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retrocesosdestacion · 7 months

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SOCIALIZING PROBLEMS. | mapi león

mapi león x reader

genre: not fluff at all, accidental confession, teenager love.

warnings: a bit of headcanon, reader being a stupid curious, mapi confessing unintentionally, also mapi being an assertive/passive person.

notes: i had this prompt when i was cooking an egg. dios im really sorry for making u guys wait too long, also i feel like this is the worst writing I've ever done in my life.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You are secretly Mapi's love and you have negative impressions about her.

But that ended when Maria accidentally left her sketchbook on the bench at the locker room.

“ If I had a flower for every time I thought of you... I could walk through my garden forever. ”

Tennyson.

❝ Damn. Mapi, you should become an artist. ❞ From the other side of the locker room, you could hear Pina's lips praising the spanish's drawings once again.

It was already the fifth time that day that someone had praised the scribbles in that notebook. And you too, but only in your head. You didn't even have the courage to go there and see the drawings.

Two years ago you were transferred to Barcelona. Everything was normal, you made friends, adapted to the Spain style, adapted to new rules.

But you didn't adapt to Maria León. You didn't have the slightest ability to go up to her and have a chat lasting more than two minutes.

Normally you just greet her, that's when you don't even look at her face. Anyone who saw the two of you together would pinky swear that hated each other.

This was all because in your little mind, Mapi had the greatest disinterest in you. After all, you came to this conclusion when you noticed that the defender always ran away from the conversation when you arrives.

However, over time, you accepted this treatment from the spanish woman, even if you were curious to understand the player. You even told this whole situation to Ona, your best friend.

But it was always the same dilemma: “Relax, she’s shy. “ or “ Mapi has difficulty meeting new people. “

Yet that never made sense, after all, Mapi is anything but bashful.

It became a huge snowball since you never bothered to go talk to her. Therefore, currently your relationship with Mapi is completely lacking affection.

And it was just with you.

Claudia, for example, was one of the lucky ones. She was glued to the blonde's side, attentively observing each page of the spanish woman's small notebook with the greatest freedom and comfort.

At that moment, the defender had both feet on the bench, so she could rest the notebook on her knees. Mapi slowly leafed through the drawings for her friend once again.

❝ Yo ya te dije, who knows in a few years. ❞ (I already told you.) León reply to the other spanish woman's compliment with a very hopeful tone, as part of her dream was to be a tattoo artist.

As always, you just looked at the two girls talking, as you sat, untying your boots.

❝ If you look for longer, you will have bad luck. ❞ Ona mocked your indeterminate stare. ❝ If you’re so interested, go there. ❞ She states while taking off her training uniform.

❝ Madness. She doesn't like me and you want me to suddenly get there? ❞ You threw those words into the air so quickly that Ona took a while to formulate something.

❝ Why do you think she hates you? ❞ Your friend countered.

❝ I've told you thousands of times, Ona. She looks at me dirty, ignores me, she doesn't even want to talk to me even though I'm her training partner! ❞ You justify while gesturing nervously.

❝ Stop being fucking neurotic. ❞ The spanish woman rolled her eyes, finishing putting on her post-workout clothes. ❝ Ve allí, siéntate a su lado y descubrirás por qué te trata así. ❞ (Go there, sit next to her and you will find out why she treats you like that.) Ona stated.

You only knew the basics of spanish, deciphering what the defender had said would take a while. ❝ Huh, what? Find out what? ❞

Ona didn't respond, just giving you a stupid smile and a wink.

Slowly, the oldest left your side and walked towards Mapi and Claudia. The moment she got there, Batlle poked Pina's shoulder and approached, murmuring something in her ear.

❝ What the fuck are you doing?! ❞ You whispered to yourself, automatically standing up; scared and surprised.

Suddenly, you felt the greatest penetration of looking in your direction: Claudia Pina looked at you as if she knew all your secrets, giving you chills.

She smiled a huge and mischievous smile, raised her arm and waved it, calling you over.

Before you went, the only thing you observed was Mapi's embarrassed and awkward manner, grumbling at the two spanish women for calling you.

You thought for seconds before taking the step to go there. A whirlwind of thoughts ran through your mind, like a river heading straight for the waterfall.

What if you are a nuisance to her? What if she leaves the moment you get there?

You were very worried about the relationship with someone you don't even are intimate with.

You worry about the image you give to a person that don't even want to be your friend.

Thus, your heart began to run a marathon from the moment you started your very slow steps towards Mapi León.

Maybe you were afraid of hurting her, but at the same time yourself. As if your feelings were bubbling for the defender and you didn't want to ruin everything.

In your peripheral vision, the only notable details were María closing her notebook as quickly as a middle school student after the last bell, Claudia and Ona smiling goofily and pointing at the defender.

❝ What was it? ❞ Those were your first words when you reached the other side of the locker room, completely looking away from Mapi and just focusing on the other two.

❝ You're the only one on the team who hasn't seen Mapi's drawings, right? ❞ Claudia gave the first word, pushing León's shoulder with her elbow.

You didn't even bother to answer correctly, just opening a painful smile.

❝ Yes, I think so. ❞

After you responded, Mapi frowned, rolling her eyes. This only made you more certain that León actually hated you.

❝ But there's no need to show it. I mean, I'm not interested. ❞ They were the stupidest words that came out of your mouth.

The shine in Mapi's eyes slowly faded with each word that left your lips, the spanish woman's fingers ran to the back of her neck, uncomfortable. At this point, you should be sure that you almost hurt the girl.

❝ Don't be like that. Come on Mapi, show it. ❞ Ona finally said something in the midst of the discomfort of that conversation, lightly patting the other spanish woman on the head.

❝ I'll show you later, I need to pack my things. ❞ Maria came up with the most false excuse possible, since her things were almost one hundred percent ready. León's fingers rested on the slap, giving Ona a dirty look.

Your eyes fell on Claudia and Ona, indignant at all of this.

But you didn't know why. It wasn't as if the lack of communication between two companions would cause such great discomfort.

There was something more, you could feel it. Such something else that even Ona hides from you.

❝ Dios mío, esto es horrible. You two look like children who don't know how to talk to each other. ❞ (Oh my god, this is horrible.) Claudia gave her opinion amidst the silence.

❝ Son como dos chicas enojadas. ❞ (They're like two stupid girls. ) Batlle added.

Mapi stood up delicately, pulling the bag that was previously on the floor to the bench and opening it. ❝ Could you two shut up and get out of here, wouldn't you? ❞

The spontaneous rudeness really took you by surprise, mainly because the defender was staring at the other two, but not at you.

Pina raised her hands in defense, expressing a mere comical sadness on her face. ❝ Right. ❞

The same thing for Ona, who reached for the strap of her sports bag and put it on her left shoulder. ❝ Come on, Claudia. And don't be stupid with [reader]. ❞

❝ Que se jodan ustedes dos. ❞ (Fuck you two.) Mapi grumbled as she mock-rifled through her clothes.

Ona grabbed Claudia's arm and pulled her tightly to her feet, slowly dispersing herself from you and Mapi over time, killing the last few minutes. ❝ See you later, [reader]. ❞

Your eyes screamed for help to leave together, following the two girls until they left the main door.

Okay, now you were alone with the girl you were most afraid of.

Gradually, some people and groups would leave within minutes. Silence now, which had previously been scattered conversations, was prevailing, and that was delicious on the one hand.

After all, you loved being alone at times like this. But not with Maria.

You continued standing until Mapi offered you the bench next to her, and you did so. When you laid eyes on the spanish woman, you noticed her fingers pressing against her own temples, circling fingerprints there.

❝ I'm sorry about them. They are two idiots. ❞ León murmured as she took her fingers back to the bag, closing the zipper.

❝ Alright, no problem. I'm used to it. ❞ You responded with a typical defensive tone, unaccustomed to this type of conversation with her.

Your fingers tapped upper thigh, nervous and anxious, waiting for some miracle.

Momentarily, the spanish woman's brown globes rested on you, followed by a big sigh.

❝ I'm sorry if I'm stupid with you. And it's also bad if I didn't show you the drawings, it's just that— ❞ The defender was interrupted when Patri shouted her name.

❝ Hey, Mapi! ❞ The spanish woman appeared through the door of the main hallway. ❝ Can you check for me if my boots are dropped on the field? ❞

Maria looked at you with a roll of her optics, also accompanied by a tiny and shy smile. ❝ I'll be right back. ❞

The spanish woman slowly went to the gate that connected the changing room and the field, leaving you there freely in the area.

A dead silence remained there, there was no one else but the two of you inside that locker room, and now, only you.

Your body was still warm from training, but it could be for countless reasons, maybe because of your sudden meeting with Mapi, because of the fear of everything that happens in other conversations, happening now.

Eyes slowly took in every detail of the locker room: the ceiling, the floor, all the other stalls and even your bag on the other side.

But your orbs left for your side, where Mapi's unopened bag accidentally was. And of course, the damn sketchbook.

No, no. This is terrible, a lack of privacy. Your desire to leaf through that notebook was greater, but you should be aware.

It was only a matter of time before Mapi came back and finally opened that notebook, there was no point in leafing through it before then.

But despite everything, you were a very, very curious person.

❝ Damn. ❞ You muttered to yourself, intertwining your fingers so that you unconsciously wouldn't reach for the notebook.

But, well... Your eyes darted from side to side, making sure Maria wasn't there.

Your hand rested on the notebook, at the same time your heart accelerated so quickly as a result of your comportment. You should go back.

Slowly, you opened it enough so you could peek at the drawings. Incredibly, they were drawings of outlooks and Mapi's cats.

Despite everything, it wasn't that bad. ❝ Damn. ❞ You mumbled.

Suddenly, a folded sheet of paper fell from the middle of the pages of the notebook, falling to the floor. Your face produced a confused expression until the moment you reached the sheet.

At the same time that you were almost putting the sheet back from where it had fallen, you unfolded it.

Your heartbeat increased from the moment you caught sight of your name written there, along with a drawing of yourself and several doodles in the surrounding area.

Initials together, stick drawings of the two of you together that you were sure Claudia and Ona had scribbled, your name was written in every color there was.

There, maybe you realized why Mapi never showed you the notebook. Why Mapi hated being by your side when she was with the girls.

You could feel your face burn, turning red little by little, until it was like a pepper.

Immediately, you threw your hands up to your face, along with the sheet. You breathed once, twice and three times until you understood the situation.

❝ Shit. ❞ You mumbled to yourself with a muffled tone, still with your face hidden in your hands.

Your body slowly slid down the cabin wall, rethinking all the impressions you always had of Mapi.

You folded the sheet back and hid it in the notebook again.

Suddenly, Maria's figure slowly appeared in the locker room, mainly due to the sound of her footsteps.

Your torso rose, you became so desperate that you completely forgot to let go of the notebook in your hand.

Mapi slowly stopped walking and stopped in the middle of the locker room the moment her eyes fell on your hand with the notebook.

Slowly, her lips opened ready to say something. However, the spanish's internal desperation probably prevented this.

❝ I didn't see anything, I swear. ❞ Was the only thing you could say before throwing the notebook back onto the bench and waving your hands in defense.

Maria completely changed her route, walking quickly towards you. The moment she reached you, the player grabbed your hands and squeezed.

❝ Puedo explicarlo, en serio. ❞ (I can explain it, seriously.) Mapi stuttered between words and even forgot to say them in english.

The spanish woman's face didn't even bother to hide her embarrassment. You could feel the player's fingers trembling and of course, the strong desire to cry.

❝ I thought it was cute. ❞ In the midst of all the tension, these were your stupid words. Giving a short smile, which perhaps calmed León.

❝ What? ❞ Mapi asked, raising one of her eyebrows.

❝ The drawing. ❞

❝ But you said you didn't see anything. ❞ Maybe you didn't expect her to be so naive.

❝ I'm not going to lie, I saw everything. ❞ You answer with a defensive intonation, after all, you had no idea what would happen from now on. ❝ Even those scribbles on the sid— ❞

❝ That was the girls idea. ❞ Mapi justified it so quickly, was probably true.

It was at that moment that you realized that María León was not angry or disgusted with you. Mapi was actually in love with you and was ashamed to admit it.

This all explained the insults and scandals she made whenever the girls played with her. You were the concern of all the jokes.

❝ Right. First breathe. ❞ You advised the spanish girl to calm down, after all, she was shaking more than anything.

❝ Let me explain, please. I don't want you to get it wrong. ❞ Mapi begged to hold an explaination.

❝ Go ahead. ❞

❝ I'm not some kind of stalker, okay? I only drew you because, well… Because I like you and I thought you were pretty. ❞ The defender gets confused in her own words.

