#ocs.txt
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protection - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (5.3k)
halloween has always been your favourite holiday. with your captor, though . . . perhaps not so much.
a/n: if i cannot be self-indulgent and write a fic about my cannibal murderer yandere oc for halloween when he is such a horror pastiche of a man, when can i? if you would like a primer on lucas, reading this is probably the best thing to do!
cw: yandere, cannibalism, kidnapped reader, descriptions of gore, non-explicit mentions of past dub-con/non-con.
Lucas has one of those perpetual calendars upon his mantelpiece.
You’ve never had much cause to look at it before. It’s another of those mix-and-match décor pieces that are so prevalent in the cabin; a boring block of wood and blocky white font that you suppose someone might describe as ‘minimalist’. It’s certainly not something you’d choose for yourself – and from what you’ve seen of Lucas’s own choices, his clothing, the items he gravitates towards in his little slice of home, it’s not something he’d have chosen either. Had it not, perhaps, been chosen by someone else.
You ignore the way your gorge rises when you consider that it’s one more piece of somebody who must be long dead by now. Lucas’s cabin is full of those reminders; embroidered tablecloths (your own hands are not so steady), handmade blankets (the wool used makes you itchy), clothes in the wardrobe three sizes too small and two sizes too big. A bookshelf of tattered paperbacks; crime novels and romance novels and horror novels, an eclectic mix you can’t imagine belonging to the same person.
That’s not important.
What is important is the morning after breakfast, when Lucas and you have gone out to collect eggs already and he’s held onto your waist while you carefully fried them along with the something-that-might-be-bacon that you’re growing more and more accustomed to cooking.
(It doesn’t even make you throw up any more).
He’s casual as he walks over to it; you’ve never really paid much attention to it before. It’s simply one of those rituals that he does; he likes the domesticity of a daily routine, and though you’ve always been rather more spontaneous . . . You’re hardly in a position to argue about it.
He moves the cube around and you glance vaguely towards it and you see the month and date, clear and bright as if illuminated by a shaft of sunlight.
The thirtieth of October.
You stop breathing, just for a moment. It’s been three months, then – time had lost meaning for you somewhat, after you’d realised you had no choice but to play along if you wanted to keep yourself away from the sharp end of an axe. But . . . three months. Three months of smiling nicely and forcing your mouth around the name ‘darling’ and letting his weapon-calloused hands curl about your waist, slide over bare skin. Three months of making yourself smile, of showering with a stranger in the bathroom (three months and he is still a stranger, though you suppose you know him intimately; three months, though, and you still do not know his surname), of sleeping beside him at night--
“I love Halloween.”
You don’t realise you’ve said it until it comes out of your mouth like the dry squeak of a frightened mouse.
Lucas looks up in surprise. You don’t often volunteer information readily; you answer his questions, but otherwise you’re a quiet obedient little home-maker for him, the way you think he likes you. That’s not to say you think he’d mind, but . . . you still keep some of yourself held close to your chest. You share hearth and home and body with Lucas; you think you’ve earnt the right to not have to share everything.
“S’that so?” He rumbles, after a moment. He doesn’t smile, the way he does when you tell him that you like the present he’s brought you back from town or when you let slip once that the western film he’d been watching on VHS reminded you of your childhood. “I’ve never been all too fond of it myself.”
His green gaze stays steady on you. He lets the moment stretch, waiting for your answer. You are walking a tightrope, as always; there is a right answer, you think, and a wrong answer. Which one are you supposed to pick? You’ve seen Lucas angry – that smouldering, teeth-grit explosion when he’d caught you, early on, trying to open a window.
(You’d sobbed and promised, sworn on everything you loved, that you just wanted some fresh air – that the August air was stuffy and pressing. Enough tears, and Lucas had repented, finally, drawn back his blistering anger. Calloused thumb wiping your tears away and a gruff apology, followed by; “Aww, darlin’, don’t cry like that. C’mon now.”
Followed by kissing your eyelids. Followed by the press of his body upon yours. Followed by hands on your hips, thumbs digging into your thighs to part them. Followed by him murmuring for you to cry for a different reason.
He likes the tears. It’s a good lesson to learn so early on in your life with him).
You shrug helplessly.
“I like the atmosphere?” You give him, your voice quavering at the end. “All of those kids in cute costumes, jack-o’-lanterns, cuddling up warm and cosy on the couch with a scary film on--”
His shoulders relax minutely, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.
“Yeah,” he says to you. “I s’pose those things ain’t so bad. I’m not a scary movie guy – there’re enough things to be frightened of out there in the real world, y’know?” He walks towards you, joins you on the couch. His arm wraps around your shoulder and you let yourself be drawn into his embrace, because you risk upsetting the balance again if you shy away. With a sigh of pleasure, he drops a kiss onto the top of your head. “Gets real busy up here around this time. Trespassers. I prob’ly won’t even be around mosta the night; gotta patrol the area. Think we can rustle you up a pumpkin and a coupla’ videos though, huh?”
You swallow. You know what he means by ‘patrol the area’ – you think of teenagers in local towns, daring each other to spend the night in the woods. You think about twenty-somethings with their tents and their camping and coolers full of beer, telling spooky stories about huge cannibals who live in the woods--
You think of Lucas’s weapons, the axe shining bright mounted on the wall, and the sound it had made as it had thwacked into the ground beside your head as Lucas had realised you were trembling and whimpering and sobbing and merely lost, not some ne’er-do-well out here for any other reason.
