes. major level changes means the party levels up two or more levels during the season. without further ado:

fantasy high freshman year: this season had a fairly standard progression; everyone starting from level one, milestone leveling with each battle until they hit level 8 for the finale.

fig faeth:

initial level: bard 1

final level: whispers bard 8

gorgug thistlespring:

initial level: barbarian 1

final level: berserker barbarian 1

adaine abernant:

initial level: wizard 1

final level: divination wizard 8

fabian seacaster:

initial level: fighter 1

final level: champion fighter 8

kristen applebees:

initial level: life cleric 1

final level: life cleric 8

riz gukgak:

initial level: rogue 1

final level: inquisitive rogue 8

the unsleeping city: this season follows a similar progression to fantasy high--the characters just start at level 3 instead of level 1. this let them start with subclasses and a more features that let them swing harder in battle earlier.

ricky matsui:

initial level: devotion paladin 3

final level: devotion paladin 10

sofia lee:

initial level: drunken master monk 3

final level: drunken master monk 8 | hexblade warlock 2

kingston brown:

initial level: city cleric 3

final level: city cleric 10

misty moore/rowan berry:

initial level: lore bard 3

final level: lore bard 10

kugrash:

initial level: shepherd druid 3

final level: shepherd druid 10

pete conlan:

initial level: wild magic sorcerer 3

final level: wild magic sorcerer 10

a crown of candy: this season was a little different because of the initial party composition--the adults started at level 3, while liam and the twins started at levels 2 and 1 respectively. the entry points of cumulous and saccharina obviously affected their starting levels, since they had to match the party at the point of entry. there was also more multiclassing and subclass switches for story reasons this season. just a bit more complexity as d20 itself got more complex.

liam wilhelmina: the most effective subclass switch i think ever. he became a war guy.

initial level: ranger 2 (took beastmaster after 1st battle)

final level: gloomstalker ranger 6 | assassin rogue 4

theobald gumbar:

initial level: eldritch knight 3

final level: eldritch knight 10

jet rocks: she started in rogue with martial adept to match ruby, multiclassed into fighter and dropped her rogue level before she died.

initial level: rogue 1

final level: battlemaster fighter 7

ruby rocks:

initial level: rogue 1

final level: arcane trickster rogue 9 | shadow sorcerer 1

amethar rocks:

initial level: storm herald barbarian 3

final level: storm herald barbarian 5 | battlemaster fighter 5

lapin cadbury:

initial level: celestial warlock 3

final level: celestial warlock 5

cumulous rocks: came in as a cloud, cried over magic, killed chickens for temp hp

initial level: long death monk 6

final level: long death monk 10

saccharina frostwhip: a powerful queen

initial level: storm sorcerer 6 | tempest cleric 2

final level: storm sorcerer 8 | tempest cleric 2

the unsleeping city chapter 2: only a couple of subclass switches this season, but more new characters that played in the multiclass space.

ricky matsui:

initial level: redemption paladin 12

final level: redemption paladin 10

sofia lee:

initial level: shadow monk 8 | hexblade warlock 2

final level: shadow monk 10 | hexblade warlock 2

kingston brown:

initial level: city cleric 10

final level: city cleric 12

iga lisowski: she comes in statted with the party, but it tracks because she's been the steward of a magic Polish dragon box for decades.

initial level: genie warlock 10

final level: genie warlock 10 | draconic sorcerer 2

rowan berry: she comes in late and so only really has the opportunity to start at level 12

initial level: lore bard 12

final level: lore bard 12

cody walsh: can you imagine your intro to magic being selling your soul to a lesser devil and instantly jumping to level 10. he's so bad at everything that it balances. the athletics checks? insane. absolute loser of a mall goth sword guy. a time capsule of the year 2003.

initial level: oathbreaker paladin 10

final level: oathbreaker paladin 12

pete conlan:

initial level: wild magic sorcerer 10

final level: wild magic sorcerer 12

a starstruck odyssey: this season isn't precisely DND and so works a little differently. the party started with level differences: all nonhumans started at level 3, the humans started at level 2, and gunnie was level 1. i think this was indicative of the fact that a) takamori leveled up by getting brain slugged, b) margaret leveled up by undergoing a quarter-life crisis, and c) gunnie probably joined the ship more recently. they also have ship deployments that they take levels in to be able to competently run a ship. deployments are indicated in [brackets] like so.

gunnie miggles-rashbax:

initial level: engineer 1 [mechanic 1]

final level: engineer 6 [mechanic 3]

riva:

initial level: suggestion consular 3 [coordinator 1]

final level: suggestion consular 6 [coordinator 3]

norman 'skip' takamori

initial level: operative 2 [pilot 1]

final level: lethality operative 6 [pilot 3]

margaret encino:

initial level: scholar 2 [operator 1]

final level: politician pursuit scholar 6 [operator 3]

sundry sidney:

initial level: corsair sentinel 3 [gunner 1]

final level: corsair sentinel 6 [gunner 3]

big barry syx:

initial level: ballistic berserker 3 [gunner 1]

final level: ballistic berserker 6 [gunner 3]

neverafter: this season marks the first level 1 party since fantasy high, and also follows a similar level progression pattern. however, they got episode 3'd, and so skipped levels 2 & 3. they woke up with subclasses. the baba yaga also helped them skip from level 6 to level 8 iirc.