You were sure that wasn't what she wanted, Mapi didn't want to confess like that stupid way.

❝ But I completely understand if you think I'm crazy like that... ❞ Mapi slowly closed her eyes, trying to throw all the despair inside. ❝ Dios mío, ¿qué carajo estoy diciendo? ❞ (Oh my god, what the fuck am I saying?)

❝ Hey, it's okay... I guess. ❞ You tried to calm down from the moment you felt León's fingers slowly slip from your hands.

Your mind enfolded the sight of Mapi in front of you, it was the only thing you could pay attention to.

Heart felling affliction, a feeling full of pity for the whole situation that Maria went through made you think a lot.

While you had the wrong impression of her, Mapi couldn't control own feelings.

❝ I don't know what to say about all this. ❞ You produced a sentence where you could try to be understandable with it. ❝ I thought you hated me. ❞

❝ What? Why?! ❞ León was really shocked.

❝ Huh… You always sounded or looked ignorant to me. But it wasn't bad, I had the wrong impression. ❞ Your lips moved automatically, everything you kept about her these two years finally escaped.

Mapi gave a short smile, perhaps your words sounded funny. ❝ Yo nunca debí contarles a Ona y Claudia sobre ti. ❞ (I should never have told Ona and Claudia about you.) The spanish woman muttered to herself, but you still understood.

❝ And now knowing that you like me was such a turning point. ❞ You explained yourself without letting go of Mapi's hands for a second. ❝ By the way, about that… ❞

❝ No need to explain yourself, I'll understand if you don't reply— ❞

❝ No. I want it. I mean, I think you won my heart after seeing your drawings. ❞ Your typical comedic tone caused few laughs between the two of you.

❝ And also, it really hurt me to get the impression that you hated me. I've been making you a fool all this time. ❞ You continued.

Mapi León paid attention to every word that left your lips. There, you noticed how the player stopped shaking and stuttering, finally taking comfort.

❝ No. I understand, I would have that impression too if I saw all of this. ❞

❝ But I hope we can go back and start over from scratch. ❞ You looked for the solution.

Despite everything, Mapi was very understandable with words, she just needed time to express herself.

Suddenly, León's brown orbs looked to the side, perhaps worried about something. ❝ I think we better go, I need to tell Patri about the boots. ❞

Mapi let go of your hands, and for a moment you didn't like that feeling. The spanish woman's fingerprints grabbed the famous intriguing notebook, putting it back in her bag.

Initially she carried the bag on her shoulder, waiting for you to do the same. Your feet lifted and strained toward your own bag, but immediately returned to Mapi's side.

❝ If you want to start from scratch, come with me. I'll stop at a coffee shop before heading home. ❞ León opened a genuine smile, extending her right hand towards you.

You got the signal, and you did it. Your long fingerprints met Mapi's, intertwining them.

❝ Yes, please. ❞

Maybe you should leave everything in the hands of time and, gingerly, the two of you would transform disagreements into affection.

Gradually, your relationship with Mapi stopped being lack of love and became the fruit of devotion. Walking alongside her was the best opportunity for that.

❝ ¡Quiero un frappuccino, por favor! ❞ (I'd like a frappuccino, please!) You used the spanish words that you knew, asking with a great enthusiasm. After all, from now you would use that dialect a lot more.

Really more.

#woso #barça femeni #mapi león #fc barça #spain wnt #mapi leon imagine #mapi leon #mapi león x reader #mapi leon x reader #maría león #fcb femení x reader #barcelona femeni x reader

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justhotfantasies · 5 months

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I suppose it happens in many marriages that after a couple of decades sex gets a little stale. Certainly my husband had lost a lot of his spark and once both our children were away at university I started to get a little bored. I started hanging around internet chat sites, occasionally flirting online with the safety of partial anonymity. Until I encountered a 20-year old student and the flirting turned into something more. Eventually I found myself, while my husband was at work, in my car driving the fifteen miles to his college.

We met at Costa on his college’s campus and, after coffee, hurried to his hall of residence. Once inside his hands were on my body; my full mature breasts and my ample arse. Our mouths ground at each other, our tongues entwining. I was pulling at his shirt to get at his firm young torso. Soon we were naked.

I sat on the edge of his bed, put my hands on his slim hips and drew him closer, between my legs. His cock was already hard and I opened my mouth and took it in. He quivered and moaned as I sucked on it slowly and sensually, taking pride in my ability to make this young man gasp with pleasure., cupping his balls in my hand.

I moved further up the bed and spread my legs, drawing him to me and guiding his head between my soft thighs, feeling his tongue on my pussy I wriggled to help him find my most sensitive parts and moaned as he began to tease and torment them. Though inexperienced he was a quick learner and soon his tongue found my engorged clit. The pleasure in my crotch grew and swelled until it filled my body and I came, pressing his face to my pussy with my quivering thighs.

He moved up my body and I felt the tip of his thick hard cock at my entrance . Looking up at him I whispered “Fuck me” and shuddered in delight as his shaft stretched me inside until I was gorgeously and satisfyingly full. He started to fuck me slowly and deliciously then, as the pleasure and excitement built, began to drive into me with all the energy and vigour of youth as I writhed beneath him.

Pushing him off I straddled him and, my heart pounding, impaled myself on his hard young cock and began to ride it urgently, my hips grinding on him and his hands on my tits. All thoughts of husband home and children were gone as I exulted, for the first time in perhaps more than fifteen years, in a simple, raw, uncomplicated fuck. When I came it was like a train roaring through my body and I collapsed forward onto him. I could feel his cock continuing to pound into me as my pussy clutched at it. I felt it swell inside me and heard a roar in my ear as, with deep, long thrusts he emptied himself in my mature married pussy

We lay for a while like that. Then I dressed and left tingling with sexual satisfaction.

#cheating wife #mature woman #older woman younger man #fuck

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the-average-media-enjoyer · 3 months

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A Case Study in the Improper Use of Negator Powers (Shen Xiang/Reader, NSFW)

Here I am, putting the very first Shen/reader fic into the world because if there's no erotica of him I must be the one to write it. Small warning for use of Shen’s negator powers so there are a couple of moments where the reader does the opposite of what they want to, but not in like a major consent-violating way.

Relationship: Shen Xiang/Gender-Neutral AFAB Reader

Summary: In which you knock on Shen’s door to ask a simple question, but a rather inappropriate use of his ability leads to further shenanigans.