How much fuller will his freezer be, come the first of November?
He’s true to his word, as he so often is. Despite everything, he looks at you hopefully when he presents to you the things he brings back from his little foray into town; his head cocked, an echo of the earnest young man he might once have been beneath the scars and the greying.
He presents to you: one large pumpkin, three VHS tapes of movies you haven’t heard of that look like schlocky 90s B-movies, a multi-pack of sweet treats obviously intended to be poured into a bowl for trick or treaters, and a bean-filled plush of a fat black cat.
“I thought we could carve the pumpkin together,” he says, which you think is just an excuse not to leave you unsupervised with sharp implements. He trusts you to cook, now – but he still likes to be in the room, even if he’s not guiding your hand with his fingers entwined around your own over the knife.
“That would be nice,” you cautiously reply, and he smiles at you all soft and gooey-eyed. Your spine still feels like a rod has been shoved in it; being around Lucas can so often seem like a balancing act, and normally he does not come back from town in anything resembling a good mood. But giving you presents and the pleasure that had sparked in your eyes and the truth tinging your thanks have clearly set him well for the evening; he’s whistling as he rattles around in the kitchen to find the implements.
“C’mon here then, angel,” he calls, and you tuck the fat little black cat into the corner of the couch - it will be nice, you suppose, to have something to hold when you are alone later. You doubt the movies will provide much in the way of stone-cold terror, but the knowledge that Lucas is out there stalking the night and it would not take all that much for him to turn his rage on you certainly does.
It will be nice, too, to have something to hold that is yours and is not haunted by the echo of ghosts of Lucas’s past. Once, you had been uncomfortable in bed, rolling and writhing and whimpering through a nightmare – and Lucas had gently shaken you awake and placed a bear into your arms you had never seen before.
You might not have ever seen the bear before, but it had clearly once been loved; visible stitches re-attaching an ear, the velvet flocking rubbed off on its nose, the fur compacted from many nights of cuddling.
You try not to think about someone else, after you, having the little cat placed delicately in their arms.
When you enter the kitchen, you see that Lucas has spread newspaper out all over the floor, placing the pumpkin carefully in the middle with an array of carving implements and pens laid out for you. There’s a waiting candle and a box of matches on the table, waiting for the final touch.
The newspapers are all nearly twenty years old. The matches have packaging you’ve never seen before, the kind of retro artwork you’d see hipsters hang ironically on their apartment walls.
You crouch to get onto the paper he’s laid out, but Lucas clicks his tongue in annoyance at you.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, and he pats his knee where he’s knelt with them spread apart. “Come sit between my legs and let’s do it together.”
It takes you a moment to gather the courage to do it – touching him voluntarily is always harder than when he makes the first move – but you see that shimmer of frustration in the air, the imperceptible twitch of his jaw, and you clumsily climb over to situate yourself between them. You feel him let out a satisfied exhale as one of his arms wraps around your waist possessively.
“There,” he murmurs, directly into your ear. “Ain’t that better? More . . . cosy?”
You can feel every hair on the back of your neck, the thrum of your heartbeat, as Lucas’s hand fastens over yours and works at removing the top of the pumpkin. His chest is solid behind you, a barrel of muscle and scar – and when he shifts, and his crotch in his fatigues snugly presses against the curve of your spine, it takes all of your grace not to whimper at the feel of him hot and wanting.
Domesticity always seems to stoke something in him – and you suppose this would, under other circumstances, be a perfectly lovely Halloween evening. If Lucas were somebody you loved, and not a madman who kidnapped you from the middle of the woods. If that were so, Lucas’s breath against your ear wouldn’t make your head pound – his calloused fingers over yours wouldn’t make you wonder how he got all of those scars. The sight of a sharp instrument in his hand wouldn’t make you wonder how many have met their maker at Lucas’s behest.
There is none of the joy you would normally find in this activity, doing it with Lucas’s arm around you and his body bearing down over yours. There’s instead, the knowledge that he could break your bones if he wanted to – and a desire beating at your ribcage to get this over with as quickly as possible without alerting him to how much you hate it. Lucas hums softly under his breath as he helps you scoop out the insides of the pumpkin--
You feel your gorge rise at the sight of his hands scooping out the insides alongside your own, at the sensation of the stringy sticky pulp and seeds as they coat your fingers. The viscera of the pumpkin, laid out on the newspaper, as if some grisly crime has occurred right here in Lucas’s cosy cabin kitchen.
(He doesn’t like a mess inside the house. You know about the storeroom that you’re not allowed in, having peeked in it once when he’d left the door ajar to go and pick some meat up for breakfast whilst you stood in the kitchen with the chickens pecking around your feet. When he’d come out and seen you there, you’d stammered something about Dolly the silkie having wandered off – and though there’d been mistrust in his gaze, you’d kept your eyes wide and hidden trembling hands behind your back and eventually he seemed to have believed you).
The flash of a sharp knife in his hand makes you start against your will, your back pressing against him, your rear pushing into him. He lets out a noise that’s half a strangled huff and half a breathy chuckle.