rosamund du prix

initial level: ranger 1

final level: swarmkeeper ranger 5 | stars druid 2 | fighter 1

mother timothy goose:

initial level: bard 1

final level: lore bard 8

pinocchio:

initial level: archfey warlock 1

final level: destiny (homebrew) warlock 8

puss in boots (pib):

initial level: rogue 1

final level: mastermind rogue 8

gerard of greenleigh:

initial level: fighter 1

final level: battlemaster fighter 8

ylfa snorgelsson:

initial level: barbarian 1

final level: bear totem barbarian 6 | moon druid 2

the ravening war: here's where the distinction between 'leveled up two or more times' and leveled up two or more levels' has to be made. technically there's really only one major change during the season, but they go from level 4-5 to level 9, so it's counted as a significant jump.

delissandro katzon: this is the second time lou wilson has played a fighter barbarian in calorum. truly i would have two nickels. also the second time he's played a champion fighter that switched to battlemaster and multiclassed. really starting to collect nickels here.

initial level: champion fighter 5

final level: battlemaster fighter 8 | barbarian 1

raphaniel charlock: i don't feel like tracking his titles. also he has so many feats. dear god.

initial level: eloquence bard 4 | rogue 1

final level: eloquence bard 6 | rogue 3

karna solara: the third triple multiclass in d20 history. the only characters that i can think of that are of equivalent assassin vibes are liam, gangie, and skip.

initial level: whispers bard 3 | great old one warlock 2

final level: phantom rogue 4 | whispers bard 3 | great old one warlock 2

colin provolone: oh what a guy. a traditional mercenary if you ever saw one

initial level: battlemaster fighter 3 | rogue 2

final level: battlemaster fighter 6 | swashbuckler rogue 3

lady amangeaux epiceé du peche: she starts lower level than the rest of the party because she's more naive and less prepared for the intrigue and assassination plots. she's the only to not multiclass in this season. the only one.

initial level: arcane trickster rogue 4

final level: arcane trickster rogue 9

burrow's end: i know that it's the ongoing season, but evidenced by the fact that they double leveled up in episode 2, i have a feeling this is going to be a major leveling season. i'm anticipating level 10 as a stopping point, but who knows where they go from here.

tula: stoat mom as a feat is all i'm going to say

initial level: redemption paladin 4

final level: ?

jaysohn: adhd karate boy, or all stoats in a nutshell

initial level: astral self monk 4

final level: ?

viola: the embryonic diapause storyline is going to kill me, i can feel it.

initial level: devotion paladin 4

final level: ?

thorn vale: anxious wife guy cult leader is something i didn't know i needed until now, but i'm so glad that that's where jasper went with him.

initial level: fey wanderer ranger 4

final level: ?

ava: if generational trauma was a stoat. the commitment to the werther's? phenomenal.

initial level: ancestral guardians barbarian 3 | fighter

final level: ?

lila: i'm living for izzy as a stoat that can sneak attack people and read???

initial level: inquisitive rogue 4

final level: ?

and that's all of the major progression seasons. with that concluded, we move into:

minor level progression seasons

as stated earlier, these seasons really only have one major level change as opposed to the progressive milestones of the major leveling seasons. i think that comes down to a couple of things: 1) they all start as midlevel characters who are reasonably powerful 2) two of these are 10 episode seasons that had less time to do progressive leveling than most of the intrepid heroes' seasons, and 3) the timeline of the level ups really only makes sense for one level change, especially since they start out of the low levels that shift easily. fhfy is like a week and a half in universe, t7 and acofaf are each like a week. anyways, here it is:

fantasy high sophomore year: mostly carried over from fhfy to start, with one major level but we really got into multiclassing and subclass switches for story here, i think in part because running live sessions is inherently a little more spontaneous than a pre-recorded season.

fig faeth:

initial level: whispers bard 6 | hexblade warlock 2

final level: lore bard 6 | hexblade warlock 3

gorgug thistlespring:

initial level: berserker barbarian 8

final level: berserker barbarian 8 | artificer 1

adaine abernant:

initial level: divination wizard 8

final level: divination wizard 9

fabian seacaster:

initial level: champion fighter 8

final level: battlemaster fighter 6 | swords bard 3

kristen applebees:

initial level: life cleric 8

final level: twilight cleric 9

riz gukgak:

initial level: inquisitive rogue 8

final level: inquisitive rogue 9

the seven: the ladies are here! they start at the level 9 baseline set by the end of fhsy and hit level 10 in like a week. granted the second half of the season is almost all encounters--three double episode battles total, with two in the back half.

antiope jones: the reluctant leader, not that kind of ranger. a choice aabria character. sometimes i think about the fact that both of aabria's spyre characters could conceivably meet, and it's not even that contrived. myrtle is sam's cousin.

initial level: arcane archer fighter 6 | monster slayer ranger 3

final level: arcane archer fighter 6 | monster slayer ranger 4

katja cleaver: half horse girl, half childhood neglect and abandonment, half rekha shankar's brand of ttrpg decisions.

initial level: battlemaster fighter 9

final level: battlemaster fighter 9 | barbarian 1

penny luckstone: eldest daughter syndrome to the max. deeply funny. an incredible rogue, even if she feeds old men horse meat candy hearts.

initial level: arcane trickster rogue 9

final level: arcane trickster rogue 10

danielle barkstock: actually erika ishii's second shepherd druid. they really like summoning geese, spiders, pixies, and various creatures that can absolutely ruin brennan's day. with a side of no self-care.

initial level: shepherd druid 9

final level: shepherd druid 10

ostentatia wallace: she lives up to the name. the forge cleric i want to be when i grow up.

initial level: forge cleric 9

final level: forge cleric 10

sam nightingale: a masterwork in character building, from a mechanical and story standpoint. i love the use of eldritch adept to maintain the build and keep with the story during their level up.