Contents: Blowjob, dirty talk, vaginal sex, biting, face-fucking, hair-pulling

Word Count: 4,045

~~~~

You knock on the door to Shen’s room for what feels like the millionth time this week. To be fair, you both were prepping for an upcoming mission, but you still sought out every excuse to exchange even a few small words with him. Each and every conversation felt almost electric, even if it was about something as boring as scheduling. His constant compliments, praise, and very slight flirting didn’t help. Even though you didn’t dare to do more than chat, you still looked forward to every meeting.

And so here you were. Instead of opening the door himself, you hear Shen call out, “Come on in, it’s unlocked!” You take a deep breath before you open the door.

You take a few steps into his office and spot Shen writing something at his desk. There’s also a plush loveseat nearby, but he doesn’t spare it a glance. He raises his head for a moment and gives you a smile before returning to his work. “So, what did you need my help with?”

You shift nervously on your feet. “Oh, nothing much! Just wanted to double-check what time we’re heading out tomorrow for the mission.” Interactions like this had become routine since you started helping out the Union and working with Shen, but you couldn’t help the way being near him made you feel.

“Oh, we’re leaving at 8:30 in the morning!” He pauses for a moment before raising his head to meet your gaze. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? In fact, I’m certain that I already informed you of our leaving time, and I know that you’re a very organized person. You would never forget something as important as that, would you?”

“Ah, um.” You look away and take a step back from him, accidentally kicking the door shut in the process. You try and search for the words to explain yourself, but Shen follows up before you have the chance.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you make the effort to walk over here and ask me if you already knew the departure time?” As he speaks, Shen rises from his chair and approaches you. ”Now that I think about it, you’ve been making a lot of visits to my room lately for things that could’ve been a text or an email.”

This situation is turning more desperate by the second. With the added pressure, you manage to squeak out an excuse. “Oh, I just forgot, that’s all! And I was passing by your room anyways, so I figured I’d just pop by and ask.” Even as he draws closer, you refuse to look him in the eye. You knew your heart couldn’t take it.

Shen halts just a foot in front of you. “While you are fantastic at coming up with believable excuses, you’re still a terrible liar.” He cocks his head and asks, “So, why don’t you tell me the real reason you’ve been paying me so many visits lately? What do you truly want from me?”

The only way out was through more lies. You could never let him know what you thought of him, of the fantasies that played out in your mind that motivated you to seek him out. In an effort to appear more believable, you raised your head to look at him straight on. You opened your mouth to give more excuses, praying that he would let you go.

But just before you were about to speak, Shen closed his left eye and you felt something shift. And you proceed to do exactly the opposite of what you want to do.

You begin to list everything you want to do with Shen.

“I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about you and everything I need you to do to me. God, when I look at this room I can’t help but imagine you fucking me over the desk or eating me out on that velvet couch. I need you to bite me all over, whisper degrading things into my ear, and yank my hair as you fuck my face. You have no idea how wet it makes me when I think about you calling me a good-”

Shen looks to his left, deactivating his ability. “I think I’ve heard enough. ” You’re at a complete loss for words as you feel your cheeks burning up. You don’t even try to muster up an apology. You just attempt to turn around and hurry out of there as soon as possible, but as your head turns, you suddenly find that you can’t move your body.

Shen once again has one eye trained on you as he tuts. “No, we can’t be having that.” Instead of starting to rip you to shreds like you thought he would, he gives you a wide, mischievous smile. “That’s a very long list of very dirty things you want me to do to you. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll have time for all of them tonight.”

He deactivates his ability, no longer keeping you in place. He waits another moment to see if you’ll move. When you don’t make a move to leave, he slams his right arm against the door, pinning you against it. He uses his left hand to cup your face and leans close to whisper in your ear. “Now that I know you want me, I have no reason to hold back.”

His kiss begins softly at first despite his big talk. After a moment of shock, you begin to kiss him back, matching his pace and putting your hands on the sides of his neck. You can feel him smile at your reciprocation as he begins to kiss you with more fervor, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You whimper in pleasure at his intrusion, which just encourages him further.

You didn’t want to stand there, just letting him have his way with you. You push your tongue back against his, intertwining the two muscles. You try your best to match his energy. His left hand moves to grip at your waist, putting pressure against you but not enough to cause pain. Between the steamy kisses, you can feel his hot breath on your lips, and you can almost taste his impatience.

He nudges your legs apart with his knee and pushes it against your crotch. He lightly grinds against your clit, just enough to tease. You break from the kiss, breathing heavily at the stimulation and sudden escalation. You hear him let out a laugh before he leans close and says, “You like that? You seem to enjoying yourself based on those heavenly sounds you’re making.”

It was only as he said that when you realize how loud you’re being. Your embarrassment resurfaces as you cover your mouth with your hand, muffling your moans. Shen puts a hand under your chin and tilts your head upwards so that you’re looking up at him. Then, in an instant, you feel your hand fall slack to your side without your interference.

His eyes are almost glowing as he chides, “I don’t want to have to resort to this to hear you. Be good for me and quit trying to quiet down, yeah? I know you can do it.” His praise does something funny to your mind. As long as he phrased his request like that, Shen could probably get you to do anything.

Shen smiles and continues to stare down at you, even after deactivating his power. His hands ghost around your hips for a moment before moving upwards to push up your shirt. He keeps an eye on your expression and can tell that you want more. The movements of his knee halt to focus on the new task at hand. His head dips down to kiss your neck as he pushes the hem of your shirt further and further up your body, your breathing speeding up as his hands travel. The fabric of his gloves feels surprisingly soft against your skin; the opposite of what you expected. His fingertips rest just below your chest for a moment, and you can feel his kisses pause as he smirks into your neck before he finally reaches up to fully grasp your chest.

You gasp from surprise and pleasure, but Shen doesn’t stop there. He begins to toy with your nipples as he kisses just below your collarbone. He gives you a mischievous glance before he sucks at your skin and bites down. You let out a loud moan. Shen raises his eyebrows before gaining a look of resolve. His motions around your nipples grow rougher as he begins to kiss, suck, and bite all across your chest. As his mouth travels, his hand fondles and rubs at the opposite breast.

You can barely stand it. It’s an almost overstimulation of pleasure, and he isn’t even rubbing against your clit anymore! “Shen… fuck, Shen!” You can’t respond in a full sentence, made helpless by Shen’s constant barrage. You gasp when he begins to tease your nipple with his tongue, throwing your head back against the door. When he bites down, you gently pull his head off of you. It’s just too much.

He draws back a bit and asks, “Is everything alright?” with a concerned expression.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine! It’s just… Christ, I need a moment to breathe.” As you take a moment to calm down, you look down at your chest to see it covered in Shen’s handiwork: tons of purple bruises. You feel your core grow warm at the sight.

He notices what you’re staring at and remarks, “Like what you see? I personally think the shade compliments your complexion quite well.” You squirm a little at his comment before changing the subject.

“This all feels rather one-sided… as much as I adore being pampered, I want to make you feel good as well…”

Shen chuckles and tilts his head. “Is that so?” He places a hand on your waist and the other by your head against the door. He once again nudges your legs apart with his thigh, but instead of grinding his knee against you, he grinds his cock. You can feel its hardness through the layers of clothing as it rubs teasingly against your core.

You hear him groan by your ear and say, “Fuck, I can feel how warm you are.” He continues to rut against your core and you rest your hands on the bare skin of his hips, your fingers rubbing circles and slipping undeath the surrounding fabric. Your eyes were always drawn to these hip cutouts whenever you snuck a glance at Shen’s form. Pleasure creeps up your body as he continues to rut against you, but… it isn’t enough.

“Shen, I… I want more.” To show him what you mean, you slowly drag a hand from his hip to the front of his crotch, giving it a squeeze to punctuate your words. You heard a brief gasp and a barely suppressed moan.

He breathes heavily in your ear and manages to ask between his gasps, “What did you have in mind?” You take a small step back and place your hands on his hips to maneuver him so he leans against the door. Then, you drop to your knees. Shen grins at your actions. “You always come up with the best ideas.”

He reaches down to undo his belt as you stare up at him, giddy with excitement. He smirks as he draws the low-hanging panel of his top to the side and pulls out his cock. Your eyes move from his face downwards, and your breath catches in your chest. It stands at full mast a mere few inches from your face. He’s a little bigger than you anticipated… but you think you can take it.

You don’t notice that you’ve been silently staring at his dick for a bit. He looks down at you, tilts his head, and teases, “Well? Don’t get all shy on me now.” You blink up at him for a moment before dipping forward to lick a stripe up his shaft. You can feel him shutter at the first contact. Now emboldened, you take the head into your mouth, gently sucking and swirling your tongue around it as you gauge his reaction. His gasps drifting down from above to fill your ears encourage you. You sink your mouth down further to take his shaft into your mouth, bobbing up and down, gradually taking in more and more.

“Mmm, fuck, hah. Keep going.” His words give you another surge of confidence, taking him in until your nose rests in his happy trail. He takes in a sharp breath and places a hand on your chin, encouraging you to keep your head there for a moment longer, but not forcing you. After a few seconds his hand moves to settle in your hair and he lets out a sigh mixed with a moan as you draw back. You continue to suck him off, now trying to take as much of him as you can with each movement of your head. When you take a moment to rub your tongue against his shaft or suck on the head, you are rewarded with the sweetest groans you’ve ever heard.

With his hand still resting in your hair, he begins to lightly thrust into your mouth to match your movements. After a few shallow thrusts, he freezes and looks down at you. You stare back up in confusion for a moment before he speaks.

“You said you wanted me to fuck your face earlier, right? Would you like that now, or another time?” Your cheeks flush and you give a little noise of affirmation with your lips still wrapped around the tip of his dick. You see his expression falter when he feels the vibrations of your small noise around his cock. He entwines the fingers of one hand in your hair while the other drops to hold and caress your cheek. You keep your head still and feel your core grow warmer as he once again starts to lightly thrust into the moist warmth of your mouth.

You moan and slightly move to match his thrusts, incredibly pleased by his actions. You hear a short bark of a laugh. “God, you really do like it rough, huh?” His words encourage you and you hollow out your cheeks which earns you a surprised moan from Shen. You catch a glance at his blissed-out expression before his thrusts begin to pick up speed. You brace your hands on his hips as he continues, moving faster and taking a moment to tease his head at your lips.

All this is turning you on immensely, and you begin to rub your thighs together, seeking stimulation. It isn’t enough, especially compared to how Shen seems to be feeling. Your left hand abandons his hip in favor of reaching down to grind against your clit through your pants. It’s still not enough.

While trying to concentrate on not choking on Shen’s cock, you push your hand past the waistband of your pants to touch your clit directly. You first dip your fingers down to your entrance, gathering a bit of the accumulated slick on your fingertips before you set a steady rhythm of rubbing against your clit. You moan and whimper a little around his dick, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are closed and his mind is occupied by how much pleasure you’re making rock through his body.

His thrusts slow and you think he might cum, but he instead pulls back, his cock releasing from your mouth with a wet pop. The movement of your hand stops as you stare up at him in confusion. “Why’d you stop?”

He smiles and matter-of-factly states, “I can’t cum quite yet when I still haven’t fucked you over the desk like you wanted.” As he comes down from his pleasure high, his eyes drift over your form and settle on your crotch. You realize that your hand is still down your pants, and you stiffen in embarrassment before quickly removing it and tucking it behind your back.

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were that impatient! I’ll have to speed things along in that case. I don’t want you to feel left out.” He reaches down and yanks you up by the hand to draw you over to his desk. He tuts at the sight of all the papers covering it but quickly decides to shove everything off to make room. He grasps your hip to guide you in front of the desk with his hard member resting against the swell of your ass. He then presses a palm into your back, gently pushing you to bend over and rest the side of your face against the wood surface.

He leans down and brushes your hair aside to kiss your neck. It’s a moment of tenderness, a brief respite from the chaos of this entire encounter. He continues as his hands work to unbutton and pull down your pants and undergarments, his kisses growing rougher and needier as more of your bare skin is exposed.

You can hear the sound of him drawing the fabric of his top to the side and you soon feel the head of his cock rest against your entrance. He shifts to look you in the eye before checking in one last time: “You're ready for this, right?”

You smile and nod. “Yeah, go ahead.” He responds by breaching your opening, pushing the head of his cock inside of you. You let out a moan of satisfaction at finally being filled. He takes a moment to gauge your reaction before pushing further in, millimeter by millimeter. Your fingers grasp the edge of the desk, your grip tightening as he fully sheathes himself inside of you. Shen lets out a satisfied sigh and lovingly caresses your hip before he starts to thrust.

This doesn’t feel real to you. The man you’ve fantasized about for months finally has you bent over a desk, railing you into oblivion. And it’s even better than you could’ve imagined.

Shen slowly speeds up, his hands gripping your hips and holding you in place. His panting and groans tell you that he’s enjoying this as much as you. Then his right hand moves upwards, tracing a path up your back until it reaches your hair. He combs his fingers through it for a second before he asks, “You said you wanted me to pull your hair, right?”

You can’t seem to get an answer past your whimpers of pleasure, so you opt to nod the best you can against the desk. This answer doesn’t satisfy him.

“Mmmm, not good enough. I’m gonna need you to tell me exactly what you want.” A playful smile teases at his lips as he speaks, and his eyes are looking down at you full of adoration. His thrusts don’t slow even for a second during this spectacle, keeping a steady rhythm that steadily inches you further and further into the depths of pleasure.