“What’re you scared of, angel?” He murmurs, and you are stiff and frozen as he gently, gently, presses the flat of the blade against the palm of your other hand. “I won’t ever hurt you. Not less you give me a reason to. And you aren’t gonna, are you?” You’re glad he can’t see the deer-in-headlights look on your face, even as you give him a jerky shake of your head, and to your immense relief returns the knife to carving. “Good. Hurts my feelings thinkin’ you’re afraid of me.”
You don’t know how to respond to that.
“I—I’m not?” You guess, stammering it out, trying to weigh out all of the options in your mind. If he was threatening you – one of those late night murmurs of “I’d break you into pieces if you ever tried to leave me, darlin’,” - then perhaps you wouldn’t have said it. But right now, he is pretending the two of you are a perfectly ordinary couple doing a perfectly ordinary thing, and so--
He laughs again, good-naturedly pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The pumpkin has taken shape now; a classic jack-o’-lantern face, jagged triangular eyes and teeth.
“You’re so cute,” he says into your hair. “Here. Look at that. Ain’t that adorable?”
Shakily, you nod. It’s not your best work – in your own kitchen, at home, you’d mastered the art of silhouetting elaborate scenes in your pumpkins. You’d used your favourite horror stills as inspiration (you force yourself not to think of last year’s pumpkin, of spending so much time carefully carving that iconic scene from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre into the orange flesh, Leatherface holding his chainsaw aloft – it’s better not to dwell too much on fictional monsters when there’s a very real one sitting behind you, holding you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek and resting his chin on your shoulder as he admires your handiwork).
This pumpkin is a little lop-sided; one eye bigger than the other, the cuts jagged and messy. But Lucas is smiling at it, and you force yourself to smile too.
“Where shall we put it?” He asks you, as he pulls himself up and offers you a hand to help you too. He’s a little too rough with it; pulling you against him with a throaty chuckle as you stumble, off-balance. Little reminders of your own fragility, your clumsiness and all of the things you struggle with always seem to put him in a good mood. “Windowsill?”
You swallow.
“C-can we put it outside?” You whisper, softly. “I know we won’t get any trick-or-treaters, or anything, but . . .”
You trail off; he’s looking at you again, the green in his gaze impossible to understand. He might be thinking about exploding into anger, he might be thinking about kissing you – but as you feel your knees threaten to knock together, he smiles instead.
It’s another smile that, on someone else, you would read as utter infatuation. Love, in all of its gooey, saccharine sweetness. On Lucas, though--
“Of course, darlin’,” he says. “Come put it out with me.”
You reach for the box of matches, but Lucas’s palm comes down over your hand before you can get a hold on them.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he says, as he picks it up himself, and strikes a match against the striker strip. You flinch at the sudden light, and Lucas makes a soft noise of satisfaction. “You'daa just hurt yourself. Leave this kinda thing to me, sweetheart.”
He lights the candle and places it in the lantern himself, before he turns to you and gives you an indulgent smile again.
“D’you think you can carry it?” He asks you, voice soaked in honey. “Don’t drop it, now.”
You nod shyly as you take it, hating yourself for playing along with him. If he wants a sweet, naive little thing who can barely take care of themselves and needs the big strong hunter in the woods to do it for them . . . well, you suppose your dignity isn’t so bad a price to pay for staying alive.
You are allowed out of the cabin, supervised. You’d earnt that right by being sweet and soft and obedient, by doing what Lucas asks and doing it the way he likes. You go out to collect eggs in the morning and you’re allowed to help him in the garden, planting vegetables and tending to those he already has. But still, every time you open the front door it feels like a treat – a thrill running through you at the reminder that there is a world beyond the four walls of home that have become your prison.
Lucas takes in a hissing sigh through clenched teeth as he opens the door.
“It’s getting’ later than I thought,” he says, to himself more than you. “I’m gonna have to get goin’ soon, sweetheart.”
You nod, and carefully place the pumpkin by the front door, where the candle inside flickers and wavers in the light breeze. You find yourself wishing that it would somehow escape its own cell of pumpkin flesh and set the cabin afire – wondering if it would really be so bad, to perish like that.
(How many more Halloweens will you spend with Lucas? Is it worse if the number is small or large?)
“Do you have to go?” You ask him, voice tremulous.
You don’t know if you want him to go. You don’t want to be with him; he terrifies you, leaves you feeling rattled and confused and conquered all at once, his presence looming over everything you do. But at the same time – you can’t in good conscience want him to go out there, to cut down Halloween revellers who merely thought the woods would be a good place for a spooky experience. Are you far enough away from wherever he might go that you won’t hear the screams?
You wouldn’t be able to pretend even if you don’t hear them. You’ll meet them later on, at the end of your fork.
“Awww darlin’,” Lucas simpers at you, grasping your chin in a hold like iron. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, I told you. I ain’t gonna let a single thing near this cabin; you ain’t gonna be in a jot of danger. I promise.”
Your face must betray your anxiety, because Lucas tugs almost painfully on it.
“Don’t you trust me, angel?”
Sickly sweet and bladed like ice, you mutely twitch your head in a meek nod.
“Of course I do . . .” You whisper, and Lucas smiles in satisfaction.
“Stay here at the door for a bit while I get ready, okay? Fresh air’ll make you feel better.”
