———♛: Please Like or Reblog if you are willing to interact with a brand spanking new sleepy prince: NOCTIS LUCIS CAELUM of Final Fantasy XV. I heard these get around much faster. So why not cast my line in and see if I get some nibbles, yeah? 🐟💗 —writtien by niji
Multi-Verse : Multi-Ship : Mun is 22+ : 10 years of roleplay exp.
RK900: I don’t think you should drink any more coffee.
Gavin: Coffee cures depression.
RK900: I don’t think it works that way…
Gavin: More espresso, less depresso.
Hank: “I still can’t believe you ran into a wall.”
Connor: “Leave me alone, I didn’t have time to calibrate this morning…”
Hank: “What about Thursday when you called Fowler dad?”
Connor: [crosses arms] “Sumo interrupted my stasis Wednesday night to be let outside it must have created an error in my memory protocol while converting short-term memory to long-term storage.”
originally, he thought that love was the quiet after the war. the prize for the victor to claim. love was brutal, ugly, and violent.
to love was to rip you apart, starting from your heart. to hold you and never ever let you go.
most important of all, it was to show the world you were his.
he loves quite viciously. with a touch of his own brand of cruelty.
love was a possessive obsession.
but then he realized––
that love is also breathing in your scent under the canopy of night, quietly wondering to himself ‘why me, why did you pick me before all the beautiful things. why, why me, the ugly and cruel machine; the tool, the weapon, the storm?”
and when he watched you slumber beside him, he found himself pleading in silence, “don’t leave me, please.” he would skim his fingers down your cheek, hoping (quite pathetically so) that you somehow heard him.
and love is––
love is the beauty of a spring meadow and the ugliness of a scarred battleground.
“don’t you dare love him (name)” he often found himself thinking whenever you spoke about the rk800. “unless you want me to tear his meager existence apart.”
but when he finally asked you what love meant, you grinned as you rest your head against his shoulder
“it means you and me, nines. love is us.”
———
a/n:uuugh i hope this makes sense im sorry but i just want to write about rk900 x reader
When McCree first takes Rose to meet all his old acquaintances and friends from Overwatch, Mercy, naturally, is one of those people. At this point, Mercy doesn’t know who Rose’s mother is but she declares the girl a patient, all the same.
Mercy isn’t keen on having her own children but she gets along with them just fine – with Rose being no exception. She enjoys how well mannered she is (despite McCree claiming it’s just a ruse) and thinks she’s a sweet girl with a charming personality, just like her father. Angela also likes how honest the girl is – she’ll often ask if her father’s been doing a good job of making sure she eats plenty of vegetables, to which Rose innocently answers ‘Nope!’
Like most who come into contact with Angela, Rose immediately feels safe in her presence – the kind doctor’s gentle smile and personality make Rose feel at ease. Even if the first few visits were a bit scary for her (with Rose hiding behind her father’s legs when it came to vaccinations), Angela manages to make every visit comfortable. What really sealed the deal for Rose is when Angela gave Arturito a ‘check up’ as well. At that point, Rose was convinced Angela was the best doctor in the world. She loves having the opportunity to go visit Doctor Ziegler; every time she speaks with Mercy, she likes to ask her to measure how much she’s grown since the last time she’s seen her (which always makes Mercy laugh).
im gonna do a kind of hype wave…again… I have 0 self control when I decide to do a request gift, but this is limited to the Taiwan ffxv fans I met at the fan gathering ;w;, so here is just a warm up of what it looks like for my draw size/feel/speed
ofc the lines will be CLEAN AND NEAT…just let me go loose for now…aahahh im tired ;w;
Taako mutters a curse under his breath, wondering how many spell slots he’ll need to burn to smuggle blue hairdye out of Garfield’s store. Cons: spell slots. Pros: he doesn’t have to interact with fucking Garfield.
He manages it, eventually, slipping out of the fantasy Costco with a small bottle of blue hairdye tucked in his pocket. He’d even left the red behind. Equivalent exchange and all that. Besides, it’s not like he was gonna use it.
