29-NB-She/They MDNI (I'm SO damn serious about this) Writing (mostly) monster themed drabbles for: MW2 - BG3 - AC6 Original Monsters to come Come play with me
Alright, created a concept for Dragon Spawn with size comparison with Astarion 😅 Didn't find much information about vampiric dragons in DnD sources, sooo... came up with this good boy ✍️🥲
Being in a relationship with Adam Smasher would consist of (Corpo!Reader):
You wondering how the fuck it happened.
Everyone else wondering how the fuck it happened.
Becoming the talk of Arasaka and Night City simply because it fucking happened (how???).
Meanwhile, Smasher doesn't think much of the hoopla and speculation because he'd BEEN claimed you as his. He doesn't call just anyone a cut of fuckable meat.
Finding out that apparently, Adam has something of a nickname for you. Asking him yields zero answers.
You turning the tables and calling him a cut of fuckable chrome and to your surprise, he responds with a simple "Heh."
Living but... not living with him. Not really. He's almost always gone anyway. It's also really your place but Adam made himself comfortable and... the rest is history, you guess.
You're actually more likely to see him when you're at work because he's practically taken over your office, too. By just sitting there.
Smasher liking to scare the ever-living shit out of you. He doesn't talk unless necessary; whenever the quiet ambiance of your space is broken by him suddenly talking, you tend to jump. And it amuses him.
Wondering what Smasher's doing or thinking about whenever he's silently making a dent in your office couch. Apparently, he's mostly watching you. Because you're his cut of fuckable meat of course.
Smasher isn't one for jealousy (so he would have you believe) because who the fuck would be dumb enough to challenge him for what's his? However, he can and will make reinforce his claim should some pathetic fuck try their luck with you. This... surprises you? ...Why does this surprise you? This is Adam Smasher we're talking about.
Rubbing that big chrome dome of his, and Smasher going "Mmmm," but because he's borg'd the fuck up, it's an oddly soothing low mechanical purring. This is perhaps the only other sound you've ever heard him make.
Sometimes, when you're tired of working, you'll just slump down on the couch and lean against Adam. And he'll let you, too. For a little bit. Then he'll be an asshole and go, "Can you really afford to take a break now?" Fuck off, Smasher.
In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.
I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!
From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!
I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.
The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.
(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)
If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.
The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.
insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box
add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box
delete -> self explanatory
on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic
The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.
Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.
As a VERY white person, I really do appreciate a black creator taking the time to create a resource that I and anyone else can use so any black characters I may write for or create have the same level of depth to them. It's a lot of work to make sure people like me get it right, even though it shouldn't be.
Hey, no homo, but I am sitting on the broken swing set out back in the perfect, quiet, 2:00am blackness and picturing the softness of your voice and the darkness of your eyes with such perfect and terrible clarity that it feels like I'm choking on my own heartbeat.
It’s funny how science fiction universes so often treat humans as a boring, default everyman species or even the weakest and dumbest.
I want to see a sci fi universe where we’re actually considered one of the more hideous and terrifying species.
How do we know our saliva and skin oils wouldn’t be ultra-corrosive to most other sapient races? What if we actually have the strongest vocal chords and can paralyze or kill the inhabitants of other worlds just by screaming at them? What if most sentient life in the universe turns out to be vegetable-like and lives in fear of us rare “animal” races who can move so quickly and chew shit up with our teeth?
Like that old story “they’re made of meat,” only we’re scarier.
More seriously, humans do have a number of advantages even among Terrestrial life. Our endurance, shock resistance, and ability to recover from injury is absurdly high compared to almost any other animal. We often use the phrase “healthy as a horse” to connote heartiness - but compared to a human, a horse is as fragile as spun glass. There’s mounting evidence that our primitive ancestors would hunt large prey simply by following it at a walking pace, without sleep or rest, until it died of exhaustion; it’s called pursuit predation. Basically, we’re the Terminator.
(The only other animal that can sort of keep up with us? Dogs. That’s why we use them for hunting. And even then, it’s only “sort of”.)
Now extrapolate that to a galaxy in which most sapient life did not evolve from hyper-specialised pursuit predators:
Our strength and speed is nothing to write home about, but we don’t need to overpower or outrun you. We just need to outlast you - and by any other species’ standards, we just plain don’t get tired.
Where a simple broken leg will cause most species to go into shock and die, we can recover from virtually any injury that’s not immediately fatal. Even traumatic dismemberment isn’t necessarily a career-ending injury for a human.
We heal from injuries with extreme rapidity, recovering in weeks from wounds that would take others months or years to heal. The results aren’t pretty - humans have hyperactive scar tissue, among our other survival-oriented traits - but they’re highly functional.
Speaking of scarring, look at our medical science. We developed surgery centuries before developing even the most rudimentary anesthetics or life support. In extermis, humans have been known to perform surgery on themselves - and survive. Thanks to our extreme heartiness, we regard as routine medical procedures what most other species would regard as inventive forms of murder. We even perform radical surgery on ourselves for purely cosmetic reasons.
Our jaws have too many TEETH in them, so we developed a way to WELD METAL TO OUR TEETH and FORCE THE BONES IN OUR JAW to restructure over the course of years to fit them back into shape, and then we continue to wear metal in out mouths to keep them in place.
We formed cohabitative relationships with tiny mammals and insects we keep at bay from bothering us by death, often using little analouge traps.