Unspoken goes the ‘don’t you dare try and run’. You can’t see yourself doing it tonight of all nights, either – though Lucas has been sweet throughout the pumpkin carving, you can already see that as he considers the blanket of night out beyond the cabin he is shifting into a predator. So you stand there, breathing in deep, slow, controlled breaths. Trying to think about how pretty the stars are and the candy that Lucas has brought you to eat in front of his crackling old television. Trying not to hear the thud of Lucas’s boots and the sound of him getting down the axe from the wall, the swish of the displacement of air as he gives it a few practise swings.
“There we go,” Lucas says, as he comes back. His axe is slung over one shoulder, and he’s smiling at you. He hasn’t made a single allowance for the cold; he wears the same shirt in a shade of forest green, straining tight over his shoulders and biceps. The silvery skin of his scars shine in the moonlight. “Don’t stay up for me, okay? Get yourself to bed. I’ll try not to wake you up.”
(Will you wake up, hearing him drag a corpse into the store-room? It doesn’t matter – you know you won’t get much sleep tonight).
He stands there in front of you for a long moment. Anxiety sends a bead of sweat rolling down the nape of your neck. He’s waiting for something – he wants something, and you don’t know what it is, and he’s going to be angry at you for being a bad beloved and he’s going to lodge that axe in your skull--
“Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?”
His tone is teasing, but laced with simmering anger. Grateful he has thrown you a lifeline, you practically trip over your tongue as you reply in the affirmative.
One slow, lingering kiss – possessive. You’re shivering as he pulls away, and he smiles as he wipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth with something that might be fondness and might be triumph, like a hunter who has his prey cornered.
“See you later,” he says. “Don’t scare yourself silly, now.”
You stand at the door-frame, waiting for Lucas’s hulking figure to disappear into the darkness of the trees. His axe is swung over his broad shoulders. The jack-o’-lantern beside you flickers and gutters in the breeze, your only companion out here. Lucas turns and waves one hand at you, and then makes a very firm ‘shoo’ gesture that you interpret to mean ‘that’s enough, now. Get back in the house before I make you’.
You close the door behind you and turn the key as he disappears fully from your view. You’ve always felt awkward being alone in the cabin – about three weeks after your arrival here, he had given you heavy warnings and set out to the nearest town for the kind of supplies he couldn’t make himself – but tonight, it feels all the worse.
You jump at shadows and feel like you hear screams with every footstep, your brain already playing out thoughts of Lucas in the woods surrounded by corpses, bloodied and grinning and feral-bright. You have to try twice to get the video into the player, and your hands are trembling as you attempt to open a packet of M&Ms and spill them all over the sofa. You pull the curtains closed for full immersion and almost give yourself a heart attack when you see light flickering outside, until you remember the jack-o’-lantern.
Eventually, though, you do relax into the movie.
It helps that it’s a movie about a werewolf stalking a suburban town; you don’t know if your nerves would hold out if Lucas had brought you some kind of killer in the woods movie. Even he, though, seems to have realised that – a quick glance at the other movies show you that one is about giant bugs attacking and the other is set in a hospital.
It’s not a good movie. In a different lifetime, you’d watch this with friends and laugh and joke over the cheesy special effects and the over-acting. On your own, though, you at least feel somewhat comforted by the familiarity of the horror recipe. The coquettish blonde in the hot pink outfit will die first; the outcast girl in her too-big denim jacket will survive to the denouement and will perhaps kill the werewolf herself.
There’s a sound from outside.
You’re half-asleep in front of the sagging middle act of the movie, but the crunch of leaves under feet has you bolt upright. Lucas can’t be home already, can he?
Time stands still. There’s a muffled giggle, and then a low voice murmuring something. You slowly, slowly, pull yourself up from the couch. You’re grateful to have pulled the curtains closed. At least they can’t tell you’re in here.
A hundred scenarios run through your head, none of them ending well. You think of every home invasion movie in a holiday home in the middle of nowhere you’ve ever seen. You could laugh at the absurdity of dying like that, when you’re literally the prisoner of some cannibal psychopath already . . . all of that, and some other horror trope catches up with you instead?
Three knocks on the door, and a voice jokingly calls;
“Trick or Treat!”
Oh, saying all of that stuff to Lucas about trick or treating was so stupid. Wanting a pumpkin out there so you could pretend to have one little bit of normalcy left in your life.
A rumble of conversation floats through the walls; something about a dead phone battery, needing to find somewhere with a landline, a map that didn’t seem to have any of the landmarks they’d seen marked on it.
(You can sympathise with that; the map you’d been using, once upon a time, hadn’t made a single lick of sense after you’d gotten into the heart of the woods, like some nature spirit was messing with you).
But that could just be a way to make your defenses fall, you think. You’ve seen that in movies time and time again – I need the bathroom, I need to use your phone, I’m sorry I fell over and I’m injured can I rest here--
One of them has the nerve to try the door; the key jingles traitorously in the lock.
You’re shaking as you approach. You can hear conversation now; a male voice and a female voice, arguing. They sound about your age.
“There’s a fucking jack-o’-lantern burning, and there’s a key in the front door, of course someone’s in--”
“Look, this is some horror movie bullshit, I don’t like it--”
“Do you think anyone keeping fuckin’ . . . those fluffy-ass chickens is gonna be a murderer? C’mon. It’s probably some old couple with their hearing going. I’m gonna knock again--”
Three raps on the door and you find yourself collapsed against the cabin wall, your knees trembling. You know you should answer the door and you should tell them what’s going on here. You should beg them to run and take you with them.