You huff out an exasperated breath before managing to force out a desperate answer. “God, please pull my hair already, Shen!” He barks out a laugh and the hand in your hair grips into a fist.

“Of course, beautiful.” He hanks your head back, bringing your head off the desk a bit. The pain sends an electric current through your whole body and you can’t help but let out a noise that almost sounds like a scream. He keeps the tension of his hand tight as he continues to fuck you, his thrusts getting a bit more forceful to match his actions. You can feel your knees growing weak as you feel the end in reach.

He bends over you, his front pressing against your back, til his mouth is breathing hot against your neck. The hand in your hair moves to pull down the collar of your shirt. He gives the base of your neck a brief, sloppy kiss before he bites down. The shutter that courses through your body eggs him on, and he continues to suck and bite at your neck. He also adjusts the angle of his hips slightly downward as he bites, and he hits a new angle that you think is going to make you pass out.

“Shen, right there! Ah, Shen if you keep this up, I’m- ahn, I’m close!” His matching pants and desperate moans tell you he’s also getting close.

“Just a bit more, right? I’ll give you a little something more than just my cock.” His hand leaves your head to snake around your thigh, giving it a squeeze before rubbing against your clit. The stimulation of him hitting your sweet spot while relentlessly rubbing your clit through the rough fabric of his glove is almost too much to handle.

“God, fuck! Just like that, I’m-”

He tilts his head so that you can feel his hot breath on your ear and whispers, “Go on, then.” He licks the shell of your ear and a teasing nip at your earlobe sends you over the edge.

You can’t form words as you’re in the throes of your release. You can feel your legs tremble and almost give out beneath you as every part of your body light aflame. Shen never falters, continuing to thrust and rub you through your orgasm.

Soon the pleasure of orgasm turns to the odd tingle of overstimulation, but you don’t have to bear it long. Shen’s hands move to grip your hips again, holding them in place as he thrusts a final few times before you hear a groan of satisfaction and feel his warm release fill you. He finally stills, and the only sounds that fill the air are your and Shen’s exhausted panting.

He gently grips your chin and positions your face to give you a sweet peck on the cheek. “Thank you for being so good for me. How about we get you cleaned up?” Even after all that, he was still considerate of your needs right afterward. You nod, but a strange warmth in your heart prompts you to quietly ask, “Can we stay like this for a little while longer?”

He answers you by wrapping his arms around your waist and giving you a soft kiss on the shoulder. “Of course.”

*******

After making use of the en-suite bathroom, you drag him to cuddle for a bit on the loveseat, your hair still wet. You sit in blissful silence for a while, but he shatters it by saying something completely out of left field.

“You know, you listed a lot more that we didn’t get to tonight. I still haven’t eaten you out, degraded you, or fucked on this couch, and I’m sure you were about to list even more things before I-”

You cut him off by burying your face in his shoulder, your cheeks instantly flushed. “Please… no more.”

He smiles as if he wasn’t just teasing you with your own explicit fantasies. “You were the one who said you wanted those things, no?”

“That was only cause you forced me to say them, you bastard! You know, you can be a real piece of work sometimes!” You raise your voice slightly, feigning anger even though you aren’t truly mad at him.

His reaction puzzles you for a moment. His eyes go wide and he blinks at you, not saying a word. You only realize what’s happened after you detect the lightest tinge of pink on his cheeks. After a few moments, he regains his composure and pulls you close, petting your hair.

“Hm… it’s only fair that I make my own list of fantasies as well, and I think there are some things that I need to… explore. That sound good to you?”

You opt to nod in response, your cheek brushing against his shoulder as you do. You don’t need to see his face to know the look he’s giving you right now. The feeling of his fingers combing through your hair and his warm body pressing against yours makes you feel the most comfortable you’ve felt in months, and it’s enough to lull you into a light, cozy slumber.

#fanfiction #Undead Unluck #Shen Xiang #Shen Xiang x Reader #reader-insert #gender-neutral reader #smut #reader insert #if you're just browsing the undead unluck or shen tag casually IM SO FUCGKING SORRY

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captainqster · 18 days

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B A S I C S

Name: Solis Nola, formerly had the title of pyr

Nicknames: None

Age: ~23 ish

Nameday: Noooo idea. Sorry babyboy, you don't have one. Would probably be in the equivalent of January if I had to choose (yes he's a Capricorn)

Race: Pureblooded Garlean

Gender: Male

Orientation: Bisexual, heavily male-leaning

Profession: Formerly an optio in the Garlean military, served as the assistant to a Centurion and worked in communications. Was stationed in Doma. After defecting he can probably be found in Ishgard doing hunts and other work to earn a living for himself

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Pale pink, soft, voluminous, the kind of hair that rich asshole you hate has. Slight curl and bangs that conveniently hide his Third Eye (I was specifically looking for that feature and what I found does too good of a job)

Eyes: Jade green

Skin: Sort of fair to medium toned

Tattoos/scars: No tattoos. The scars under his right eye and across his nose were given to him by other soldiers the night he defected. So was a nasty scar that runs from his left shoulder blade to his right hip.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Both alive and well. His father might have been a quaestor, aka a minister of state finances, while his mother was a well-educated trophy wife. His family is well off and Solis is their only child. They had high expectations and put him through quite a few extracurriculars such as piano, martial arts, violin (didn't stick), boxing etc. Their minimum expectation was that he serve as a decemvir and work his way up from there. That uhhh didn't happen (Note: Solis looks like his mother)

Siblings: None

Grandparents: Hasn't come up, probably just as privileged and insufferable as his parents

In-laws and Other: Unmarried. Has made an Au Ra friend who carries him around like a sad wet cat

Pets: None

S K I L L S

Abilities: Being pureblooded Garlean means no aether manipulation. He is adept with shooting (gunblades, rifles, pistols), piloting aircraft, and unarmed combat. He also has a punchable face and a knack for drawing negative attention

Hobbies: Piano, reading, eventually gardening. Maybe sewing but he'll hate every moment of it

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Impeccable manners, eager to be taught new skills, wants to do the right thing (or what he deems to be right)

Most Negative Trait: Sees relationships as transactional, stubborn, lowkey manipulative

L I K E S

Colors: Spring and jewel-tone colors. Soft green, pale yellow, sapphire, ruby

Smells: Roses, tea, fresh laundry

Textures: Furs, silk, flower petals

Drinks: Coffee, tea, wine

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Never

Drinks: Socially

Drugs: Nope

Mount Issuance: None

Been Arrested: No but he should be. And not for the murder, just because he's Like That

Tagged by @wpip-raham, thanks so much! It was a joy getting to read about your hansom catboi

I'm gonna hold off on tagging specific people because I think a lot of rp blogs have details like this spelled out in their pinned posts. *However*, if you have an OC you've been dying to chat about please do this! It gave me a good excuse to think through some recent findings with Solis, who's not nearly as established as my bunboi Ilya

#rp #oc #solis #did this for my garlean defector bc he's considerably newer than my viera #reusing a former gpose bc i just don't have the energy to make a new one

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vodika-vibes · 7 months

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The Weaver

Summary: 6 months ago you were kidnapped to weave straw into gold, and now you're official dead. Dogma, however, disagrees.

Pairing: Knight!Dogma x Reader

Words: 3580

Warnings: Some angst

A/N: I'm not happy with this, its not bad, but I couldn't make it go how I wanted it to. And it's 100% because I had a chat with my mom about my relationship with my dad, and yeah, I'm not feeling fluff, but I tried. "I know you father loves you." My mom says, "Great," I say, "I haven't spoken to him in over 7 years, and I'm done reaching out." Ugh. Sorry.

Divider by saradika

Your fingers ache, and you’re pretty sure that you have splinters of straw under your fingernails, based on how much pain you’re in and based on the dots of blood that you’re dripping on your tapestry.

You stop weaving for a moment, taking a few minutes to stretch your fingers.

It doesn’t help.

You don’t really expect it to.

Six months ago, you had been a simple weaver, working part time at a shop just down the street from your home, to save up money for University. Six months ago, a stranger entered the shop and watched you weave for almost thirty minutes, in spite of the owner’s increasingly aggravated questions. Six months ago you were snatched off the street on your way home.

Six months ago, you were shoved into this tower, shown a room filled with straw, and told that you had 24 hours to weave all of the straw in the room, or else your life would be forfeit.

Turns out the Loom was magic, and could, and would, turn straw into gold once it’s woven together. Well, you assume it’s the loom, since you have all of the magical ability of a piece of granite.

You thought-hoped, wished-that once you cleared the room, you would be free to go. That your captor would drop you back on the street and you could return to your parents and pretend it never happened.

But that’s not what happened.

The person who kidnapped you was so thrilled at your ability to weave quickly, that he kept you. And every day, the room is filled with straw, and every day you have to weave it into a massive blanket.

“Another day, another blanket,” You wince as the door to your room opens, and your warden steps in, “You are growing quite adept at this, my little weaver.”

You draw up what little nerve you have, “I can’t keep this pace,” You say, internally quailing as he pins you with a cold stare, “I’m going to get hurt,” You continue, “And then I won’t be able to weave at all.”

He releases a thoughtful little hum, and picks up the blanket. It should be heavy, gold isn’t a light material after all, but you know from experience that it’s as light as a spider’s silk shawl, “No.” he finally says, “I will, however, lessen the amount of straw you have to weave every day. I trust that’s acceptable?”

You’re quiet for a moment, your fingers throb in time with your heartbeat, and you want to cry. “I…yes.” You whisper, “It is.”

“Good.” He gathers the cloth, and folds it lovingly, before sliding it into his bag, “I brought another week’s worth of food, it’s in the kitchen.” He stands, and looks you over with a cold eye, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He leaves as quickly, and silently, as he arrives. And once more, you’re left to your own thoughts.

You shudder and curl your arms around yourself, to try and offer yourself some comfort, and you slowly leave the weaving room.

Your tower isn’t very large, and in fact, only has three distinct rooms. The weaving room, where you spend the majority of your time, the main room, which is where the kitchen and your bed are located, and the washroom. And then there’s the magically locked door that would allow you to leave the tower.

If you were ever allowed to leave.

True to his word, there’s several large bags filled with food, which you store with mechanical precision, no longer having to think about where you store the items before you do.

And then you cross over to where your bed is, and you pull the curtain off the wall, and you add one more tally mark to the wall, and then you drop the curtain again.

You sit on the bed, and you press your hands against your face, rubbing the palms of your hands roughly against your eyes. You want to go home. You want to never see a loom again in your life.

You want to go and talk to Knight Dogma and finally ask him out on a date, rather than getting nervous and backing out at the last minute.

You fall back on your bed, and stare up at the gray ceiling for a long moment. All you can hear is the sounds of birds and insects outside. And you know that if you open the shutters all you’ll see outside is forest, forest, and more forest.

You are, well and truly, alone.

A silent sob escapes your lips, and you tug your blankets up around yourself, burying yourself under the blankets like you used to when you were a child. No matter how much you scream, no matter how much you cry, no one will hear you.

No one is coming for you.

*************

Dogma frowns as he taps his desk with his pen, his gaze is locked on your picture, taken from the file that’s currently sprawled across his desk. He’s not supposed to have it. He’s not a member of the Guard, it’s not his job to investigate kidnappings, but he managed to get his hands on it anyway.

He starts tapping his pen even faster when he remembers the look on Fox’s face when he asked for this file. It was a look of sympathy, and Dogma hadn’t understood, until he opened the file and saw, stamped on the first sheet, ‘Presumed Dead’.

He’s not proud of how he handled that. How he flung the fact that Fox had been missing for years and no one declared him dead, and that if the guard was going to be useless, then he would investigate himself-

Dogma had to be escorted out by Rex, who proceeded to order him to his Quarters for 24 hours, and told him that he’s lucky he’s not sitting in a jail cell for what he said.

He hadn’t taken the file from Dogma though.

Rex would have been well within his rights to take the file, but he didn’t. He looked at it, and then pressed it back into Dogma’s hands and told him to hold onto it until he’s ready to let go.

Dogma picked up the file and started reading again. Rex is going to be disappointed…he’s never going to be ready to let go.

How can he?

Everytime he closes his eyes he remembers you. Your bright smile, your bubbling laughter. The pink flush that crosses your face when he offers you a compliment. The way that that flush turns into a full blush when you offer him something handmade-

How is he supposed to live his life believing that you were kidnapped, and murdered, and he did nothing?

Well, the answer is obvious. He can’t. So he buries himself in the file, and hopes that there’s something, anything, there that will lead to you.

Because anything else is just unacceptable.

*************

Sometimes, while you weave, you wonder if anyone is even looking for you anymore.

You like to imagine that there are still search parties going out. Led by your family. Sometimes you imagine that they stumble on the tower by accident, and they break in and they rescue you from your warden-

And then, as always, real life comes back to kick you in the face.

It’s much harder to daydream when you’re not weaving. When you have to face the reality of your life. If you were capable of it, you would weave constantly…but you’re only human and you need to be able to rest.

It’s been eight months now. And the weather has started getting cold again.

It’s been almost a year since you were taken, and you’ve started to come to terms with the fact that no one is looking for you.

After all, if they were looking for you, surely someone would have found you by now. Right?

“You’re getting faster,” You don’t look away from the window as your warden speaks from the middle of the room.

“You left less than a quarter of the normal amount.” You reply dully.

He’s quiet for a moment, “You’re going to have the next two weeks free from any weaving.”

That causes you to turn and look at him in surprise.

“I have to go to a different country to get more straw, enough for the winter, which means I won’t be here to collect the golden blankets.” He explains, “I’ve purchased enough food for a month, just in case.”

You stare at him for a moment, and then turn to look back out the window, “Alright.”

“You will still be here when I get back.” It’s a threat, not a question.