When he gets back to the dorm, he beelines straight for his quarters, with the
full-length mirror and the
messy clothes and the shirts that say Second Best Brother and the phoenix token he pawned when he was a really little kid, though he can’t quite remember where he got either of them. And as always, when he sits at his vanity, there’s a brief moment where he’s not himself; where the fading blue streaks in his hair flare to red and the corners of his eyes static over, his heterochromia swapping eyes at a dizzying speed.
Taako shuts his eyes, shakes his head to clear it. Something’s fucked up with his face. He knows that. Something’s fucked up with most of him, actually. Rings help to lessen the ache in his head whenever he looks at his own hands, and tights help disguise the shape of his calves, but for some reason, not even makeup helps the fact that his face doesn’t feel like it’s his.
Whatever.
He stains his hair deep blue, deep, deep blue, as far as red as he can get. On principle, Taako doesn’t dye his hair red. Green, orange, purple, sure; but never red. He tried it once, and his head had pounded so badly he’d woken up by the side of the road in some podunk town, head swimming with half-remembered visions of forests he’s never been to and animals he’s never known.
He tilts his head from side to side, and nods, satisfied. He caps the bottle and stands from his chair and notices, absently, like something he’s known and forgotten, that his umbrella wears that same red.
And just as quickly as that thought formed, it’s gone.
Turning slowly from your phone, you glanced at Connor who was standing facing away from you.
“I won’t exactly call it ‘glad’. I didn’t hate him,” you mused faintly, watching Connor carefully. “I don’t think he was evil either. He was just following orders. Like you did once upon a time.”
Connor turned to you, eyebrows raised like what you said surprised him, “And if he’d killed me?”
You licked your lips, thoughtfully glancing away for a moment. Connor’s been…different ever since the final confrontation with RK900; a newer model sent by CyberLife to destroy Connor for his deviancy. There was a certain roughness to his touch now, a desperation that you knew was born from the thought of almost losing his life, of losing you.
“The only ones I hate are CyberLife for forcing you all into being their slaves,” you answered resolutely, blinking when he took a few brisk steps in your direction, coming to a sharp stop in front of you.
“Well I hate him,” he told you coldly, “for trying to separate us. I’m glad he’s gone.”
Your lips parted when he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warm, loving gleam in his eyes was missing, leaving a more intense, hungry look behind. He leaned down leisurely, his nose skimming over the sensitive skin of your neck, awakening a tremble in your hands and knees. You almost jumped when you suddenly felt a cold, wet tongue slowly trace down the juncture of your neck, making you gasp weakly.
“Connor,” you pleaded desperately, hungry for more as you gripped his forearm tightly.
“I’m glad he’s gone,” Connor repeated again lowly. “Because now, no one will get in our way,” he whispered against your ear hotly, his arm tightening possessively around your waist.
And if you had looked up in that exact moment, you would have noticed that his eyes were a burning, cold grey instead of familiar warm brown.
“You were supposed to meet me twenty minutes ago (Name). You know I’m not fond of tardiness.”
Flinching from his curt tone, you hurriedly turned your head away, hoping Nines had not spotted your blotchy face yet. Subtly trying to clear your throat, and stifle your shaky breathing, you felt your fingers tighten on your bag strap.
“S-Sorry, I got held up a-and—” you choked out hurriedly, swiping at your face again. “It won’t happen again.”
“(Name).”
You flinched, curling further into yourself at the iciness suddenly bleeding through Nines’ usually smooth baritone. Sensing the danger, you tried to hurriedly take few steps towards the exit before you felt a jerk on your coat. His strong arms pulled you back, your back bumping into his chest. Squirming in his unyielding grip, you turned your head away, hiccuping as you tried to hide your tear stained face.
“Look at me,” he ordered firmly. “I said look at me (Name).”