initial level: storm sorcerer 6 | glamour bard 3

final level: storm sorcerer 6 | glamour bard 4

zelda donovan: my girl! the other fighter barb of the group, but built in the opposite direction. also 55 movement speed? by god she can hustle.

initial level: eagle totem barbarian 8 | fighter 1

final level: eagle totem barbarian 8 | fighter 2

a court of fey and flowers: this season starts in a similar place to the seven with midlevel characters and levels up mostly for story reasons. it's a little more important to track reputation by episode, but i don't have the time for that at the moment.

andhera: hot, but built mid according to omar. an ace he/they king. never actually levels up, probably because they avoid conflict by beign a slippery pillar boy in wet cotton pants.

initial level: devotion paladin 8

final level: devotion paladin 8

k.p. hob: triple multiclass, builds on brennan's theme of self-sacrificial characters who don't think love can find them.

initial level: battlemaster fighter 6 | rogue 1 | barbarian 1

final level: battlemaster fighter 6 | rogue 2 | barbarian 1

lady chirp featherfowl: an assassin wizard with bird puns, a wife and daughter, and no regard for her reputation.

initial level: bladesinger wizard 8

final level: bladesinger wizard 9

lord squak airavis: the sluttiest bird you'll ever meet. the author of the green hunter. they got renner.

initial level: lore bard 8

final level: lore bard 9

delloso de la rue: made me cry when i watched them come out. the outfits. the pizzazz. the 'i love him'. the miscommunications. an icon. doesn't use subclass features, so we'll never know.

initial level: bard 8

final level: bard 9

binx choppley: another fantastic reveal. a single mom who works two jobs, but she's a warlock patron and trying to revive her dead court while masquerading as her friend while said friend dates her warlock on the material plane. truly who is doing it like them.

initial level: arcane trickster rogue 8

final level: arcane trickster rogue 9

now that we're through with the minor progression seasons, let's look at the single-level seasons.

nonprogression seasons

there's variance in these--there's not really a consistent start level. they go low level when they need to and high level when they need to. the lack of progression here also indicates timeline and season length: most of these are 4-6 episodes, and all of these seasons happen over the span of about a day or two in-game.

escape from the bloodkeep: d20's highest level season to date. unbelievable shenanigans, deeply funny. it's also fun for me to note that d20 and cr both have their morally dubious seasons that start and end at level 14 (eftbk and exu calamity) but they end up in literal opposite ends of the comedy/tragedy scale.

maggie (magfelda):

level: berserker barbarian 14

leiland (kraz-thun):

level: hexblade warlock 14

efink murderdeath:

level: grave cleric 14

sokhbarr:

level: beastmaster ranger 14

lilith:

level: shepherd druid 14

markus st. vincent

level: swashbuckler rogue 14

tiny heist:

rick diggins: the most charisma rogue i think you can get. negative dex and strength? grifter

level: mastermind rogue 4

boomer coleoptera: his subclass is unknown--it's never really mentioned during the season. it's theorized that he may be a battlemaster. the muscle

level: fighter 4

agnes: she also doesn't use any subclass specific features during the season. the other grifter

level: bard 4

ti-83: what a little fount of violence. the techie/explosive specialist

level: artillerist artificer 4

bean: the grease with a bone to pick

level: shadow monk 4

car-go jones: the mastermind, even though he's not a mastermind rogue. the danny ocean.

level: inquisitive rogue 4

pirates of leviathan: this entire season happens pretty much in the course of 24 hours. a good chunk of that time is just spent having a spa night at the gold gardens. who is doing it like them. everyone in this party can do magic.

sunny biscotto:

level: devotion paladin 5

bob (barbarella sarsaparilla gainglynn):

level: lore bard 3 | city cleric 2

cheese:

level: necromancy wizard 5

myrtle (the bitch):

level: tempest cleric 5

jack brakkow:

level: ancestral guardians barbarian 5

marcid the typhoon:

level: gloomstalker ranger 5

mice & murder: the oops all rogues season. for a low level season there are some astronomical dcs here. it really does a lot to show off the range of subclasses. all of them have dramatically different abilities, when they're not competing.

gangie green:

level: thief rogue 3

buckster $ boyd:

level: mastermind rogue 3

daisy d'umpstaire:

level: assassin rogue 3

vicar ian prescott:

level: eloquence bard 3

lars vandenchomp:

level: battlemaster fighter 3

sylvester cross:

level: inquisitive rogue 3

coffin run: this season is actually another one with mixed leveling--maybe to indicate time spent with dracula, maybe to level out powers on from a spellcasting level

aleksandr astrovsky:

level: alchemist artificer 7

squing:

level: undead warlock 8

wetzel:

level: mastermind rogue 7

may wong:

level: shadow sorcerer 6

dungeons and drag queens: i'm fairly sure they filmed this season in one shot. a great intro to dnd and the mechanics of level 5 characters.

troyánn:

level: arcane archer fighter 5

princess foehammer:

level: berserker barbarian 5

gertrude:

level: shadow sorcerer 5

twyla:

level: gloomstalker ranger 5

fantasy high oneshots: this is just the one-off characters from the fh oneshots. both of these characters show up in between freshman and sophomore year and so land at level 8.

hargis:

level: brute fighter 8

ficus:

level: dreams druid 8

and last but not least, we have the non-DnD seasons that have no level progressions:

misfits and magic

shriek week

mentopolis

and that's all folks! this one got so long. as always the spreadsheet is open to perusal. i hope you like it!