But now you’re faced with it, you don’t know what to do.
“Hello?” The girl’s voice is louder now. “Is anyone home?”
Oh, she shouldn’t be shouting. Lucas can hear when you drop a fork doing the washing up from halfway across the yard, and always comes hurrying to make sure you haven’t hurt yourself.
“Look,” the boy, “We just need to use your phone, we’re lost—”
Another voice cuts across the squabbling – one deeper and darker and grittier. A thick Southern accent.
“You sure as hell are,” it says, and there’s outright hate in it. “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ on my property?”
The girl screams. You can’t blame her; at six foot four and bound in scars and muscle, Lucas is a frightening prospect at the best of times. But when he’s appeared from nowhere, holding his axe, like a horror movie villain . . .
“Shit!” The boy is swearing. “Look, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”
You do not see the axe come down – how could you, from the hallway, behind the door? But you hear two screams, this time – both his and hers – and you hear the wet sound of something sharp meeting something soft. Blade striking bone – the slick noise of an axe blade being pulled out of a body and then swung back in. The sound of someone choking on blood, of someone sobbing--
You don’t know how long it goes on for. Your knees give out long before the girl gives up on screaming, as you sink onto the floor and hug yourself tight and squeeze your eyes shut against the noises.
It could last forever. You try and think of something else; somewhere happier. What would you be doing right now, if you were at home? How different would your October have been?
But the slosh of blood and the hacking noise of blade and flesh worm into your consciousness, the very real massacre going on outside the front door seeping into every memory you try and recall. Your pumpkins smashed to pieces, accusing staring eyes of the corpses of your friends at last year’s Halloween party as a man with an axe mows them down in your living room--
The noises have stopped. There’s not even heavy breathing, now.
“Darlin’?” Lucas calls out, from behind the door. “C’mon. I know you’re there. You can open the door now. You’re safe.”
You can’t disobey him, you remember, as you shakily climb back to your feet, using the wall as leverage. If you don’t do as he says, then you will also meet the business end of his weapon – and he’s already said, in those jealousy-fuelled threats that he whispers into your hair at the most intimate of moments, that for your betrayal, he’d make it hurt.
You turn the key with a trembling hand, and have to force your fingers to close around the door handle. Slowly, slowly, you pull it open--
The front porch is a mess of blood and flesh and organs and other things you carefully do not look at. These people have been butchered for more than just meat – but you look up at Lucas’s eyes instead and ignore them. You can’t think too hard on it.
There are splashes of blood all over his face, flecks of red in his stubble. His clothes are ruined.
“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, and he steps forward and the tang of blood invades your mouth and your nostrils and gets on your clothes as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “Don’t worry. I told ya’, I won’t let nothin’ happen to you. Not tonight, not ever.”
He says it like this poor lost couple were a threat, and not just unfortunates who happened upon the wrong woods at the wrong time. The wrong house.
(If you hadn’t put that pumpkin out, they wouldn’t have thought that there was anyone here. It’s your fault.)
His grip around you is tight. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in his chest for a moment, and try to pretend nothing has happened.
It can’t last. Lucas pulls back, takes hold of your shoulders.
“Well?” He says – and bile rises in your throat as you realise you have to say it. You have to do it. If you want to stay on his good side--
“Thank you,” you breathe out, hating yourself for every syllable. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
And as you stretch onto your tiptoes and Lucas bends down to meet your lips for a thank you kiss, you pretend that there aren’t two corpses outside of the front door.
You carved a pumpkin. You ate candy. You watched a shitty horror movie. It’s like every Halloween before it--
He pulls back; a hand ruffling through your hair, a smile on his face.
“Happy Halloween, darlin’. You get back inside while I clean this up, okay? Night ain’t over yet.”
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Thinking about how Noah has most certainly picked up Tevene from Fenris over the years.
Fenris is shocked and confused the first time Noah yells out a Vishante kaffas! And Noah just smiles and winks at him.
And over the course of a few years the swears turn into full phrases. Anything Fenris has ever said in Tevene Noah remembers and files away for later to surprise him.
Fenris' face the first time Noah calls him Amatus..
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rambling about my genshin ocs below UGH I NEED TO DRAW THEM SOON
mikhail - 5* hydro claymore (snezhnaya)
my first real genshin oc lol. i was stuck on what his kit would be for a long time (yes im That kind of genshin oc maker) but since fontaine introduced hp manipulation as a mechanic i think that fits him nicely! the earliest skill i had set for him was a passive actually. like whenever his elemental skill is active, overworld enemy drops within his aoe are automatically collected. he's edgy and shit like unironically Ow The Edge i love him.
nafisa - 5* geo catalyst (sumeru)
tbh her kit is inspired by that part in scara's kit where he gets buffs from elements that react w anemo. but for her it's like. when she collects crystallize shards she receives specific elemental buffs. also i imagine her making geo fists that fight alongside her bc melee catalysts are fun!!! she's a mercenary that gained a vision when she nearly sacrificed herself to go out of her way to protect a customer. i'm toying with the idea of her being blind (toph moment) but i'm not sure if i want to try to factor that into gameplay or not.
antoine - 4* geo catalyst (fontaine)
i wanted a sort of. bennett type but in a different element. also i want more geo catalysts. his thing is he buffs damage overall. the original idea is just pure dmg buff that follows u around based off his def because i want him to be more broken (like the early 4*) but idk... if we're being realistic we can nerf him either by limiting him with an aoe or a mid high burst cost (not faruzan level though please god. maybe like 160% er). he's supposed to be someone you just stack def (and maybe some er) on and go. he's kind off the sickly rich victorian boy trope bc i think that trope is hilarious. he has a meka butler named pascal and i'm considering him having a prosthetic leg.
and yes i know mikhail and antoine are already npc names idgaf. JSHGJKSDHJGKLSDJGKL
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I’d love to learn more about tala trace and Aaron they seem SO cool and also your art is absolutely STUNNING
Hi!!! I know you read/rb'd the info dump i did after sending this but I do have more about the Triplets/Keane family and I'm happy to share!!!