Shaking, you sniffled weakly before gazing up at him. Nines’ face was blank; a smooth, perfect canvas to be rearranged however he saw fit. But his eyes—
“Who did this?” his voice was low, and so soft a shiver of pure terror crawled up your spine. You knew that tone, and you knew that it rarely ended well for anyone who managed to force it from him. “Who hurt you?”
A blade—a terrible, sharp blade that was seconds away from tearing flesh, from destroying, that’s what he was right now.
“N-No one,” you whimpered, your voice heavy and throaty as you forced more tears back. “I’m overreacting—you know how I am. Stupid h-human…with stupid human emotions—I—”
You pressed your shaking fingers against your face, hiding your face in shame. Nines was always so composed, so untouched by anyone or anything. He always openly mocked and teased humans for their pettiness and emotions and—
You jumped when you felt his colder fingers wrap around your wrists pulling your hands down, and revealing your tear-stained face to him again. “What happened (Name)? Do not make me ask again,” he spoke coolly, his eyes like two dour glaciers as they froze you in place.
“My—my supervisor…h-he hates me,” you muttered, choking on your tears. “He really d-doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m awful at my job—but I try so hard.”
His response was immediate, sharp, “His name?”
You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, shaking your head clumsily, “No, p-please,” you breathed shakily, “I want—I need—please stay. I need you here. With me.”
You hadn’t realised he backed you against the wall until your back gently bumped against it. His tall, imposing frame boxed you in, the powerful set of his shoulders immediately becoming like a harbour of safety. His cold fingers traced up your neck, lingering against your pulse before cupping your jaw and tilting your head up slightly.
To a stranger, Nines’ face would have appeared like the same unfeeling mask; stripped bare of any signs of humanity. But you knew his face intimately; knew it in a way that meant you could read his rage in the silent way he subtly clenched his jaw, in the way his brows were furrowed more harshly than usual and then there was his eyes—
A thing to be feared, to be observed and respected but never angered, stared back at you.
Not human.
Just a monster that wore human skin and made it his home.
His lips were featherlight when they touched your wet cheek. They hovered, occasionally brushing against the heated skin as he glided his nose slowly up your jaw.
“I should break a bone for every tear that pathetic excuse of a human made you shed,” he whispered pitilessly, darkly, against your temple as his fingers tightened briefly. “It is only by the grace of your mercy that he still draws breath. You need me. But I will repay him in kind one day.”
For once…you could not find the energy to argue with him.
You shuddered feebly, slumping against him clumsily, and pressed your face against his solid chest.
He didn’t hug you back. Instead his hand travelled up your spine before coming to rest at the back of your neck, his thumb slowly drawing soothing circles. For a brief second you felt his mouth press against the crown of your head.
“Let’s go home, please,” you pleaded with a shiver, for the first time that day feeling completely at peace, secure with him around you.
Even though Nines had told you that on more than one occasion it seemed like he, himself, did no follow his own advice.
He had made his intentions clear from the start. He was blunt and straightforward with his words because you would not dare to call them feelings. Not yet at least.
“I want you to be mine (Name).”
He had said it calmly, in that cool methodical manner of his, and nothing had been the same since.
Aside from the fact that you couldn’t bear to look him in the face for the last week, there was also the fact that he was not pushing for an answer. Surprisingly, he was giving you more space than you had ever expected him to grant.
You knew Nines—or at least knew him enough to know how he was in these situations—and fully understood that for someone like him there was only success. He was not used to waiting or giving leeway for anyone or anything. He approached all things in life with that terrifying, relentless focus of his.
“Is there something wrong (Name)?”
You jumped, heartbeat spiking as grey eyes idly turned in your direction. Nines looked more relaxed than you were used to seeing him. Sitting in front of the kitchen table with early morning sun filtering in through the open curtains, he made an unusual image. His black turtleneck appeared too dark for such a cheery room, you concluded as you uncrossed your arms, still staring at him, “N-No…there’s nothing wrong,” you told him, a slight catch in your voice.