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discordsmuse · 7 months

Note

any thoughts on Oathbreaker Knight with a fem!tav, seeking true redemption and "learning" with her new, weathered mentor? 🫣

Don't kill me anon, but believe it or not I literally didn't know this man existed until like 2 weeks ago. I played a Warlock, Monk and Barbarian and just missed him completely.

BUT!!! As soon as I realized there was a giant masked man with a Scottish accent and paternal energy, he had me by the throat. I want him to do terrible things to me.

On that note:

"Learning" from the Oathbreaker Knight ;)

18+ under the cut

- The armor is like a shield from not only the physical, but emotional aspects of mortal life. Tav comes to understand he doesn't feel like she and her other companions do. Still, he hangs around and offers sage advice that she funds annoyingly paternal at first.

- Tav trains with him, as she must if she wants any hope of settling into this new life. (Oathbreaker or pledged anew) Her guide remains dutifully at her side, assisting when necessary to keep her on the path.

- The voice is too attractive, she decided early on. Astarion teases her for how quickly the brogue of his accent makes her flush, but Tav is adamant it's only the heat of the summer.

- It's a sparring session where she ends up on her back, his sword pinning her down by the fabric of her tunic. One knee rests against the ground, close enough to press up to her side. Tav knows her breathing comes too quickly, even after a workout such as this. An awkward moment of silence passes before he's helping her up and continuing the lesson.

- After that, their sparring becomes more physical. Tav finds herself pressed to a tree by a weathered gauntlet against her throat or a knee between her legs. The latter made her squeak, a sound impossible to ignore in the silence of the night.

- Tav swears he starts to do it on purpose, to mess with her. Every moment of proximity, her Knight brushes against her skin. Arm to arm, hips bumping as he passes her, things too common now to be coincidence. There is an ache in him to touch her, and she can see it.

- The Oathbreaker resists his desire for her, but he can only provide so many excuses. Too old, ancient even. He is not man, more a spirit than anything she can ever hold. Tav remains determined nonetheless.

- Self control wanes, in part at her insistence. She manages to talk her way into his lap at one point, unsure what to do after having gotten this far. The unexpected allowance of their closeness is almost startling. That is, until his hands find her hips. He rocks her there, her comfortable camp pants catching on the metal as her body grinds against his. He has no body with which to satisfy her, but gives her all that remains. All that he can.

- After weeks of dancing around this tension between them, it culminates in the woods beyond the camp. Pinned to a tree, Tav grinds her body down on the tasset of his armor. Friction on her clit makes her gasp and whine, while the hand he has at her throat brings her heart to hammer in her ears. It is desperate, dirty, and unabashed as he watches her come undone.

- This man, this old God of sorts, does not keep his guidance to the battlefield. On the nights that Tav can spare her time for him, he will sometimes find her in her tent. There, he watches as she touches herself. His clawed armor traces over her thighs, reminding her how powerful and beautiful she is in this moment.

"Radiant, even in your undoing." His voice is thick with brogue, heady with the desire to please her rather than resign himself to guiding her hand. "How I wish to be the one between your thighs. Would that I could show you how adept my hand can be."

- It's words like that, dripping with admiration, that brings her to finish. Tav whimpers his title, allowing herself to be cleaned and soothed by hands that she knows means safety. Sometimes he will remain beside her as she sleeps, content to admire while she rests.

- It is a strange relationship, stranger still when he seems more idea than man. Yet, Tav thinks she may love him all the same.

#oathbreaker knight #oathbreaker #bg3 #oathbreaker knight x reader #oathbreaker imagines #ask discordsmuse #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3

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arabaka · 1 year

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ kishibe x (sex devil)fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! reference to cow slaughtering (it's used to compare humans vs. devils). finger sucking. thigh riding. wall sex. use of "master." WORD COUNT: 1.4K PSD CREDIT !!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ

There isn’t a human alive that could control you.

But Kishibe comes close enough.

Your feelings on humans have always been ambivalent. At worst, they’re inconsequential organisms that only serve to keep you alive and well. Humans don’t shed a tear for every cow they butcher. They revel in their gyudon, engorge themselves on hamburgers, and never spare a passing glance to the suffering of what they decree to be a lower animal. You aren’t so different; in fact, you’d wager to say this proves you’re above them. Because unlike humans, the barbarians, you don’t lead them to the slaughterhouse. Sure, you’re not exactly remorseful when they die but nobody’s perfect.

But Kishibe comes pretty damn close.

He’s gruff. He’s mean. He always smells like whiskey that’s been out too long. He’s the antithesis of the ideal man but after all this time, after all these decades, you never stop wanting him. Of all the flavors humans come in, he's your favorite.

You suck on his thumb, lips puckering leisurely around the digit as you roll your hips back on his muscled thigh. He’s so good to you, letting you rub yourself out on him. “Having fun?” Kishibe’s voice is always rough around the edges but he’s sweet on you, the bristles of his beard tickling your skin as he purrs in your ear. You’re too lost in the rhythm, your clit throbbing from the minutes you’ve spent self-stimulating on Kishibe’s leg; you almost forget to reply but don’t worry, he gives you a squeeze on your bottom to coax a response out of you. “Mmhm.” The utterance vibrates around his finger as your lids grow heavy, lashes fluttering as sparks fly from your core.

“Why don’t you let me play with that pretty pussy of yours, hm?” Alcohol on his tongue without any of the influence, his craving for you is genuine. “You can’t get off on just my leg.”

You stamp a wiley little smirk lips to his neck, your lips lining a trail of kisses going up until you’re nibbling on his earlobe. “Am I hearing a challenge?” You rouse a snicker from the back of his throat but oh, you misunderstood him.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

The greatest devil hunter on the force and with those sturdy arms of his, the same he’s used to kill hundreds of thousands of your kind, he scoops you up with absolute reverence. Because you stopped being a devil to him a long, long time ago.