“Where else would I be?”

You feel his stare on the back of your head, and then you hear the sound of the magical seal releasing on the door, and then the door opens and slams shut. And your eyes close when the magical seal reactivates.

You watch as he vanishes into the forest, and you slowly push to your feet. The food needs to be put away, and you need to organize the tower…make it look a little neater, maybe reorganize.

You also need to alter some of your dresses into something better suited for the winter, since you’re pretty sure that the tower isn’t made for cold weather.

You sigh as you press a loaf of bread into the breadbox. You want to go home. And this place is not, and will never be, home.

Time moves shockingly slowly when you have nothing to do.

You’ve read the three cookbooks you own three times, to the point you can recite the recipe for pot roast, and you’ve rearranged the tower every day just to have something to do, and you’ve made yourself a whole winter wardrobe from the materials you were left with…and it’s only been three days.

You really should have asked for a book on making clothes, thinking about it. You managed to make stockings and several woolen dresses, but trousers and long sleeved tunics would really be warmer-

You’ve even deep cleaned the weaving room, sweeping little fragments of straw up from the crevices between the stone, and moving the loom so that it’s better situated in the room.

And you’ve cleaned the fireplace…you’re pretty sure it’s never been cleaned before in its existence, but it’s clean now.

Unfortunately, you’re now, officially, out of things to do.

You suppose you can just sleep the rest of the two weeks away. But that sounds so very dull-

You drape yourself, sideways, in the chair in front of the fireplace, tilting your head backwards over the arm of the chair so that your hair brushes the floor. The chair is comfortable, if nothing else.

You’re about to drift off, in spite of the comfortable position, when you hear something new. It’s not the normal sound of birds or insects…in fact, unless you’re very much mistaken, it sounds like a horse.

Which is impossible.

There aren’t any wild horses in this area, you’ve lived here for eight months, you’d know.

And then-

“Hello? Is there anyone up there?”

You fall out of the chair. That’s a voice. A person’s voice! A real person’s voice!

You scramble to your feet and hurry over to your bed, and you shove the shutters open. “Yes! I’m here!”

The person standing at the bottom of the tower is clad in white and blue…and that’s about all you can make out of them.

“Can you open the door?” The person, and that’s definitely a male voice, calls.

“No, it’s magically sealed.” You call back.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, “Fine. Stand back from the window.”

“Uh…” You scramble off the bed, and into the center of the room, and you’re barely safe when a hook appears in the window and latches on the windowsill.

Several moments later, the man from the bottom of the tower hoists himself into the tower, and he swings his legs over your bed.

Now that he’s closer, you’re able to properly see his armor, and even though it’s been six months, you would recognize Dogma’s armor anywhere. “...Dogma?”

He tugs his helmet off and drops it on your bed, and then he smoothly gets to his feet, “Hey there, angel.” He sounds about as relieved as you feel.

“You…how did you find me?” You ask, your eyes wide.

“Stubbornness,” He takes half a step towards you and smiles so gently at you, “Are you okay?”

You stare at him, and a sob falls from your lips as you stumble towards him. He folds his arms around you as you cling to him, “I-I didn’t think anyone would come-”

His arms tighten around you, “Well, I did.” Dogma murmurs, as he presses a light kiss to the top of your head, “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, “I’m not hurt. I just…I really want to go home.”

“I bet you do.” He gently releases you, and takes a step back, a soothing smile crossing his face as you whine and try to press yourself closer to him, “It’s okay, angel. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He gently cups your face with his hands, “I need to look around, okay.”

You sniffle but nod.

“Okay, do you know why you were taken?” Dogma asks as he starts poking around the main room.

“He needs me to weave for him.”

“Weave? Weave what?”

You cross the room and open the door to the weaving room, “At noon everyday the room will fill with straw, and I have to use that loom to weave the straw into gold blankets.” You explain.

“...I wasn’t aware that you could do that.” Dogma notes absently, his warmth a comforting presence against your shoulder.

“I can’t. I have all the magic ability of a rock.” You point to the loom, “That turns the straw into gold, I just have to weave it to make it happen.” You lean back against him, “I’ve woven a single blanket every day since I was taken. I never want to see a loom again.”

“Where’s the person who took you?”

“He had to go somewhere else, to get more straw.” You explain, “Dogma, I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Dogma’s hand smooths through your hair, “Alright, angel. Let’s get out of here.” He walks back across the tower and moves the bed out of the way, “Come here, angel.”

You hurry to his side, and he carefully directs you to wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’m going to climb us down, but you need to hold on. Can you do that?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Good girl,” He pulls his helmet on and makes sure that the hook is secure, and then he very carefully climbs down the rope, moving much slower than he would have if he was on his own.

Still, he reaches the bottom of the tower in a little under a minute, and you release him slowly, staring at the grass under your bare feet.

“Where are your shoes, angel?” Dogma asks, only just noticing that your feet are bare.

“Um…I wasn’t allowed to keep them.” You admit, “But it’s okay, it’s not so cold now that it’ll be a problem.”

“I don’t agree,” He counters, “Come here,” Dogma guides you over to his horse, and effortlessly picks you up and sits you on the saddle, “Stay here, I need to get the hook down.”

You nod, and start absently petting the horse, while you watch Dogma work. You also can’t help but wonder what kind of training he and his brothers get when he’s able to get the hook out of the tower with one flick of his wrist.

And then he’s coiling the rope and attaching it to the saddle bags, “What are the odds that the person who took you is going to come hunting you down?” Dogma asks as he shifts you on the horse, and then slips into the saddle as well.

You hook your arms around his waist and rest your cheek against his shoulder, “High. He told me once that if I tried to run he would hunt me down to the ends of the galaxy if needed.”

“So he targeted you intentionally,” Dogma notes.

“Yeah, I guess. How far are we from the nearest village?” You ask.

“We’re a little more than a week away from the palace,” He replies, “But, luckily, we’re less than a day away from the nearest port, which is where the Resolute is docked.”

“Oh, you’ve been deployed?”

“Yup.”

“And you still came to look for me?” You ask.

“...I insisted on it, and Rex has been patient with me.” Dogma admits, and then he glances at you, “You were declared dead two months ago, angel.”

“But…you came looking for me-”

“Because I couldn’t bear the idea of you getting kidnapped and murdered without me noticing.” He interrupts, “And the idea of never seeing you again depressed me so much, that everyone decided that it was easier to just let me do my own thing.”

“Well…” You say after you mull over his words for a moment, “I’m glad you didn’t stop looking.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The port was only a few hours away, and Captain Rex stares at you like you’re a ghost when Dogma walks up to him with you. “So…look who I found,” Dogma says wryly.

“Dogma,” Rex stares at his little brother and then he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Dogma, what the actual fuck?”

“I can explain,” Dogma says quickly, “I was talking to one of the shopkeepers and she mentioned a tower, and she let me borrow her horse to go and check it out…and it turns out that she was there?”

“I’d really like to go home, Captain.” You say quietly.

“I’m sure you do,” Rex replies, as he runs his hand over his head, “Fine. Fine. She can have the Captain’s Quarters and I’ll sleep somewhere else. But we aren’t returning to Mandalore for another three months, Dogma.”

“I know. But we can’t leave her. Not when the man who took her is going to be looking for her.” Dogma replies.

“...what.”

“He said that if I ran he would hunt me down,” You offer helpfully, though you feel bad when Rex sighs deeply.

“Get her on the ship. Now, Dogma.”

“Yes sir,” He places his hand on the small of your back, “Come on, angel. Let’s get you settled.”

************

Three weeks later, the crew of the Resolute are on edge.

They have been getting dogged by a single ship for two weeks. It hasn’t gotten close enough to actually be a problem, but everyone knows that they’re being followed.

It’s late when the call comes over to the Resolute, “You have something that belongs to me.” A voice echoes over the ship, “Return my weaver to me, or I’ll sink your ship.”

“Not going to happen,” Rex answers, and then he presses a button on the bridge, “All hands, prepare for battle.” And then he turns to Dogma, “You’re on bodyguard duty, hop to it.”

“Sir!” Dogma salutes, and then turns and runs off the bridge, he has to side-step a lot of his brothers, all of them carrying weapons and dressed in full armor, and he knocks once on the door to the room you’re using, before he pushes it open, “Angel, you in here?”

“I’m here,” You say quietly from where you’re curled up on the bed, your eyes wide with fright.

He crosses the small room and sits on the edge of the bed, “Everything is going to be fine, angel.” Dogma promises quietly, “We’re not going to give you back to him, and he’s not going to take you.”

“Maybe you should-?”

“Absolutely not.” Dogma says bluntly, “You are exactly where you’re meant to be.”

“...I’m scared.” You whisper.

“Don’t be. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” He smiles soothingly, “The 501st very good, angel. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Can’t help it,” You admit with a shrug, and you wince when you hear the first volley of magic fire.

“I know,” Dogma’s gaze flickers to the door, and then he reaches out and cups your face with his hands, “You’re going to be fine. And so is everyone else.”

You nod slowly, hesitantly.

“And when we get back to Mandalore,” he continues, “We’re going on a date.”

“...what?”

“Caf, maybe. Or maybe to a restaurant,” He says, as his gaze locks with yours, “I should have asked you ages ago…but you always got so flustered whenever I even hinted at being interested in you-” His smile is slightly wry.

“Sorry.” You answer sheepishly.

“It’s okay, it’s cute.” Dogma glances at you and flashes a small grin, “What do you say, angel?”

“I’d like a lunch date, maybe?” You offer hesitantly, wincing again as the ship rocks, “If we get out of this alive-”

“We will.” Dogma interrupts. “We’re going to be fine.” He pauses, and quickly leans in, brushing his lips against yours, and then he pulls away, “Okay. I have to actually do my job now. Stay. Here.”

“Yes Dogma,”

“I’ll see you in a little bit,” He replies, as he stands and heads out of the room. Dogma’s mind is already locked on all of the possible dates he can take you on. After all, you already agreed.

#star wars #tcw #Clone Trooper Dogma x Reader #dogma x reader #star wars au #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction

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guess-my-next-obsession · 9 months

Text

Ivy & Stone, Chapter Twelve: An Arrival In The Countryside

pairing: victorian au!javi gutiérrez x oc (Florence Bell)/victorian au!frankie morales x Florence

rating: M (lots and lots of pining and angst, one mild steamy moment but nothing explicit, a whole lotta these three breaking my heart)

wc: 3.2k

series masterlist

“Oh, look, my love!” called Poppy as she stood near the window beside their seats on the ship, her button nose practically pressed up against the glass. “I think that’s the harbor.”

Frankie closed the book in his lap and set it in the seat beside him before standing behind her to look out of the window, the sight of England so close stirring feelings of nostalgia and guilt in his gut.

“You’re quite right,” he said, swallowing down the worry that crept up his throat. Poppy turned to look at him, their bodies so close that one rock of the ship would have them sharing a kiss, and pressed a hand against his chest.

“Are you excited to be home?” she asked in a shaky whisper, her focus clearly on the soft bow of his lips.

“I am,” he answered truthfully. “But I must admit that I am also a bit nervous to see how things have changed, how…how my home has changed.”

“It hasn’t been that long since you’ve gone away, my love,” she smiled, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I am sure everything is just as you left it.”

“I don’t think it could ever be,” he said, though she had little idea as to what he really meant.

“Mr. Morales, do you have a moment?” Mr. Bell stepped over with a glass of whiskey in one of his hands. Poppy stepped away from both of them with a polite nod, choosing to sit beside Anna and her betrothed while the men chatted. Frankie resumed his spot at his seat while Mr. Bell sat in front of him, crossing one leg over the other. “I wanted to speak with you for a moment before our journey concludes.”

“What would you like to speak about?” Frankie asked, his thumbs anxiously brushing over the expensive material of his trousers, a luxury he could only afford thanks to the employment of the man in front of him.

“Well, as you know, I’ve heard all about the situation at the Bell House, and unlike my brother who has little sympathy in regards to matters of the heart, I am a romantic,” he smiled. “And as a romantic, I feel overwhelmed by the thought of you and my niece reuniting only for her to find that you’ve already promised yourself to another, but it isn’t my feelings on the matter that I wish to discuss. No, I’m much more concerned with your feelings.”

Frankie took in a deep breath and flashed his eyes over to Poppy who sat laughing with her hand over her mouth at a crude drawing of Anna’s, her poise and beauty a stark contrast to everyone around her. He found himself wishing that this radiance she exuded was enough to rid him of all thoughts of Florence, but no matter how hard he willed it, he could not stop his thoughts.

“I suppose I’m feeling overwhelmed as well,” Frankie said. “I…have the ability to comprehend that Poppy is the best thing for me, that this life I’m living in America is the most luxurious I’ve ever lived, but deep inside, I still feel like that orphan boy from the countryside who’s sick in love with a woman I can never have. A woman that I’m not even sure thinks of me. And all I do is think of her, day and night. She…has affected everything. If the air is warm, the clouds are gone, the sky is blue, I can almost feel myself in that garden again. I can almost feel her skin beneath my fingertips. It’s…a sickness I cannot shake or treat.”

“And your solution to rid yourself of this sickness, as you call it, is to promise your life away to a woman? A perfectly fine woman that still has time left to find a man who adores her like you do my niece?” he chuckled. “I thought you were a smarter man than that, Mr. Morales.”

“Florence is moving on with her life,” Frankie shrugged. “It’s only fair that I should move on with my own.”

“Ah, that would be true if my niece was indeed moving on as you say, but I have yet to receive an invitation to any ceremony,” he countered. “How many engagements have you known to go on for nearly half a year in these times? I can’t say I’ve ever met a couple who lasted longer than three months before wedding.”

“I believe that she loves him, and that she will marry him,” Frankie said in a hushed voice, as though he could hardly will himself to say it. “And even so, Lord and Lady Bell would never allow it—“

“Not to a poor man,” Mr. Bell smirked. “You’re no longer a poor man.”

“To Lady Elizabeth, I will always be a poor man,” Frankie argued.

“Perhaps,” Mr. Bell weighed his head to the side. “Perhaps her opinion will change once she sees what you’ve made of yourself.”

“Even so—“

“I’ve never seen a man so in love and so afraid of it being reciprocated,” Mr. Bell noted. “Let us imagine for a moment, shall we? If my dear niece were to show up at this wedding and lay eyes on you, would you run to her or from her?”

“I’d hide before she can see me,” he quipped.

“Be serious, now,” Mr. Bell scolded. “What would instinct have you do?”