First of all - their story, again, started over a decade ago with two friends who I'm no longer in regular contact with, and a couple years after their creation i merged them with another friend's character to build off of! So their OG backstory got mixed up and muddled together into something incomprehensible due to me a) not fully remembering the original RP story line (we were 12 it wasn't good) and b) not having access to/remember all the og people's characters who were involved ASKJDH
This is a quick breakdown of the Keane Family Tree!! The Keane Fam/Pack is one of 3 packs that live in the area (a fictional town called St. Dennis and a few adjacent counties in the fictional state of Vermont :3)
I made this very quickly in Mila note so I'm sorry if its shitty AKJSDH
Please feel free to ask me to elaborate more on parts that I might miss because I'm very scatter brained!!! Im just gonna TYPE
Their story is very... slice of life, I guess? The curren RP just follows their lives and relationships pretty closely, and how the triplets grow as people and come away from trauma very differently.
Tala is the first to blossom but again I don't think she'll ever lose her spark of anger that she holds very tight and close to her chest. She's a very protective person and takes on a leadership role amidst her family (i hate calling her an alpha it feels wierd ASJDH- shes just... a matriarch?).
Her and Travis were best friends in highschool, tended to ditch class and smoke up, platonic ideal of friendship supported each other in the way most 15 year olds who bottle up their emotions do. Travis had ALWAYS had a huge crush on Aaron and essentially followed him around until he finally accepted he wasn't going anywhere (Travis is also "adopted" by their uncle, James, around the time their relationship solidifies!! He asks to be turned to feel "officially" a part of the family and Aaron isn't able to do it, so Tala does).
Travis' other bestfriend, Beck, meets/gets closer to Tala accidentally after a Halloween party in their senior year and things move very quickly for them (they get pregnant with the twins at 20 if im remembering correctly askjdh).
Having kids both made Tala better and worse? She's fiercly protective but also made her a lot more... grounded? Like she started taking shit and her responsibility in the family far more seriously, especially when Beck is turned? (A decision he made due to not wanting to be The Only Human there (also raising werewolf babies as a human??? sounds like hell))
Aaron blossoms more when he and Travis enter a relationship - he started hormone therapy around the same time (15-16) which ALSO helped a fuck ton. He's very closed off and aggressive and prefers to keep people at a healthy distance on the off chance he gets hurt or hurts someone (despite... hurting people in doing so). He also is the only one in his family who views lycanthropy as a curse? Its one of the reasons he couldn't bring himself to turn Travis himself. ALL he wants is to feel understood and be "normal" but knows that'll... never happen?
It takes a long time for him to feel more comfortable with himself, and Travis' unending support is one of the reasons he's able to do that. Eventually they move out together and meet a bartender named Micah that they learn is a little down on his luck and needs a place to stay so offer him their spare room. Micah and Aaron are very similar in keeping people at a distance, so it takes some TIME before he accepts that they both genuinely like him. Happy little polycule <3
TRACE takes the longest. He's autistic and struggles to feel safe and accepted and his growth comes MUCH later in the story. They live at home for a majority of their teens and early adulthood and take up the quiet task of babysitting when they're needed but don't really like being around Tala (and Beck, by proxy, despite him being SO sweet and king hearted).
Trace focus' a lot on Charlie when he's younger because he's a very anxious kid - and once Charlie starts school and meets another little werewolf named Percy (a part of another pack i'll post eventually akjsdh), Trace is tasked with watching the both of them. That's how they meet Ansel (Percy's "uncle"/pack mate)!!
Still figuring a lot out on their journey but Ansel is the safest person in Trace's life next to Micah (who he formed a crush on upon meeting for the first time, but didn't quite understand thats what they were feeling, and just enjoyed his company greatly (they're both autistic and remain very close)).
SDFKSDFJH THERES a lot that happens rp wise that has been going on continuously for years i can't possibly summarise but I'll go grab some of my fav snippets and also some older art <3
theres like 300k+ words scattered between multiple rps that i have saved - theres a ton that got lost in the skype migration aSKDJH I was gonna read through them all to find my fav snippets but heres just a few?
and some old art!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The top three ofthe riplet's og designs!!!
then a drawing of Tala and Show - and finally an old icon for Travis!!!!!
#ask bo#ocs.txt#keane family#THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK I LOVE GOING SICKO MODE AND INFO DUMPING SO MUCH#its nice to focus on theses guys again its been so long
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What if i talked about Enzo’s hands?
Enzo has my FAVORITE hands I have ever designed and I want to draw them again - theres so much detail, age, stories?