How many times has he carried you down this hall, not as a contracting party but as a bonafide lover? How many times has he kissed you and left with something more on his teeth than just lewd greed? Which speaking of, let him get another taste of you.

Even several swigs deep, Kishibe can multitask just fine; he’s pressed so firmly to your lips and you open for him so generously, inviting more of him in almost immediately. You exchange groans, tongues sliding over each other and teeth clashing when you get overzealous. “Forget the bedroom,” You breathe into his mouth, “Just take me right here.”

He’s fucked you like this before– no, not just by the place, time, and position. Hips grinding into you, leaky cockhead plugging you full, with something a little more risky than lust: emotion. He’s looking into your eyes, foreheads docked as he ruts into you, the roll of his pelvis sparking a charge of pleasure from your inner thighs. It runs up your stomach, meeting the ridge of Kishibe’s dick and ending as a series of shivers up your spine and into your brain. Tickled and dazed by the rock of Kishibe’s body, you don’t do much to stop the shaking of your legs as they somehow stay interlocked around Kishibe’s torso. “Feel good?” Kishibe grunts, his breath like feathers running down your cheek. He doesn't have to ask but he sure loves hearing you whine.

"Uh-huh," Your voice wavers as your frame runs up the wall with every thrust, "Fuck– feels amazing, Kishibe." Your crimson tail coils around Kishibe, the arrowed tip cupping his pec and squeezing out a couple strained huffs from the man currently dominating your insides. You drag your touch down from his chest until you’ve jumped from his body to yours, the pointed end of your tail starting to gingerly play with your puffy clit upon arrival. Your lips begin to tremble and you have tears accenting the corners of your eyes.

No one gets you feeling as good as Kishibe does. His fat cock spreads your folds apart just right, the weight of his shaft fills you up as if you were carved into existence just to take him. Your walls have memorized the fork in his veins and their thick presence, all of you stimulated at any given time. It’s what has you looking so checked out, eyes vacant of any coherent thought and your lips starting to part, as if you could manage anything other than his name and wrung out moans.

He thinks you look perfect like this: totally resigned to his power and control as he digs his nails into your thighs, leaving those lunar-shaped scratches you love so much. He enjoys watching your eyes spring open when he drags his hips back particularly slow, only for you to throw your head back and scream when he’s snapping back into you at full force. He knows you feel him up your belly, can physically see the imprint he’s creating into your tummy so no one else will ever fill you like he does.

“Yeah? Taking me so well. You have this cunt all for me?” He doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. You have a squadron of contracts willing to go to bat for you, just for a taste, but god does it sound good on your tongue. He needs to hear it, needs to believe for just a second that he, and he alone, owns you for him to get over the edge.

You’re so quick to respond, always are for Kishibe. “Yes! Yes, Kishibe! Yes!” Like it’s the only word you know, you start to babble it incessantly as Kishibe starts to fuck into you faster and

harder. You can feel every flex, every pump in his cock as the gap between every thrust starts to tighten. This makes your own folds twitch, that tight little hole of yours clenching around Kishine because pretty soon, you’re going to cum all over him and leave him a sopping wet mess. A groan comes rumbling out your throat as the circling touch on your clit with your tail quickens. You know just the thing to say to get Kishibe going, really make him shoot buckets inside you.

“Master! Master, k-keep go– don’t stop, Master. Please, please, please don’t stop.”

“Shit.” The harshness of his groans has magnified, matching the feral pace his cock is pumping in and out of you as he starts to feel the sudden tightening of his balls, “Gonna cum.” The rush of semen that pours into you is staggering and he keeps going, seemingly until every part of your insides are stained with him. He’s still grinding into you, though now there’s a very sticky, wet sound coming from his balls smacking against your drenched cunt.

You’ve fallen apart all around him and you’re just coming to from that brief, fluttering moment of infinity when he rocks into you for the last time. Your body trembles, the aftershocks of your orgasm keeping your limbs jittery. Goosebumps line your skin and the cold air that blows from down the hall has you feeling extra ticklish.

Kishibe’s thumb, the pad rubbed raw from years of battle and strife, tips your chin, making you look at him with those glazed over, sweet-as-honey eyes of yours. He kisses you so intimately, tongue sliding and swirling deeply over yours, that you feel a sprout of butterflies in your stomach. You don’t know what that means. Maybe you don’t need to think about it right now.

“You should stay the night.” Was that you talking? Kishibe’s stayed longer than that before. He practically lived at your place at one point. But the way you ask is so… Sincere. Genuine. “Stay the night.” You repeat, as if you’re still trying to get used to the way you sound for a human, a contract: needy.

“Yeah. I’ll stay.” Kishibe mumbles against your mouth, giving you another kiss that’s a twinge drowsy. He starts to pull out but you stop him with the squash of your legs along his torso.

“Didn’t mean we were done.”