“I suppose I’d stand still,” he said. “I’d give her the chance to decide whether or not she wanted to acknowledge me.”

“And then?”

“And then,” Frankie shook his head and let out a chuckle. “And then I’d ruin myself over her. A million times over if that’s what she’d ask of me.”

“And then you’d tell her of your engagement? After you’ve allowed her to ruin you?” he asked.

“If I allowed her to ruin me, there would be no engagement,” he said simply, as though there was no room for any other possibility.

“If all it takes is one look, one moment of her acknowledging your existence to leave Miss Poppy, do you really think this engagement will last the rest of the summer?”

Frankie looked at him for a moment, stunned by his question, before shaking his head in puzzlement.

“I do not know,” he said defeatedly. “I hope.”

“I certainly haven’t missed England,” Javi commented, glancing out of the window of the carriage as he sat in front of Florence, Leo at his side coloring. “At least the weather is favorable.”

Florence sighed, her behind aching from the long and bumpy ride that’s taken them a week so far. The only reprieve the trio had was in the evenings when they’d check into their respective rooms at various countryside inns, the watchful eyes of the old innkeepers forcing Javi and Florence from sneaking into each other’s rooms.

“I will go mad if I stay in this carriage another day,” she declared, laying across the padded bench dramatically. “Please tell me this is our last day of travel?”

An empathetic frown grew on Javi’s face as he turned to look at her in all her agony and boredom.

“The footman thinks it’ll take another day at the very least,” he said. “I apologize, mi vida. I wish I could simply snap a finger and have us there at your family estate.”

“Can’t we stay at your home?” she asked.

“I suppose, but—“

“I don’t care to spend a single evening under the same roof as my entire family,” she continued, sitting up.

“Anna will be distracted with her fiancé,” Leo chimed in, a hopeful lilt to his voice. “Please, Flo, stay with us.”

“Leo, it’s not as simple—“

“Is it Mr. Frankie you’re worried about?” he asked, too young to realize the extent of the valley between Florence and Frankie, not to mention the animosity between him and Javi.

“I have no thoughts or opinions on Mr. Morales,” she said full of pride, her arms crossing over her shoulders. “Besides, I doubt very seriously that mother will let him into the home after everything.”

“Well, I cannot wait to see him. I want to ask him about America, about the ship he took, about the ocean, about—“

Javi cleared his throat as jealousy crept up from his chest, pulling Florence’s gaze to his.

“Perhaps we should stop for the evening,” she suggested, reaching her hand across the space between them to touch his knee. “Where are we?”

“If I had to take a guess, I’d say we’re just south of London, but I’m not certain,” he said, resting his hand over hers and lifting it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “I’ll ring for the footman to stop.”

“Thank you, my sweet love,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his.

“My darling!” Lord Bell called as Anna stepped out of the carriage with an uncharacteristic smile, her arms thrown over his shoulders as she welcomed him in for a hug. “How was your journey?”

“It was wonderful, father,” she beamed, letting go of him to turn around and meet her fiancé’s eyes. “I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Andrew York.”

“Hello,” Lord Thomas greeted the young man, holding his hand out for him to shake. “I heard you’re an Ivy League man.”

“I am, indeed,” Andrew smiled. “I graduated just last year and have begun working at my father’s firm.”

“Law?”

“Finance,” he clarified. “Mr. Bell introduced us.”

“Ah, yes, where is my dear younger brother?”

Joseph climbed out of the carriage after Frankie, the two of them helping Poppy out before Joseph made his way over.

“Tommy,” Joseph grinned, tugging his brother in for a tight, albeit rough, embrace. “How’s Lizzie?”

“She’s inside with Benjamin and Maribel,” Lord Thomas replied, his eyes trained on Frankie as he remained by the carriage, clearly on edge being back at the estate. “I wasn’t aware you were bringing…guests.”

“Oh, Mr. Morales? He’s proven to be quite a good friend to me,” Joseph said, pulling away from his brother to give him a warning look. “He’s my guest, Thomas. More than that, he was a fine employee to you and your family.”

“Fine is an interesting word to use,” Thomas chided before looking back at Frankie and Poppy, forcing a smile onto his face. “Mr. Morales, what a pleasure to have you back.”

“Thank you, sir,” Frankie nodded politely.

“And who is this?”

“This is my…fiance,” Frankie managed, the word feeling strange on his tongue now that he was back home. “Poppy Greenier.”

“French?” Thomas asked.

“My grandfather was a frenchman, yes,” she smiled, unaware of the tension. “Though by now, I would say we’re all very American.”

“Charming,” Thomas forced a chuckle. “Well, Mr. Morales, I’m afraid we have quite a full house. Would you mind staying in the cottage?”

“Of course not,” he answered quickly, the thought of being back in his home acting as an anchor in this turbulent sea of tension and nostalgia.

“Very good,” he nodded. “Miss Greenier, I’ll have one of our maids show you to your room. Dinner will be served within the hour.”

“Thank you dearly for your hospitality,” she choked. “Your home is the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You can thank my wife for that,” Thomas laughed sincerely, taken by Poppy’s warmth just like everyone else she came in contact with.

Frankie placed a kiss onto Poppy’s hand and bid her goodbye before making his way through the overgrown and under-watered garden, the sight alone stinging his chest like a stab wound to the heart, to his little cottage that rested on the edge of the property. He sighed at the state of the place he used to call home, the ivy leaves he’d take care to manicure now growing wildly over the dusty window. With a gentle shove to open the creaky, wooden door, Frankie let his eyes close as the familiar smell of wood and linen flooded his nostrils, the scent taking him back to the summer previous when he’d spend every single night reading to Florence after carefully taking her apart, only to do it all again.

A lump grew in his throat as he ran his fingers over the mantle of the fireplace, his fingertips turning black with dust and soot, much like how he imagined the state of his heart would be if he could take it out and hold it in his hands.

All the nights spent here, before and after her, it all came back to him in an instant.

This was his home, this was where he longed to be, this was the life he wanted to live.

America had given him plenty, and any normal man would’ve been satisfied with wealth and freedom and a beautiful, gentle woman on their arm, but Frankie had never considered himself a normal man. He was too gentle, to solemn, too introspective to crave anything but the green around him and that complicated and beautiful woman he once knew.

Sighing again, he slouched down onto the beat up sofa, his elbows on his knees and face in his hands as he thought hard about the last year and the choices he’d made. If only he would’ve pressed harder, he would be with her now. Perhaps not here, but somewhere they could call their own. A tiny cottage in the woods where they could stay up all night talking if they wanted, a garden that they could share without fear of being caught, perhaps even a family of their own that could be raised away from all of the classism and societal pressures that drove Florence away in the first place.

Needing a moment to himself before having to put on a brave face, Frankie got up and crawled into his old bed, the sheets and blanket a little less than clean, but he didn’t mind. If he pressed his nose into the pillow he swore he could smell her rose scented perfume, and when he hugged his blanket to his body, it almost felt like he was holding her. For now, this would have to do. A fantasy would have to get him by, because what else could? Certainly not the people inside the manor an acre away, not even the person he impulsively chose to spend the rest of his life with.

Florence, Leo, and Javi had all gotten settled at their inn for the night in Swanley, their stomachs filled with a potato soup cooked by the wife of the innkeeper. Florence and Leo shared a room while Javi slept by himself, tossing and turning with the thought of Florence and Frankie’s reunion.

Florence couldn’t sleep either, her little brother’s snoring and the large oak tree outside of the inn scraping against the window keeping her from finding any real rest. Turning to her brother in the next bed, she waited a moment before whispering his name to make sure he was fast asleep, and when she was met with no response, she carefully and quietly peeled her blanket back and stood up, creeping towards the door and opening it. With a watchful eye, she looked down the hallway and staircase for any sign of the innkeeper, but it seemed both he and his wife were fast asleep. Tiptoeing across the hall to Javi’s room, she slowly turned the knob and peeked her head in, finding him wide awake, sitting at his desk sketching.

“Javi,” she whispered, watching as his head snapped over in her direction, his eyes widening as she let herself in and walked to where he sat.

“My love,” he whispered back. “What if the innkeeper—“

“No one’s awake,” she assured, lifting her nightgown to sit around her thighs as she threw one leg over his lap, straddling his thighs. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Javi’s hands rested on her hips, pulling her closer as she leaned in and kissed his neck.

“I want you,” she whispered, kissing her way up to his lips, her hips rocking against his. “No…I need you, Javi.”

Javi wanted to reciprocate, but his worries kept him from enjoying the moment, and when she reached down between their bodies, she found him soft. Pulling back, she studied his eyes with a furrow in her brow.

“I—I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hardly audible. “I want to, but—“

“No,” she nodded and climbed off of him, her eyes fixing on the hardwood beneath her feet as she nervously combed her curls behind her ear. “It was wrong of me to assume—“

“Florence,” Javi said, standing and settling his hands on either side of her face. “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to touch you, but…I have too much on my mind.”

“Such as?” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet his round, chocolate orbs. Javi shook his head and pursed his lips, unable to voice his fears to her.

“I don’t wish to burden you as well,” he said.

“If I’m to be your wife, aren’t I meant to share the burden?” she asked, her brows lacing together in mild irritation at his constant need to shield her. “Javi, I am a grown woman, I can handle the realities of the world we’re in. Is it your art? Your finances? Your father? I can take some of this weight off you if you let me—“

“It’s not yours to bear,” he said, pulling away from her and walking to the bed to settle into it. “You can stay with me if you’d like, but—“

“If I’d like?” she laughed incredulously, shaking her head at him. “I think I’d rather sleep alone.”

“As you wish,” he managed, though his heart ached with hurt caused by his own internal war.

He watched her as she rolled her eyes and walked out of his room, gently shutting the door behind her. He almost would’ve preferred if she’d slammed it, her gentle resignation stabbing him in the chest. Standing back up, he walked over to the desk, opening his sketchbook to stare at his drawing—Florence’s face sketched in charcoal. He wondered how many pages of his notebook were filled with her likeness, how many hours he’d spent drawing and imagining her. Sometimes he worried that he knew those images better than he knew her as a person, but it was easier to fall in love with a two-dimensional imagining than it was proving to be with the real thing. Those drawings would never leave him, never betray or lie to him, but Florence could. One look at Frankie and she might be lost forever.

Only time could tell.

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for-tymora · 5 months

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Maeve | Half Elf Cleric

I wanted to show off the reference page for my Tav! This is my first ever run; she's based on the character I LARP as, hehe.

Below the Read More is how I tend to draw her, plus some backstory! You can find this template [Here]!

Maeve was born in Baldur's Gate, raised in Baldur's Gate, and... Never really left. When her companions ask her about her history, she simply shrugs, and tells them there's not much to say. Growing up in the lower city, she was sheltered, but not unhappy.

Sometime when she was a baby, her elven father ran off- she never really knew him, and her human mother doesn't talk about it very much. When she was around five or so, her mother remarried (another human, this time), and had two sons- Maeve's younger step-brothers. She grew up in an all-human household, and while she loves her family, it saddens her that she has little connection to that other half of her heritage.

Moreover, her mother (who is an herbalist by trade), was staunchly anti-magic. Maeve suspects this is due to her father, but again, it's never been brought up. As a half-elf, Maeve had some innate magic abilities, which her mother forbade her from using. (No firebolts in the house!) That never really stopped them, though- she practiced in secret.

On the day the nautiloid flew over Baldur's Gate, though... A shouting match rung out in their house in the early morning. Slammed doors. A secret, found out. Maeve ran from their home in the lower city, clambering to find a quiet place where she could think. A quiet spot, hidden away under the trees in Bloomridge Park, where she frequently went to seek solace.

Someone was there when she arrived. A young woman, a half-elf, like them, with a bright smile and mischievous eyes. Bare foot. Maeve didn't know it at the time, but this was the goddess Tymora- one who rewards those who take chances. Speaking to her came easy, like chatting with an old friend. Tymora smiled, and moved to step away, saying "I do think I like you. But you probably shouldn't be here."

Before Maeve could even ask why, the nautiloid had her.

So that's Maeve! The start of her adventure, in-game, is the first time she's ever acted as a cleric. She's bright, and compassionate, and a bit of a pacifist. When pushed, though, she is fiercely loyal, and will tear apart those who hurt the ones she loves. Tymora visits her regularly, when she's alone- they talk to each other like childhood best friends. Maeve tends to be luckier than most.

She struggles with imposter syndrome, and the fear that her companions might soon realize she's incompetent, or worse- boring.

( Bloody hands art is from Jen Mazza's "Peripety" series!)

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #bg3 tav #baldurs gate #tav

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portablecity · 7 months

Text

So, some news: tomorrow morning I'm having surgery on my right arm - my dominant arm - my drawing arm, my writing arm, my brushing-my-teeth and typing-in-chat and unlocking-my-door arm - and will lose most use of it for years, and an unknown (but hopefully less dire) amount of use of it forever. As you might expect, this sucks so, so bad.

As you can see above, I have been trying to proactively warm up my left hand so I can still write and such once this happens. As you might also detect above, it has not felt great.

(complements on my left-handed writing are not welcome; the feel of it is so alien that even if it looked perfect, i'd be upset)

So while I go in to get that done, I was wondering if you'd be willing to reply or repost or something with a thing you like about my work that isn't about how it looks? So I can go back to this post when I get real depressed afterwards and remind myself I'm more than my line quality?

And if you are curious, slightly more explanation with anatomical specifics below the cut:

so it turns out I have a peripheral nerve tumour on my radial nerve above my elbow in my right arm - it's been slowly preventing me from lifting up my index finger (extending it) and more and more the rest of my hand's extension has been weakening. scans show muscle atrophy in my forearm, so not only is the nerve weakening, it's been weakening long enough that the muscles are getting noticeably less use.

from what we know, the tumour is benign, but it's not possible to remove it without removing a chunk of the nerve, and likely fully severing the nerve. and though benign, the tumour has been steadily growing and is likely to continue doing so, where it would eventually effectively sever the nerve all on its own.