The moles on his right hand were never important until Whitney started tracing the triangle in them to calm him down. He does it to himself in Vegas when he’s stressed -- Clementine later picks up on this.
His nails are ALWAYS short - he’s either biting them when he’s anxious or he’s cutting them short to keep them out of the way. Having them long stresses him out, he doesn’t like feeling them when he’s using his hands.
He and Clementine, in a fit of panic, burned their finger prints off. There was no point to this. Like at all. They now can’t use smart phones properly and lack a lot of feeling in their hands.
The small scars on his hands are from misc injuries.
The knuckles are from harming others. And himself. When his job description shifted, there was a lot of anger pent up, he tended to take it out on walls after having to take it out on someone. Punishment fit for the crime? Whitney bandaged them without question. They take a VERY long time to heal - scars on top of scars.
The scar on his finger doesn’t have a back story yet AKSJDH i just thought it looked cool!
But the poorly stitched scar on the back of his hand was from Clementine - Both injury AND poorly stitching. Manic episodes + drugs in vegas made him very erratic and delusional at times, not knowing it’s Enzo and lashing out to protect himself. He did his best to stitch it closed. Enzo runs his fingers over it when he misses him
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Faceclaims for my OCs
I've finally gotten around to doing this but this is all the faceclaims I have for my OCs, Vivian & Charlie. If it was up to me these are the actresses I would want to play Charlie & Vivian. They are a sapphic couple that end up together in every universe basically. I haven't fleshed out their original lore a lot but their lore has been put into different media universes such as the Cars Movie Universe (please don't make fun of me for this).
Charlie's Backstory:
Is based around Indiana Jones, she's an archeologist & loves her job way too much
She adores traveling & loves collecting things from different countries.
She loves rock climbing in her free time whenever she has the free time
Has a love for cars & loves working on them consistently
Vivian's Backstory:
Becomes an actress when she's 25 which is an achievement considering a lot of people told her she wouldn't become one at such an 'older' age
She adores the arts & loves to draw in her free time
She comes from a father who's a famous artist & her mother is a famous artist
She was from New York & enjoyed gambling & used to play poker in her free time & win a lot
2010s-2020s Modern
Margot Robbie as Vivian
Madelaine Petsch as Charlie
2000s Era
Sara Michelle Gellar as Vivian
Kate Winslet as Charlie
1980s Era
Michelle Pfeiffer as Vivian
Molly Ringwald as Charlie
1970s Era
Farrah Fawcett as Vivian
Susan Sarandon
1960s Era
Marilyn Monroe as Vivian (the original inspiration for Vivian)
Ann-Margret Olsson as Charlie
I hope anyone that has looked at this has enjoyed this! I absolutely adore and respect each of these actresses, they are literal icons of their times. I hope to write more of Charlie and Vivian in the future and maybe expand on their original universe lore and I may post about their Cars universe lore if I don't feel embarrassed :)
#my ocs#ocs#ocs faceclaims#faceclaims for ocs amirite#i adore marilyn monroe with my entire being#i hope that yall understand my film taste with these actresses because its very VERY obvious#ocs.txt
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the awful cost of all we've lost
as we looked the other way
we've paid the price of this cruel device
‘til we've nothing left to pay
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<intropost.txt>
<designation:: R4Z/V33 [Raz/Vee]>
<pronoun_set:: IT/ITS>
<function:: ART+WRITING>
<interest[s]:: TRANSFORMERS+MINECRAFT+ULTRAKILL>
<special_interest:: WORLDBUILDING+ORIGINALCHARACTERS
[side note:: use inquiry box for more interests, only most prevalent listed]>
<extra: ROBOTKIN/MACHINEKIN+AUTISTIC
[side note:: user unlikely to answer direct messages, especially regarding personal matters. please refer to inquiries box]>
<systems notice:: HAVE A NICE DAY <3 >
#frequently used tags found here::#robotkin#machinekin#otherkin#raz.txt#txt.post#ocs.art#ocs.txt#art.png#fandom.post#img.post
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Actually uncertain if I wanna go for the timeloop thing with Watchman. Tag on that last text is tenative.
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hello im posting these super late and these are very simple but don't worry about it. meet my troublemakers;
david mechitbayeva is the leader of the group and kind of a big deal.
father ioann 'john' vasili is one of david's closest confidantes.
kit kurosawa is the newcomer of the group with a bit of a wild streak.
bastien bouchard is a former member of david's group who only joins back up to protect kit.
sascha vitale is the group's go-to black market fence with a troubling personality.
#ocs.txt#oc: david m#oc: ioann v#oc: kit k#oc: bastien b#oc: sascha v#to be fair kit is just my gender envy and sascha is kind of a self insert but you know.#i have more ocs i should make sphynx character boards. and the lesbians. and the band.#moodboard tag#my art#blood tw#religion tw
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ina ♥ the death godlike blood mage
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oughh just realised i didnt post this comm of praskovya n diluc i commissioned based on suggestive old vintage photographs/romance novel covers....