#kishibe #csm kishibe #kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #csm x you #csm x reader #csm x y/n #csm imagine #csm smut #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for kishibe. ꒱

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honourablejester · 9 months

Text

Huh. Since my reblog of the other post appears to have vanished? Not sure what happened there? Have a random set of opinions on the relative sexiness of D&D 5e classes:

Rogues have the dual allures of competence and the forbidden tryst. Warlocks are beautiful disasters that you know will be bad for you but can’t help wanting anyway. Sorcerers have power humming in their blood, a tangible electricity in your hands. Druids are the ones who shyly court you by leaving their favourite flowers and mushrooms and weird animals on your doorstep. Wizards are a different flavour of disaster to warlocks, those idiots who are simultaneously highly competent and dumb as a box of rocks, and they make you simultaneously want to strangle them and kiss them stupid. Rangers are that beau who are just there when you need them, a thousand little tiny practical things that just lighten your day. Barbarians are passion and power and that person strong enough to scoop you into their arms, even if they’re technically smaller than you. Fighters are all about precision, taking the time to learn something right, and then replicate it time after time. Monks are about the dance, weaving around you and grinning when they get the cheap shot, leaving you half livid and half delighted. Artificers are about the act of creation, sometimes mad, sometimes stupid, sometimes inspired, that crook of the finger and twist of the wrist. Clerics are the islands in the stream, that rush of power and illumination, that glimpse of something bigger and more beautiful. Paladins are the oath, the promise kept, the ‘til death do us part’. Bards are the romance, the right words at the right time, the background knowledge of support, the clever fingers playing chords across your skin.

It’s dealer’s choice, honestly. There’s something there for just about everyone.

But for the record I would personally take artificer (blacksmith, mechanic, grease monkey, strong, clever hands, that know how to heal and how to create), barbarian, and certain flavours of cleric (tempest, for vibrancy and electricity, forge, because see artificer previously, and twilight, because I will make for you a twilight bower where we can both be safe, and love you under the starlight) for my top three. No offense to Liam O’Brien, but I don’t have the patience for wizards. I would take a gothic romance with a weary paladin, though.

#d&d #sexiest classes #sort of #it all depends what you like

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prokhorvlg · 21 days

Note

what is the state of video games as of 2095? An older post mentioned games that were generated in situ by neuromorphs, but beyond that we aren't quite sure.

yeah I really should do a proper post on this at some point as this gets asked a lot... to summarize, they ended up with two general buckets of gaming.

Low-fidelity arcade-style not unlike a lot of modern indies, something that could be run easily on low-powered gadgets like teleindexers.

High-fidelity experiences which could only be played on consoles with neuromorphic minds serving as game masters.

Among the interactive movies and grand strategies, the largest and most popular genre of these high fidelity games was the quester. These were open-ended, infinitely-unfolding simulators that found their roots in the text adventure games of the early information age.

Ultimately a quester is a collection of assets, narratives, systems, and frameworks implemented by gargantuan studio efforts releasing a new edition every decade or so. The quester itself defines the world, the rules which govern it, the kinds of people who live in it, the politics, the technologies, etcetera; all the basic tools the neuromorphic console brain needs so that it may "unravel" them into something truly immense. The console takes this information and spins it into an adventure that is internally consistent with everyone else who plays the game.

In these games, you can do almost anything. See a rock? Grab it, throw it, break it down, turn it into a gun (if you know how to in context of the quester). Join Spacefleet and solve an interstellar mystery with Captain Nelson, or follow the suspicious alien at the bar, or join the engineering corps and begin designing the next interstellar drive. The neuromorphic brain will for the most part compensate for what you do.

But there are limits. You can't become a barbarian in the Lands of Cyberia while playing a quester set in a space opera. You are generally confined by the rules of the universe you are in... you can only go deeper.

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craftypeaceturtle · 5 months

Text

Something stupid...

I recently rewatched tmnt 2012 and thought... wow, there's loads of fully rendered and designed shops in the background. Has anyone ever listed them all for reference?

I didn't even check the fandom wikia so maybe someone has. But hey ho. I've done it now.

So here's all the shops and comics shown in the TMNT 2012 series, for your reference fellow writers and other insane people.

Comic books seen throughout the series:

'From the Sewer' (S1 E1, 08:09)

'Martial Pain' (S1 E4, 09:00)

'Famous Creatures of […] Town' (S1 E7, 22:49) **couldn't make out one of the words, sorry!

'Corps Cadares: The Dead Will Save the Earth' (S1 E11, 04:08)

'The Timely Times' (S1 E20, 09:43)

'Diabolical Dead' (S1 E20, 09:43)

'Barbarian' (S1 E20, 09:43)

'Space Heroes' (S1 E23, 10:08) -- Leo collects.

'Tales from the Cosmos' (S2 E2, 00:46)

'Dude' (S2 E4, 10:04)

'Modern Ninja Magazine' (S2 E7, 00:50) --Raph collects.

'Shock Techno' (S2 E10, 00:19)

'Weekly Weird News' (S2 E14, 28:17)

'Green with Envy' (S2 E16, 10:17)

'Split' (S3 E5, 05:45)

'Wingnut' (S4 E19, 00:12)

'Arachnid Man' (S4 E19, 00:27)

'Superb Man' (verbal, not physically shown- S4 E19, 00:29)

'Fantastic Four Food Groups' (S4 E19, 00:31) --heavily associated with Raph.

'Dracula's Castle' (S5 E17, 07:19) -- heavily associated with Mikey.

'Vampire Hunter' (S5 E17, 07:18) --heavily associated with Mikey.

Shops seen throughout the series: Book Store (S1 E1, 10:28)

Second Time About (S1 E1, 13:21) -- April stayed with her Aunt above this shop.

Vlad's Repo Depot (S1 E1, 19:31)

Kingfisher Antique/Rare Buy.Sell Jewelry (S1 E1, 21:30)

Fortune Cookie (S1 E3, 14:32) --Purple Dragon base

Rock Bottom Boxing Club (S1 E4, 10:27)

Old Chinatown Tattoo Company (S1 E4, 10:27)

Downtown Athletic Club (S1 E4, 16:08)

Futua-noid Electronics (S1 E5, 17:38)

Pet Supplies (S1 E5, 17:38) -- right next to an alleyway, so I would guess that this the pet store the turtles were bought from.