so this is a preventative surgery where we take the tumour out before it withers all the radial offshoot nerves farther down my arm, and graft in a spare (well, less important) nerve from my ankle, and hope that the graft takes and the nerve has a chance to heal and then let me rebuild my muscles and recover some hand and wrist extension. How much is not known. Complete recovery is impossible - some nerves in there are already dead and no amount of grafts and occupational therapy can change that, and more will wither while we're waiting for the graft to heal.

Motor nerves can only heal for so long, so I'll know more about my expected lifetime function in a few years. Likeliest outcome is followup tendon reassignment surgery to try and fill any dire functional gaps, and then what will presumably be a bit of a mind-fuck of physio trying to teach my brain that one of my flexion muscles will then be responsible for extension of fingers or wrist or something.

What's confusing about this is, my other arm nerves are all fine.

Ulnar? Doing great. Those nerves you fuck up with carpal tunnel? that I fucked up in 2008 and have spent a decade and a half taking very careful care of? really solid, healthy nerves! good job past Shel!

So I'm certainly not losing 100% of hand function; I'll still be able to curl my fingers and thumb and actively bend my wrist down - I just likely won't be able to reverse all those movements. Hell, already I can tell how much weaker my right hand is at typing - writing this after a day of spreadsheets at work is really wearing it down.

It's surreal how much all i feel is grief about this. There's no one to be mad at, not even myself - it just, sucks. Can you hold a funeral for your handwriting? your markmaking language? your line quality? your ability to touch type up to 140 words per minute? your confident, trained, controlled method of self-expression? RIP, radial nerve. I already miss you.

It's been a 13 month gauntlet of medical appointments since I first saw a neurologist about this and it's a relief to finally have the surgery, but i do really appreciate all the other scans and tests and biopsies - they gave me enough information to make this legit horrible decision to try and save what function I can for tomorrow by making today awful. And to try and become ambidextrous, I guess, because god knows I'm not stopping making art simply because my body betrayed me. It'll just be ... not what I think of as my art, for a while, at least.

#crosspost #life stuff #news #artist life #health stuff #nerves

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felassan · 1 year

Text

Some snippets of interest and insight from Mark Darrah, from an older Mark Darrah on Games YouTube video where he was livestreaming playing Dragon Age II some months ago -

Chat asked "Are you devs (former devs as well) hyped and excited about entire lore and world of DA like we are?''. Mark replied that the devs do get into the lore but that they actually often lean into the community to make sure that they aren't violating their own lore (because there's so much of it). "You guys have done a much better job of curating it than we have to be honest".

A comment in chat said "I think it's important to know that as DA4 ramps up, the fandom is going to change". Mark replied "for sure, definitely, as the marketing picks up for a game you draw in more people. Also, BioWare is carrying some Anthem people that picked up that never left, that have definitely changed the tenor of the fandom to some degree".

For dialogue, the reason why the paraphrase is different to what Hawke actually says is that they found in ME1 that if they just made them the same, it felt like everything you as the PC said was being repeated because you had already read it in your head and then it got said out loud. This does sometimes lead to disconnect as sometimes what Hawke ends up saying isn't really what was implied by the paraphase. Mark said "that's why we've been experimenting with different tonal stuff in different games, to give you hints as to more clarity as to what will actually be said".

Chat asked ''what is you opinion on the rewrite/corrections of a lot of the lore from DA2 in subsequent media?'. Mark replied "My opinion is that you should try to be respectful of everything that came before as much as possible. I don't like that some of the comics and things have enforced sort've standard canon so strongly. I recognize that, especially coming out of DA:O, there's not much choice, but I feel like we could have done a bit of a better job there".

[source]

He also talked more generally about DAII and the previous games in general. These bits are collected under a cut due to length:

The messages that appear at the bottom of the DAII start screen must be hard-coded as opposed to live updates received from online, as some of them still refer to long-past things

On Varric's embellished prologue scene, where Bethany's chest size is exaggerated, he mentioned that Varric was more of a pig in DAII than he is in DA:I. "Men writing men writing women"

First impressions have an impact on players' opinions of the companions. Mark mentioned that he thinks that might be one of the reasons why players tend to stick with the first 3 companions that they get in the game, because those are the ones they're used to and are forced to get a bit more context on because they're there with you for the duration of the prologue/introduction

One of the problems with DAII is that because the followers are so locked down in terms of their abilities, gameplay and roleplay are in conflict more than they are in DA:O and DA:I

Combat in DAII is essentially the combat of DA:O (the same systems underneath) if someone took the 'knobs' and cranked them in the opposite direction really far. So the same systems underneath, but just with very different numbers in them

In DA:I, lighting (what time of day it is) was created such that the best looking lighting/time of day for each area was chosen

In DAII Kirkwall, because it was essentially such a central character in the game, actually got a lot more attention than cities usually do in DA games

The design of Kirkwall's city map actually kind of discourages you from going out into the wilderness, which Mark doesn't think was the intention

He mentioned that accents are tricky and that you want replicable accents. This was a problem Mass Effect had, e.g. with Tali. Tali's accent was one her VA could do, but no-one else could do it, so they ended up with an un-replicable accent for this character

"I forgot how many redheads there are in DAII"

Adding in some of the 'this is physically impossible irl' moves and skills to warriors and rogues in DAII helped to better balance those classes with mages, which were sort've overpowered relatively speaking in DA:O

DAII tried really hard to establish an art direction. So for example, there was a strong effort to make elves not look like 'humans with pointy ears', hence they're very angular. They then backed away from this a bit in DA:I

Chat asked ''Do you guys prefer the strongest loot to be crafted or found?'". Mark replied that crafting is a dangerous thing because some players don't engage in it, so if you require crafting for the best loot you run into the problem of players who don't engage in crafting not being able to play the game. Usually the best loot is crafted, but you need to be able to play the game without using it

In DAII they were trying to control the game economy a bit better than it was done in DA:O, as especially in the first act you're supposed to be someone who has just fled the Blight, so it wouldn't make sense to have a sack of money

On the repeating cave environment in DAII, it was a very specific hole in the cave ceiling with a shaft of sunlight hitting the ground that was so identifiable/distinctive that was what showed that the cave was being reused. "That specific spot is the main reason there was backlash about and people noticing the reused cave". Chat asked whether Mark thought that a simple texture swap-out would have helped mitigate the repeating dungeons complaint and he replied that some texture swaps could have helped, but the reason why they didn't do more clever tricks to conceal it was lack of time

Another major thing that caused the noticeable repeating environments problem is that they had the same area map, as they didn't have the ability in the engine to have specialized area maps, "so what happens is you actually get lots of times where parts of the level look accessible when in fact it isn't" (blocked off doors and not making it look like that on the minimap), and that just draws even further attention to how repetitive it is. DA:O comparatively did better at disguising or effectively reusing content

Also, chat asked ''Development wise, was crunch much worse for DA: Exodus versus DA:O or DA:I since it had a year or two development period??'". Mark replied that "Crunch-wise, yeah, DAII was arguably the worst but because the game was short in terms of dev time it was less total time I guess. But it was kind've for the entire development process so that was not great. We decided to do it in December in 2009 and shipped in March of 2011, so total time from the day we decided to do it until the day it was on shelves was about 15 months." This is why the game relies so much on the followers, because they are faster to write, usually require less revisions and you can go with the first drafts a little bit more. "If Jason Schreier says it was 2 years dev time for DAII in his book Blood, Sweat and Pixels, he's incorrect". More development time for DAII would have helped but it would have needed to have been added to the timeline in just the right way. If it had been added at the end and the release date had shifted really late in development, that would have been the biggest way to help, "because you could take the game as it was and patched over the biggest shaky bits". If it had just started with a 2 year dev cycle "I think you would have ended up with weaknesses because you would have just filled up the bucket with more content and I think the solution would've been to not do that, to keep it super tight, keep the focus on the characters and then patch over the worse of the glaring things". Also, "I have slept under my desk, yes".

(pls note that in places there is a bit of paraphrasing of the info, the best source is always the primary source with full quotes in their original context. and also that this vid is from 11 months ago)

[source]

#dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #anthem #mass effect

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problematicfactive · 7 months

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New intro Post

New intro post! How exciting! This is my celebration for reaching 25 followers so fast! Thank you all for your overwhelming support in this journey, it really has been a lot.

If you're new here, my boyfriend and I are both introjected from extremely problematic medias revolving around a very bad person that lived in real life. We are both from fictional medias, bit the person of which we introjected is very much real, and We've gotten a LOT of shit for it.

Spaces that claim to be safe spaces for systems-- or God forbid, safe spaces for *problematic* introjects and alters, tend to be rude or spiteful towards individuals who are factives from problematic sources.

I firmly believe this hateful stance comes from a place of not understanding, so I've created this blog to give people who don't understand a chance to talk and speak to us without losing their cool as we also stay anonymous on this blog. They're always nice until they find out who you are /hj . Since it's creation, the blog has since turned into a big place for problematic factives to just feel safe and seen. I'm beyond happy about this, and glad my blog can serve both purposes. More under the cut!

We post a lot of everything!

We answer asks from people who have questions about us or about being problematic factives, we make positivity posts for problematic factives, problematic factive culture is... posts, and lots of other things you could think of. Feel free to vent in our askbox or message us for a chat! We'd love to have a friend.

Some things off the top of my head that I can't do on this blog (but if you end up making a blog for these things and need a mod, totally hmu!)

Stimboards/Moodboards etc. - I would literally love to do these but the problem is I know like nothing about anyone. Of you were to ask me for a Donald Trump moodboard I honestly do not know what I would do my mind would just blank. That being said, in decently good at making them so if there were a person I knew well enough to do a stimboard on, I definitely could

Icon edits - This is somthing I'm capable of doing, but it isn't something where I would want this entire blog to just turn into requests. If you're making a blog specifically for these creative requests things totally hmu

Art - I cannot draw but my hope is that that changes in the future.

Meet us!

My last intro post didn't really have any information on us as people let's try and fix that.

I can't tell you my name, but you can call me Anxiety. I'm the main mod and significantly less source connected/more source ashamed. I go by he/Anxiety with Anxiety being able to work in place of either a name or a pronoun. Unless the host is helping out with something, anything that isn't labeled comes from me. I'm the only one out of the two of us with the physical ability to type so when he posts something, it's a little special occasion and deserves a label.

My boyfriend doesn't have a name option other than a source one. On the blog he has only been referred to as my boyfriend, but if you need a name for him, call him NPC. He uses he/him pronouns and will sign off any post that he thinks up all on his own with -NPC and tagged with # npc posts

Tagging

Here is some of the tagging we use on this blog

# problematic factive culture = Problematic factive culture is.. posts

# kindness and positivity = Kind and Positive asks we've received

# good thoughtful questions = Good questions we received as asks

# positivity post = Positivity posts

# problematicfactive blog things = things that ate moreso related to one of the mods or running the blog than they are about problematic factives

# rainy day drafts = drafts that could be super old because I made them and them left them in the drafts so I could post when I don't have anything else to post

# queued because I am asleep 😊 / queued because hopefully I'm sleeping = posts that I queue to be 5-ish hours away from the last post. I often post somthing at 12 am Eastern Time regardless of the last something was posted, so those early morning positivity posts tend to also be queued with the tag

If you come across us and like what we do, consider boosting or realigning this post! I'd love for as many people to find out we exist as possible

# askers experience = Asks sent in where an asker tells me about their life

# npc posts = posts my npc wrote as a mod on this blog (does not apply to posts where "my boyfriend's answer" is me paraphrasing or trying to speak for him)

#intro post #problematic factive #problematic source #problematic introject #factive #introject #plural community #plural #system #sysblr #problematicfactive blog things

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redux-iterum · 6 months

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Do you have any advice to help or prevent writer's block? I have a terrible habit of starting but never completing what I write. Also really excited for the Charred Legacy!

Hello and thank you! My advice splits into two categories of writer's block, which I'll call here Classic Block and Progression Block. Classic Block refers to the block people usually mean, especially when drawing: that you can barely write three sentences before erasing it all because it's awful and you hate it, leading you to sit around stewing in frustration that your skill level is so low. Progression Block, meanwhile, is the block where the actual work of writing something to completion is a Herculean task, even if you don't hate your writing style. The distinction DOES matter, as you’ll see.

To start off, Classic Block sources from your standards of writing not matching what you perceive to be your level of ability. Maybe you used to like how you write, but now all you see is the flaws. Your skills have leveled out or lowered instead of steadily increasing in quality – at least, that’s how it feels. This leads to you not writing at all, or only getting a bit done and then abandoning it because it sucks and what’s even the point and you’ll never make anything good anyway and so on. It’s the same thing as artist’s block, just with typing.