“Then you better come and eat your breakfast,” he replied evenly, eyes closing as he leaned back, exposing the elegant curve of his neck. From his sharp jaw, to his inviting lips and attractive profile; everything about him took your breath away.
“If you want something, you take it.”
You softly padded towards him, under no illusion that he was somehow unaware of your presence, but rather because he was allowing you this near. A privilege only few were granted.
The wind made the curtains flutter, and silhouettes of pure sunlight danced across his skin.
He was so beautiful.
“What is—”
You fingers were hesitant when you laid them against his cheek and turned his face towards you. You hurriedly leaned down, heart beating widely in your chest as your lips gingerly brushed against his cooler ones. He tensed immediately, his face stiffening as you slowly moved your lips against his. Except he did not respond. He was silent and unmoving beneath you, and you felt horror creep into your veins as you leaned back.
Your lips disconnected, still only millimetres apart, before his arms snapped around your waist, pulling you abruptly to him. Stumbling, you practically fell on top of him, arms flailing as Nines own arms wrapped around you securely, tugging you closer and onto his lap as your thighs wrapped around him, his lips stealing your breath away as he kissed you hungrily.
A small gasp escaped you and he forced your head to the side, gaining a better angle as his tongue slid in between your parted lips. A shiver of pure delight racked your body as you moaned weakly against him, his fingers running up your thigh as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
He was greedy, ravenous, and entirely too selfish in his affection but he held you delicately, made you practically melt in his embrace as he folded you carefully to him. His hand pressed against your lower back, pushing your bodies even closer together and you gasped, pulling back as an involuntary moan escaped your swollen mouth.
His eyes were molten silver as he stared at you raptly, and the intensity of his hungry stare made heat crawl up your neck as you hurriedly looked away, covering your face with your hands.
“What’s the matter?” his voice was a low whisper and you shuddered as he rubbed a lazy circle against your spine. “Are you embarrassed by your own desire (Name)?”
“S-Shut up,” you meekly called out, trying to pull away but his hand on your lower back remained, holding you shackled on his lap. “I-I never should have—”
Cold fingers brushed against your chin and he grasped it firmly between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face towards him, forcing you to meet his stare as your eyes skittered away in embarrassment.
“Kiss me again,” was his firm order.
“Why?” you squealed, eyes wide as they met his briefly.
He didn’t answer you, his arm simply squeezing you harder against him as you squirmed at the feeling of every hard edge of him pressing against your softer curves.
You couldn’t quite meet his gaze so instead you focused on the tip of his nose, and the subtle twist of his lips.
Leaning closer, you felt his fingers leave your chin as you quivering lips brushed against his briefly. His fingers grasped the back of your head; lips hard and merciless but so delightfully slow, exploring, tasting you as his tongue brushed against yours again.
After another moment you pulled back, huffing for breath as you tried to calm the hammering of your heart and the pleasant, satisfied buzz of heat in your veins.
“Better,” he purred lazily, palm tracing up your spine, mouth twitching at the way you arched into his touch. “I’ve been waiting for a taste of you. Never be shy about something you desire. I rather enjoy you being selfish. Happily flushed just for me…I quite like this look on you (Name).”
A rasp of pure embarrassment slipped out, and you buried your burning face against the crook of his neck.
“So unfair,” you huffed quietly, “You always win. And it was…nice…”
His entire body locked suddenly, arms firm around you, “And if you keep whispering, and making those delightful noises against my neck, we’ll be doing a lot more than kissing.”
A cough got stuck in your windpipe as you swiftly moved your head down, pressing your cheek against his collarbone.
“N-No!”
The weight of his pointed chin rested on top of your head as he pressed you against his chest. A cold, hollow shelter that you have made your own. And one he allowed you to share with him.
“My little teacup.”
You closed your eyes, and sighed in content as your lips tingled.
Cyberlife, making RK900: We need to make it more efficient and intimidating.
Cyberlife: So we gave it silver eyes.
Cyberlife: A turtle neck.
Cyberlife: And made it two inches taller.