Mad Wax Records (S1 E5, 17:46)

Everything Store (S1 E5, 17:47)

Dim Sum Then Sum (S1 E7, 12:24)

Laundromat (S1 E7, 13:03)

The Olympia Diner (S1 E8, 02:35)

Tidal Wave Fresh Fish (S1 E8 09:24)

Balzac Chateau du Beuf (S1 E9, 00:32)

Pocket full of Rosies (S1 E9, 00:43)

Wolf Hotel (S1 E9, 13:48) --first met Shredder.

Chinese Herbs and Health (S1 E10, 15:28)

Antonio's Pizza-Rama (S1 E13, 04:53)

Produce City (S1 E16)

(Closed down) Maramba … Shop (S1 E14, 00:35)

Chilly Chillkins Refrigeration company (S1 E14, 21:03)

Roosevelt High School (S1 E15, 09:05)

Comics (S1 E15, 09:05)

Worldwide Genome Project (WGP) (S1 E15, 15:13) --used as Kraang base.

Sweet Dreams Ice Cream (S1 E17 00:27)

Madam Alahazam Fortune Teller (S1 E17 00:27)

Wam-Bam-Pow Comics (S1 E17 00:25)

D.W Yatt Apothecary Est.1875 (S1 E16)

Magic Middleton's Tricks and Costumes (S1 E21, 13:09)

Ziga's Transmission Allignment Collision Tune-Up Autobody (S1 E24, 11:46) --used as Kraang base.

Argosy Theatre (S2 E1, 01:19)

Newstand (S2 E4, 10:04)

Midtown Ice Rink (S2 E6, 06:29)

Barber Shop (S2 E8, 00:11)

Lox Schmear & Java (S2 E19, 17:21)

Bernie's General (S3 E5, 04:44)

Comet Cleaners (S3 E11, 03:29)

Play Pier (S3 E11, 09:03)

Auman Chemicals (S3 E14, 14:53)

Channel 6 (S4 E10, 07:40)

AMAS: Allied Martial Arts Supply (S4 E15, 13:24) -- Used to hold Shredder/Foot Clan's weapons.

Cowabunga Skates (S4 E17, 05:20)

Run Jump Kick (S4 E17, 05:20)

Dell Abate Ristorante (S4 E18, 06:25) -- Don Vizioso's restaurant.

Felipe's (S4 E18, 16:27)

Hicnight Hotel (S4 E18, 17:16) --Don Vizioso's base.

Mini Mart (S5 E3, 16:19)

Friendly Jack's Loans (S5 E3, 17:43)

Wan Dingo's House of Curiosities and Oddities (S5 E5, 13:28)

Shanghai Sternn's Stir Fry (S5 E10, 12:04)

Notes:

The episode timestamps might not be totally accurate since I was watching this on a... ahem... legal website.

The timestamps are from when you could clearly and obviously see the shop signs. Like, Ziga's is visible from like episode one but couldn't be clearly read.

Some of the comics were just in shop windows and not really associated with a character so be careful. That is not a list of every comic the turtles have read. Like the Timely Times has only been in the background, not read by a particular turtle.

There were LOADS of shops where the shop name was in Chinese (or Japanese, I don't know) and so I couldn't list. Most of the shops by the Chinatown arch weren't in english. That's why even Murakami's shop isn't listed here. Because the actual shop name wasn't in english.

Thanks for reading through this. Hopefully this was useful for... anyone out there.

#tmnt 2012 #rambling #tmnt #2012 leo #2012 mikey #2012 raph #2012 donnie #fanfic

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tricks-tickles · 1 year

Text

Wild Lines

got inspired by dannys comment on some art i did so uh here

(tiny disclaimer: also there are some slighty suggestive implications here BUT i didn’t mean for them to be sexual at all! i imagine the boys are 13/14 here so its just teenagers being teenagers but if that makes u uncomfortable pls feel free to skip)

word count: 1264

pairing: Ler!Craig/Lee!Tweek

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“-and I just- ERK- feel bad for him? Like if I had to g-guard the stick and I LOST it? I would- GEUHH- probably die!”

Tweek and Craig stood in the latter’s bedroom. It was a pale morning, the sun was weakly streaming through Craig’s space-patterned curtains as he stifled a yawn, adjusting his cape. Tweek had slept at his the night before, and they were now getting ready to join the rest of their friends in playing the Stick of Truth. Tweek twitched, worrying over the day before where Clyde had let the stick be taken by the Elves, and was thus banished by the Wizard Cartman from time and space. His lack of a morning coffee was only exacerbating these nerves.

“Yeah, but there's nothing you can do, honey,” Craig responded, neither noticing the nickname as he half-heartedly searched for his hat.

“Still feel bad,” Tweek muttered. “ARG!! I can’t do this stu-stupid paint!”

Tweek had been attempting to draw the Barbarian markings on his arms for almost 10 minutes now, but each time his hands had shaken so violently he’d ended up with wildly spiky lines and a dozen ruined attempts.

“How did I do this yesterday...” He said, gripping his hair in frustration. Craig found his hat next to Tweek, securing it to his head, and hummed in response.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” He said, not registering his own words until Tweek’s eyes snapped up to his, paintbrush still hovering over his arm.

“Would you?!” Tweek replied, rocking forward to peer at Craig, who felt his face heat up a little at how close they were. He wasn’t sure where they stood, relationship-wise. They were ‘pretending’ to be together for the good of South Park, but lately, they’d been getting a little closer behind closed doors. Craig had given up limiting his pet names to the public only, and they’d just became like nicknames to the boys. Still, Craig would feel butterflies erupt in his stomach whenever Tweek got a little too close to be strictly platonic.