This brand of block has similar advice in every medium of art that it appears in, which is “study and practice”. The only way to get better is to examine where your faults are at and work to fix them. If you find how you write dialog unnatural, for example, you take a look at books or scripts you enjoy the dialog of and pay close attention to how the characters talk, or you find as many advice posts on the web as possible about how to create natural-sounding conversations, or even just listen in to people chatting in the real world. Like an artist studies anatomy and feels more confident about their improving work, a writer studies all the advice they can get and applies it to their story, and continues writing for practice until they get somewhere they’re okay with. It may not be as easy as artist’s block to conquer, depending on who you are, but it is doable.

Progression Block is a different beast, and I’ve certainly felt it before on my comics and writing. This is when you’re at the beginning or starting the middle of your project and you find yourself unable to continue on to the end. Maybe you’ve lost the adrenaline that the start gave you; maybe the prospect of a long-term story is too daunting; maybe you ran out of ideas or passion; maybe you don’t like the start now and you want to rewrite it before you continue; maybe (and this is the most common one) you’ve found yourself at a part of the story you’re not that excited about and it’s difficult to get through it. Whatever the case is, you’re good at starting ideas, just not finishing them. This is extremely common, so don’t feel bad about it. I can’t count how many webcomics or fics I’ve seen left to rot after about a month of work on them. I’ve done it myself, multiple times! We’re all at risk of it.

The biggest thing to address here is that, sadly, writing is not always going to be exciting. That’s just a fact. You are not going to be riding a high the entire process. You WILL get to something that feels more like homework than fun. This is a guarantee for every single project that goes on longer than a couple pages, and sometimes even the short stuff isn’t safe. This is not a horrible thing, it’s just something you need to develop methods to overcome. Discipline is important if you want to take writing seriously. There are ways to get through this: dinner-before-desert (the promise of “I have to write this dull chapter and I’ll get to write the scene I’m really excited about”), setting small goals to get the unfun part done a bit at a time (writing 200 words a day, or a couple paragraphs, etc), finding things to appreciate (like that joke you threw in or how pretty this scenery is), and having something occupying the senses to keep flow going (listening to music, mainly) are all tools I use myself to get past potentially weeks of writing that I’m not excited about. You do need to be a little stern with yourself, but the reward of getting to the thing you’ve been dreaming of since the start is completely worth it, I can promise that. You just gotta eat your dinner first, and then we’ll get you some ice cream. One carrot at a time. You can do this.

Something that can get to people is the prospect of being “stuck” with something for months or potentially years. The size of a project can be intimidating, I understand that. You’re doing this particular thing for god knows how long, and you have to do it on a regular basis if you ever want to get anywhere with it? That’s a little scary! I get it! But that does not mean you won’t have fun, or won’t ever be finished. It took me six years to complete a comic you can read through in one day, I’ve started one I know will take me at least ten, and Iterum itself is going to be a long fucking ride I don’t dare to guess the length of. I have had the occasional sensation of leaning on a table, bracing myself on my arms, staring down at a drink and thinking “Jesus Chirst” about how long all this shit will take me.

With that issue, I’ve personally found that taking joy in the process is the best solution. “Well, I do love writing these particular characters, I’m excited to see how they’ll grow over time!” “Planning chapters is a very chill way to spend my evenings while still giving me something to think about.” “It’s so exciting to have all these secret plot developments no one but me knows yet!” And so on. Like in life, you should appreciate the Now, not constantly be fretting about Later or Before. Learn to love typing out dialog and prose! It’s doable.

Of course, you should have a few thoughts about the future. That’s where planning comes in. Some people can make up shit on the fly and write a complete, excellent novel. I am not one of those people, and not many are. Some architecture is generally necessary. When I don’t have a set general path ahead of time for me to take as I write, I give up on things because I don’t know where to go next. Create your path, however vague or exact it needs to be! My advice on planning is to start with only the most major of story beats, arrange them in the order you want or need them to happen, and add smaller connecting lines to them, then connecting even smaller lines to those lines, slowly getting more and more specific and detailed as you zoom in on the story beat-by-beat.

Another thing that might help you keep at it is finding an audience – at least, it worked for me. When I started writing for real, I was doing choose-your-own-adventure threads in forums, and then a choose-your-own-adventure webcomic, where people got to send in commands to move the story forward. I could not get anything completed on my own to save my life, but having people participating and actively waiting for me to continue the story helped me develop the discipline and work ethic required to do the projects I’m doing now (and taught me how to improvise extremely well, as a side benefit). Your audience could be one person, or ten, or a hundred. Even if they don’t comment or regularly engage with the story, just knowing that someone is there waiting to see what happens next can be a good motivator.

One final thing: you may fall into the trap many do of looking at the small bit of stuff you’ve completed, not liking it, and wanting to go back and rewrite it, because this time you’ve got the skills to do it right.

DO NOT FUCKING DO THAT.

All that’s going to do is trap you in an endless cycle of “improving” what’s already there at best, and wear you out from going over the same old ground over and over and drain your love for the story at worst. You will not be fixing anything. Put it out and move on. Don’t keep trying to rescrub the same plate until you put a hole through it. You’re going to look back and think it’s shit. That’s normal. Doesn’t mean it’s true, or that you should waste time “fixing” it. Learn to go “well, I don’t like it, but I gotta keep going”. Get it done. It will never be perfect, and the sooner you understand that, the sooner you can get this project done.

That’s about all the advice I can think of for now. I hope this prattling helped you, at least a little bit!

#ask #anonymous #i speak #readmore #advice #writing

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abandoned-quiche · 2 months

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Hey guys, can I ask for some constructive criticism? I made these images about my take on Mike, but for some reason I feel like they're... bad.

[Image ID: A series of images with drawings and text on a white background. All text is in the Undertale font, Determination Mono.

Image 1: Large text at the top reads "Mike" in all caps. It is light pink with a hot pink border. Underneath it is smaller text of the same color in parentheses, reading "that guy." A squiggly black arrow points from this text to a drawing on the left side of the image.

The drawing is of a skinny man with a giant afro wearing a bulky leather jacket, giving his frame a similar shape to that of a karaoke microphone. He has grey skin, with the afro being a darker gray and having lines along it resembling the weaving of the head of a microphone.

He has large, star-shaped, light pink sunglasses with a hot pink frame. His leather jacket has spikes on the shoulders, and underneath the jacket is a hot pink shirt with the word "Mike" on it.

He is wearing plain grey pants and sturdy black leather boots.

Next to him is a simplistic drawing of Kris, demonstrating that he is significantly taller than them.

Black text on the right of the image reads as follows:

He's a microphone. With a microphone afro.

Mike used to be a big time producer, radio host, and singer. He was a huge star in TV land - with such hits as "Trouble Dingle" and "The Pipis Blues", who couldn't love him?

Mike had a knack for learning things he wasn't supposed to. Maybe because he's a microphone, he picks up on things most wouldn't. Maybe he can connect with speakers and hear what comes out of them. Maybe people would speak secrets into him, not knowing he was listening. Maybe that vegan diet he did for a while gave him the ability to see the future

Whatever the case may be (probably the first one), this got him on Tenna's radar, and not in a good way. He had a tendency to pick up on nasty intel Tenna didn't want getting out there. With a massive target on his back, he suddenly disappeared, and nobody ever saw him again...

Image 2: On the left side of the image is a lineart drawing of mike, who looks as previously described, leaning back into a nonexistent chair and holding a telephone whose wire coils upwards into infinity.

Black text on the right of the image reads as follows:

He was Spamton's producer, too, but also a friend. He and Spamton would chat over the phone about conspiracies nobody else would listen to them about. Mike was the only one who knew about the mysterious entity helping Spamton.

Now, with the creation of a new dark fountain, Spamton won't be the only one Mike's contacting over the phone...

Now that Kris's home phone is in a dark world as well, attempting to call it no longer results in nothing but garbage noise. By using the cell phone, the secret boss quest of Chapter 3 is initiated as Mike guides you along the path to acquire the Shadow Mantle.

I don't know where the shadow mantle is yet

Image 3: Large black text at the top in all caps reads "Mike's hiding place."

Black text below it reads, "The reason nobody has ever found Mike? He's out of bounds. In a "Room between." Without some kind of hint, you wouldn't even know this place exists. The only other one who knows about it is Spamton. He now hosts a conspiracy radio show for likeminded individuals on a secret frequency only those "in the know" can know.

It's 66.6. (The words "It's 66.6" are in parentheses.) Other than that, he only communicates in-person in secret locations or via the phone, as those are the only things Tenna can't track. You meet up with mike here to get an item necessary for acquiring the Shadow Mantle. A key or something I dunno. Before you leave, he will tell you that he saw someone over to the right who wanted to see you."

Below this text is a drawing of Mike's Hideout. It is a circular room located within an empty black void with a pale yellow floor and a path leading downward, off the screen. In the center of the room there is an orange circular carpet with a pale yellow heart in the middle. A crude drawing of Mike sits at the northwest end of the room on a chair similar to Chairiel, giving a peace sign.

To his right, there are three TV screens in a disparity of sizes, aligned as if they were attached to a wall. Their frames are a pale brown and their screens display only static. Beneath them, there is a console of some kind, of the same pale brown, covered in buttons, knobs and levers.

To Mike's left, there is a deep brown table with a pot of golden flowers and a lamp on top of it.

Above Mike's left hand is a white telephone, its cord spiraling endlessly into the sky. To the right of this room, the tree from the egg room has been photoshopped into the black void.

/End ID.]

#deltarune #mike deltarune #my deltarune take

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animehouse-moe · 1 year

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Otherside Picnic Volume 3

Yeah yeah, I'm pretty well behind on having only just read this volume, I know. I'm slow with a lot of light novel reading because I really want to be in it, you know? I want to savor every moment and feel like I don't want to put the book down while I'm reading.

And it just happened that lately I've really been craving for the horror and fear that stems from Miyazawa's expert understanding of net and folklore horror. So imagine my surprise when I pick up the volume and see just how far Shirakaba's art has come. Sure, it was never bad by any means. But my god, this volume's illustrations are amazing. The level of detail has skyrocketed, but at the same time a more clear and personal style appears. Heavy and dark contrast, an overall feeling of weight with each piece of art. Even though they can look vastly different due to moments, the overall feel of it remains. Really, hats off in that regard, truly some outstanding art.

Of course, Miyazawa's writing withstands the shock of this incredible improvement from Shirakaba.

Their perception of horror - what comprises it and causes fear- remains absolutely expert. From the endings of the previous omnibus volume we continue the downwards spiral into Sorawo's personal hell. The types of contact, and the overall fear that arises from it are spine chilling.

Perhaps the biggest proponent is Miyazawa's ability to guide readers to answers. You can connect the dots as things go on, realize that there is something wrong, that there's a heavy feeling in your stomach and that all your hairs stand on end as your mind races to the finish line. It's such an incredible experience, where at times they don't even tell you the answer. Instead, you're left with a lingering feeling and concern for what things are and why.

Personally, it's my perfect definition of horror. Beyond us. You can come up with as many answers as you want to everything that unfolds, but for just as many things there are that Sorawo and Toriko resolve, there are just as many spine shudderingly disturbing pieces left hanging.

Of course, Otherside Picnic does like to remind readers that it's not just about disturbing and scary stuff. It's a healthy mix of characters that are poorly adjusted in the social sense (among many others), and their attempts to grope through their incredibly odd predicament. All of the characters that appear in this volume are so full. They're all hopeless and oddball versions of the more "simple" characters that they're portrayed as in the anime. They all have very glaring character issues, and present as far less perfect even in spite of how others view them. It's incredibly refreshing, and they all stumble through their interactions in an endearing and believable way that develops as the story continues.

The biggest thing from this volume though is just the sheer effort Miyazawa puts into the horror. It's not middle of the ground, on the spot horror stories they themselves come up with, but a far deeper and darker world that they draw from. Hours upon hours of historical and archival searching of books and webpages and chat forums to produce countless stories that end up interwoven and meld together into a cohesive framework to address the Ultra Blue Landscape via.

It's insane. Not only are we, as readers, attempting to understand the Otherside and its creators and/or inhabitants, Miyazawa is translating it. They're pulling from our reality, adding their own spin and twist to it, and spitting it out in the form of communication. The sheer talent to preserve the original value of the stories used, while at the same time repurposing them is incredible.

In terms of horror, I truly feel that Otherside Picnic stands comfortably separate from so much of what makes up the genre, not even just within the framework of animanga, but of modern media in general. So much of what's popular and talked about is on the absolute fringes of what horror is: that sense of dread and fear. Not 30 seconds of buildup into a single jumpscare reveal that the characters run away from. Rather, the tension building and things seeming wrong, like something is lurking around the corner and you absolutely must find out. Or that there's some terrible figure/creature staring right at you that has you frozen in place. Horror is not thriller, and Otherside Picnic continues to establish that beautifully.

Also, for the best reading experience, the anime OST is actually outstanding for furthering that fear. Plenty of songs that will put you perfectly on edge. You can find the full playlist right here.

#otherside picnic #urasekai picnic #裏世界ピクニック #sorawo kamikoshi #toriko nishina #iori miyazawa #horror novels #horror anime #anime and manga #light novel #light novel review #light novel recommendation

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