Kamski: o-o
soft!reader x nines (if already established because goddd you’re a damn saint for managing to get through him) is the cutest shit ever and I love it because:
…
– He is literally a walking blade so he is ready to cut everyone and anything (especially if they so much as look funny at the Reader), and Reader just constantly having to drag this 6′0″+ android away from a fight by the arm like, “Nooo?? Please stop, no put the gun away—stop glaring, stop.”
– Loves the shit out of teasing you. Nines has a silver tongue so he knows exactly how to get you flustered. Does it at most unfortunate times too. At work—yes. At family dinners—double yes. I’ve said it before but he loves being deadpan savage. That’s included in his teasing as well. He has a ridiculously dirty mouth too.
– One of his favourite things to do? Watching you squirm as you try to lean up for a kiss. He is literally the type to stand there and just stare down at you (looking sly and pleased) before he tips your chin and breathes against your mouth, “If my little teacup wants a kiss, they only need to beg.”
– You making him things all the time? Little sweet notes wishing him a good day (”There is no concept of a good day (Name), they’re are simply days.”), a cute grey bracelet with your initials on it he will wear it forever just watch him, a doodle of both of you that you hang on your fridge he secretly glances at every once in a while.
– “Violence is not the answer.” “Violence is always an answer, you just have to get creative (Name).”
– Hates Disney movies because you always make him watch them with you, and you cry every time and he is so irritated?? “Why are these visuals making you leak? (Name)? You said this one was a happy one. Next time I’m burning them all.”
– He is the biggest, fussiest baby when it comes to your health. He makes sure you are hydrated, had three wholesome meals and snack healthily every day. He is an incredible cook (obviously) and enjoys seeing you scoffing his prepared meals down. Him; without his jacket, sleeves rolled up and arms crossed across his chest as he leans against the kitchen counter, grey eyes glinting haughtily as you chat happily about your plans that day.
– Uncompromising in his “affection” because he takes what he wants when he wants it. So if he feels like kissing you? You can bet he will walk up to you and stop you mid-conversation for a little taste. (*cue Hank & Gavin groaning*)
– On the flip side of that, he’s terrible at simple, human affection? If you hug him, he doesn’t know how to react? Stands there awkwardly, letting you have your moment. “Is this prolonged physical contact needed (Name)?” But after a while…he starts to put his hand on the small of your back to make sure you stay there for a bit longer.
The proposal aftermath.
It was meant to be the follow-up to a Gladnis commission for @tempurasteel that I jokingly sketched… but it was actually too sweet not to finish, am I right?
Every time i draw Nines, he is having less and less resembling to
Connor. I dont know if it’s a good thing or not, Also, he is taller and more buff in my head canon
We are our own harshest critics. I personally detest my writing and especially hate my artwork but that is because I know that if I really worked at it (and didn’t have constant ‘art blocks’ or get distracted) my art could truly be better. But I’ve always felt this way, even since I was young and could judge my own works.
I suppose I hate my own follies as a creator more than anything. I feel like I have a right to say I despise my work…it’d just be shitty if I was like ‘Oh, so-and-so does way better stuff than me, I hate my work’.
I am truly sorry if my self-depreciating posts make anyone feel uncomfortable, though. That was never my intention.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!! It’s been rough but I finally managed to finish my thanksgiving comic from last year. In hindsight I’m actually glad I did it this year because I don’t think I would have been able to put as much care into it if I had done it the year prior. With that being said, I’m very thankful that I’ve been able to have so much fun in the Overwatch community and I hope you all have a wonderful thanksgiving!!!
Wow, people really don’t reblog on here anymore. I mean, the ratio of likes to reblogs has really changed a lot compared to even a year ago. (This is even on relevant, popular blog posts)
It used to be more even, people would ‘like’ and reblog it right after or put it in a queue. It seems like less and less people are seeing artist’s work and I couldn’t figure out why until I noticed the ‘like’s going up and the reblogs going down. I see more people stealing art and reposting it on Instagram than reblogging these days, and it’s kind of really bad for artists.