“Uh,” He said, trying to act like he hadn’t lost his train of thought, “Sure?”

Tweek handed Craig the paintbrush and held out his arm. Gently holding his wrist (and ignoring how his insides squirmed at the touch), Craig swirled the brush around the pot of dark paint on the dresser and slid it over the jagged edges of Tweek’s attempt, smoothing them out.

It was almost therapeutic. After he got over the initial wave of embarrassment at their proximity, drawing the markings became incredibly relaxing. That was until he reached Tweek’s torso. He started on his ribs, remembering how the stripe had cut across them yesterday, and drew a smooth line up. Or he would have, had Tweek not gasped and stumbled backward, cutting him off.

“Tweek?” He said, concerned.

“GAH- I-I’m okay! You just- EURGH- startled me! That’s all.” He squeaked suspiciously.

“Sure…” Craig muttered, placing the brush back on his chest and noting the full-body shiver that ran through him.

He tried to paint the line, but Tweek’s twitching made him grind his teeth in frustration as he started messing up the lines too. Tweek had been fine when it was his arm, why was he so nervous about his chest?

Maybe it’s me, Craig thought. Maybe I’m making him uncomfortable, and he doesn’t know how to tell me? He sighed and started filling in the wider section at Tweek’s side, hoping that he wasn’t making him feel too awkward when Tweek suddenly gripped Craig’s cape tightly and made a strained noise. He looked up and panicked when he saw that Tweek’s face was bright red and screwed up.

“...Tweek?” He said, again.

“I’m fine!” Tweek shouted, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Just keep g-gOING!”

If I’m making you that uncomfortable-, he thought before shaking his head and resolving to finish quicker. He started again with the short light strokes on Tweek’s side, then unbeknownst to him, the dam broke.

“Craig!” Tweek squealed, “It- ACK- tihihicklehes!” He shook his head as the giggles finally spilled out of him.

Craig stopped dead. Tickles? This whole time I’ve been thinking I’m making him uncomfortable and that he hates how close I am and he was too stressed to say anything- and I was just tickling him? He balked at Tweek, who covered his face in embarrassment.

“And you didn’t think to say anything?” He deadpanned.

“Sorry,” Tweek said, still covering his face.

Craig hummed, then eyed the vulnerable position Tweek was putting himself in. He wasn’t exactly mad at Tweek, but the idea of revenge did sound nice. He set the paintbrush down on the dresser, then lifted his hands, hovering them above Tweek’s sides before diving in.

Tweek jumped, squirming from the surprise attack.

“Crahaihihihg!” He giggled.

“Yes, babe?” He said innocently, pinching along Tweek’s sides.

Tweek squeaked, curling in on himself while his hands gripped Craig’s cape and tugged on it.

"Nohoho!"

Craig shifted, moving his hands to wiggle softly over Tweek’s stomach. He stumbled backwards, still holding Craig’s cape and bringing him down with him as Tweek fell onto Craig’s bed.

He paused for a second, letting Tweek catch his breath as he considered their position. Tweek lay on his back, his legs sprawled around Craig, who was kneeling in between his thighs. He felt his face heat up and distracted himself by grabbing Tweek’s hips, which were exposed due to his costume's lack of a shirt. He squeezed, wiggling his thumbs into the divots of the bones.

Tweek squealed, tipping his head back in laughter.

“CRAHAHAIHIHIG!” He cried, gently hitting Craig’s shoulders as he kicked his legs uselessly.

“What?” He teased, “Can the Barbarian not handle the tickles?”

Tweek’s face flushed red, one hand shooting up to cover his face, smearing the already smudged paint.

“IHIHI’LL- URGH- KIHIHIHILL YOHOHUHUHU!” He laughed, grabbing Craig’s forearms.

Tweek was stronger than Craig, objectively, but he made no move to stop his hands from reaching up to skitter along his sides and gently scratching at the base of his ribs.

Tweek started to hiccup in his laughter, squeezing Craig’s arms. He leaned forwards, glancing up at Tweek’s face for a moment. His eyes were screwed shut, his cheeks a rosy red, and his face split wide in a toothy smile that made Craig’s heart skip a beat. Cute… he thought, then shook his head and pressed his lips to Tweek’s stomach, blowing a raspberry.

That was the wrong move as Tweek suddenly regained his strength and launched forwards, knocking the two of them off the bed and onto the (thankfully carpeted) floor.

Shit.

Craig’s heart pounded, Tweek loomed over him, his fingers twitching as he searched for where to start his revenge. But their position… Tweek straddling Craig’s waist, crouching over him, his warm hands crawling under Craig’s shirt… His face burned, and in a moment of panic he cried,

“Wait!”

Tweek paused, and in his eyes, Craig truly saw the Barbarian Tweek was playing, that wild stare- and his insides turned to mush.

“If- if you tick- uh, get revenge on me I won’t do your paint.” He said in a rush.

Tweek hummed and twitched a little. After a moment’s deliberation, he sat back, letting Craig up.

“Fine.” He said.

Craig sighed in relief and picked up the paintbrush, ready to correct what had been smudged in their antics when Tweek added, “I’ll just- ACK- get you back when you l-least expect, babe.”

Shit. It was going to be a long day.

#lee!tweek #ler!craig #south park tickles #this is probably the healthiest fic ive ever worked on bc i wrote this over the course of a week and did a little bit everyday #is this what its like to be neurotypical #anyway if u have an prompts my inbox is open im actually feeling inspired to complete some asks

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