it is by alyona666 on fiverr and look at them... so soft. waaa
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wow, it’s almost like we make ocs/characters and stuff them to the brim with traumas bc deep down we don’t know any other way of making them interesting and we can only get others interested if other characters play nurse/therapist with them
my dib has VERY LIGHT PTSD only bc after he recovered enough from his blown up arm and physical riabilitation with the prosthetic zim made him, he was promptly sent to therapy to deal with it and administrated medicines to tame the nightmares he got and his fight or flight response at loud noises. at this point in the story he’s well adjusted and only has mild nightmares and flinches a bit at extremely loud noises, bc he knows that he doesn’t have to walk right into situations that could trigger him and i don’t make the narrative rotate around how traumatized he is and i don’t push him into triggering situations. he is his own person. he has fixed his fucked up relationship with his family, they went to family therapy to fix stuff even further and now every wednesday he takes zim and they go have lunch at his house with dr. membrane and gaz and has developed into a charismatic, somewhat smug and self-made young man that loves and teases his stupidly destructive husband (zim) that can go into paranormal hunts without making it the pivotal centre of his character. it’s like i KNOW that he can be an interesting character without having him turn into a bundle of paranoid traumas and he can still both help himself and has zim to help him without turning the dynamic of it into therapist/patient. he can have a personality and actions not dictated by traumas
making normal and charismatic characters is the new self care
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woah you guys will never guess who i just pulled
just kidding haha i made a genshin verse for my main sona so enjoy some fake wish art, a higher quality version of his image plus information on him is below!
ALVIN :: HYDRO POLEARM :: 4 STAR
ELEMENTAL SKILL :: SILT BED
Morphs his polearm into a Hydro shovel. He digs into the ground, then throws mud up at enemies in front of him to deal Hydro DMG and stun the enemies for a few seconds.
ELEMENTAL BURST :: INVENTORY SCREEN
Uses his Hydro magic to summon 3 rows and 5 columns of Hydro with different items in every slot. He picks out an item, then tosses it on the ground. He can throw 5 different items that have different effects.
If an hourglass was tossed; enemies become slowed down for 5 seconds.
If a clock was tossed; freezes enemies for 5 seconds.
If a knife was tossed; summons Hydro swords that strike all enemies in a small AoE around the sword.
If a cup was tossed; spills out Hydro contents of the cup to afflict all enemies in a medium AoE with the Wet status.
If a paper was tossed; slides Hydro sheets of paper under enemies that stagger large enemies and throw small enemies backwards, afflicting them with the Wet status.
PASSIVE TALENT :: WORLD BREAKING
When pressing the Sprint button, allows him to teleport a short distance in front of him. When holding Sprint, he disappears and becomes a small cloud of blue sparkles. This skill can be activated in mid air by holding the sprint button, allowing him to travel in a straight line. He cannot travel over water.
Some design notes and extra shit:
- his earring holds his vision! the vision is a bit heavy, so that's why his ear is always drooping is because it's attached to the earring
- the lines along his body and cross his left eye are a homage to the stripe on his shirt in his official reference
- he has a ring on his left thumb! for most homosexuals, wearing a ring on the left thumb indicates that you're in a relationship while wearing one on the right indicates that you're single or in an open relationship if you also have a left ring. since he has a left thumb ring, that shows that he's dating someone, because even in his genshin universe he's still dating bell!
- the badge on his shirt is indication of a traveling clan that he's part of in the genshin verse. they come from all over and have different colours based on their origins. alvin in this universe hails from mondstadt, so his butterfly is inspired by the scarce swallowtail, which is a butterfly typically found in germany and the uk!
- rain swords inspired by xingqiu's raincutter swords!! i used them as a base
- his spear that he's wielding that's turning into the shovel is the royal spear! it works best with him because he gets increased crit damage as he levels up, and the spear gives more crit rate when damaging enemies.
- outfit took many inspirations from albedo and sucrose!
- the bell on his neck is a reference to his boyfriend, bell. it was a gift and he thinks of his boyfriend when it jingles
- no the black and white on his skin is not markings, it's actually part of his skin, i'll focus on a character story for that later
- bandages!! he has quite a few because of adventurering so much, and his ear is actually broken which is why it's bandaged in the places it bends. no it wasn't caused by the vision he's just kind of stupid
- there’s two different knives in his inventory!
- his cap is inspired by graduation caps!! he got it upon joining the traveling butterfly clan in mondstadt!
- important to point out; he has a tummy window, deal with it. bell made him wear it as a dare but now he's gotten so used to it he just gave up trying to get new clothes, also it reminds him of bell so he doesn't want to.
- the pearls all along his clothes aren't actually pearls, they're made from the snow on dragonspine that alvin turned into ice using his vision, he just likes collecting them
- he has star motifs in his clothes similar to dainsleif, kaeya, and albedo. hmmmm wonder what that's about?
- you probably can't see it too well, but his eyes are special! he has light orbs in the middle of his pupils, and a wavy pattern in the irises.
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i’m actively avoiding doing any work so take a few quick picrews of some ocs (stolen from @trevelycn - your ocs are all so pretty!!)
aurora ryder; mass effect: andromeda | laurel shepard; mass effect trilogy
eloise cousland; dragon age: origins | vanya lavellan - dragon age: inquisition
#vic.txt#ocs.txt#oc: aurora ryder#oc: laurel shepard#oc: eloise cousland#oc: vanya lavellan#doing vanya's just makes me wanna go back and play her save again#love my angry elven mage
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Connie (dragon tat) is getting a cane due to injuries sustained to his left foot and knee, but part of me is debating on giving him a prosthetic? the severity of the Injury doesn't change the story or how he copes with recovery, I'm just unsure?
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