This kind of thing is costing a lot of us our livelihoods. Myself, and a ton of other disabled artists rely on reblogs to get commissions, merchandise sales, and Patreons.
Tumblr is a community (sometimes it’s a pornbot community but I mean) and we rely on those in the community to boost our stuff out to those who maybe don’t follow us but would be interested, or those who are looking for an artist to commission and haven’t seen us in the fandom tag yet, or those looking for that exact gift for someone and, hey, I make that.
If this is simply just a matter of the site dying and folks moving to another site, maybe let us know? Because I know that I’m not the only one struggling with this right now, and none of us seem to know what to do about it except keep posting and hope that people deem our art important enough to share on their blogs like they used to.
(Which is getting harder and harder to do when we’re feeling discouraged by the seemingly lack of interest, and, you know, our own personal problems.)
So, if you don’t want your artist’s to disappear or, you know, uh, lose their entire income, please remember reblog.
the sexual tension between you and the other player completing same questline
jumping as valid form of communication
urge to wear the butt ugly Rare and/or Old retired gear to show that you are better than everyone else
the cryptids that are players who have hit the level cap but their character looks like walking shitpost
having to complete missions in middle of place where some people are roleplaying very seriously and u just feel like janitor cleaning stage in middle of play rehearsal as you try to do ur work and move on asap
the odd mildly nostalgic feeling of being high level player and watching obviously new players playing the game for first time
Brock is one of the few and perfect examples of an actual gentlemen like yeah he’d hit on literally every girl he’d meet but would also only shower them with affection and compliments. He never falls into the tired “token pervert/borderline sexual assaulter” anime trope and despite being hella flirty, treats the women he’s interested with nothing but respect and compassion.
Truly the only straight anime boy ill ever stan
Also when in Sinnoh, there was a young maid who was interested in Brock and did a lot of things to get his attention but since she wasn’t old enough he didn’t even consider trying to flirt with her!!!
Remember that one movie where Brock busted out the most genuinely wholesome one-liner of all time?
I literally only have one rule in my writing and it is this:
No matter what I put my characters through, they make it. They get to make it to the end of the story and have everything work out and be ok.
Because that’s the story I need. So it’s the kind I write.
If you want a piece of writing advice: write a story that is what you needed to hear at whatever age your target demographic is. I can guarantee you there’ll be someone out there who needs to hear it as much as you did. And maybe you’ll help them the same way someone else’s story did for you.
For some reason, this hit home and I never realized it that I did this for my stories too
He was a young artist employed by the Disney studio, but tasked with the entry-level job of finishing off the work of the animators and crafting the “in-between” animations that completed the characters’ movements. Wong had learned that studio executives were creating a film from the new novel, Bambi, A Life in the Woods by Felix Salten. Tom says the young artist read the book and without consulting his supervisor, “took the script and painted some visual concepts to set the mood, color and the design.”
His sketches recalled the lush mountain and forest scenes of Sung dynasty landscape paintings. His initiative paid off. Walt Disney, who was looking for something new for the film, was captivated and personally directed that Wong be promoted. Today, top animators and illustrators revere Wong’s work. Children today are as enchanted by the misty, lyrical brushstrokes of Wong’s colorful nature scenes, inspired by his training at Otis College of Art and self-study of Sung Dynasty art
THIS GUY HELPED MAKE THE FILM THAT MADE ME WANT TO BE A FILMMAKER AND *HE IS STILL ALIVE*
AAAAAAAAAAAAAH
I met him at a gallery event a number of years ago and, UGH HE IS SO TALENTED AND SO KIND AND ENCOURAGING THERE IS A REASON WE ALL LOVE HIM. Also, my alma.
GUYS WTF IS THIS CRAZY TALENTED GUY- HE MAKES KITES TO WOW JUST WOW
click through the source link, the smithsonian article is pretty great.
~My Tumblr Back-Up And Stuffs~ 
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