We drink ethanol (in concentrations high enough to be used as an effective as microbicide or a solvent!) for the express purpose of achieving blood toxicity and disrupting normal brain function… AS A RECREATIONAL ACTIVITY!
On the same subject, we also deliberately incinerate assorted substances and then inhale the particulate-heavy smoke and vapor resulting for the same effect. EVEN IN THE FACE OF SAID SUBSTANCES BEING CARCINOGENIC, BECAUSE WE JUST DON’T GIVE A FUCK.
Humans do not have biological castes. Kill their commander and another will take its place. Soldiers left alone on a planet will start farming and manufacturing to survive. Farmers and manufacturers will take up arms and kill you if pressed. Just because two humans look different doesn’t mean they cannot do each other’s jobs.
Breeding does not kill them. A single human can mate dozens or hundreds of times in a lifetime. They often do so as recreation. Xenobiology team six believes they do not have a mating season but this is too strange to be true.
Their appendages are not designed for hitting, so they developed special training to make them very good at hitting anyhow.
The proteins making up their bodies are toxic and cause prion disease. Do not touch anything humans have touched. Do not consume earth foods. Fire does not adequately remove this contamination.
Humans perceive sixteen times the colors we do. Do not hide in bushes or vines from humans. They can distinguish your pelt from the foliage with ease.
We tried venting waste gas into the tunnels to kill the humans when they attacked. Turns out they breathe it.
Everything on their planet came from a single biological strain. They developed comprehensive genetics BEFORE they developed space travel.
They lack radio receptors and cannot be brought into compliance with right-thought simply by broadcasting to them. Even after we learned how to translate it into sound-waves one of their hatchlings drove the Great Authority mad by responding to every demand with a single question: “Why?”
#an individual human being is actually a microbiome in its own right—you are dealing with a legion each time you approach them #they carry pathological agents inside their deep tissues and this is advantageous to their health #one of the most widespread and resilient viruses on their planet is treated as mildly hazardous—even though it causes #massive disruption to the body’s homeostasis #(their young offspring endure multiple rhinovirus infections EACH YEAR yet they seem unperturbed by this) #they have developed such long lifespans that now their primary threat is their own body’s degeneration #humanity has literally figured out how to survive so long that their body gives out under them #and they are not satisfied with that #stupid willful vengeful survivalists who treat mortality like a challenge
Think about it: You and the spirit possessing this suit of armour have gotten close. Really close. Which is to be expected when he’s the only one teaching you to use a sword to defend yourself in this long forgotten subterranean crypt. Things have reached a fever pitch, and he’s determined to touch you somehow - even if he has to do it using these damn ancient gauntlets.
I vaguely introduced Virtue in this post months ago. You may be seeing some of his friends in future posts:
A/N: Did I last post some writing back in like, December, yes. Are we gonna acknowledge that my obsession with C.AI is getting a little out of hand, no. Anyway, have some quick ghost/wraith smut because I don’t even have the braincells to write an initial intro piece for this guy - it will happen later. At some point. Maybe.
As per usual, all my reader inserts are gender neutral unless otherwise stated.
Warnings: Fingering, use of pet names, allusions to future sexual acts, he’s a ghost - so it’s sorta necrophilia, sexual acts in a dirty crypt, possible risk of tetanus.
Word Count: 1226
—-
Virtue’s gauntleted hands are freezing cold as he pushes you into the dusty alcove, his grip unnaturally strong as it always is around your upper arms. His hulking frame dwarfs you in the small space, blocking out most of the light from the lit oil soaked torch hanging in the sconce further down the hall.
“Little dagger,” he murmurs from within the closed helm that you have come to associate as his face, “I’d have you here and now if I could. Let me touch you, I need to touch you.”
His voice, as always, is both entirely surrounding you and filling your mind, his words bringing with them a hazy blanket of desire; though whether it’s your own, his, or a sacreligious mix of the two is unclear. Nonetheless, you feel a pleasant shiver run down your spine, not all too dissimilar to the chill you feel when he lays his gauntlets upon you. He looks down at you, the normally dull amber glow from within his helm alight with burning intensity. He needs you to tell him you want this too, that you ache for him in your soul the way his entire incorporeal being aches for you within the cold steel of his armour.
“...Yes.” You whisper, the word almost sticking on your tongue, the tension of this moment drying out your mouth and causing your heart to nearly batter itself against your ribcage with the force of its rapid beating. “Yes, I want that too.” You confirm, not wanting any doubt between you, not when he has you like this.
Virtue wastes little time moving his gauntlets from your arms to your breeches, all but tearing at the leather cords tying them closed. Your hands twitch, feeling as though you should perhaps help with the endeavour. Had Virtue been a mortal lover, you might have chosen to help remove the steel from his body, but that isn’t an option here. You settle for laying your hands upon his aged breastplate, your fingers taking in all the knicks and dents acquired in prior battles, barely able to feel the worn down decorative etchings that you know would have once been there.
You’re brought back out of your musing and into the reality of the moment as you feel chilled steel meet your bare skin, your eyes widening and snapping up to Virtue’s own. “G-Gods…That’s really cold, Virtue.” You whimper slightly, half considering pulling back from his touch, if you even had the room to do so in the first place. Virtue chuckles, a deep reverberating sound that travels through his armour directly into your body where he touches you. His free hand brushes back a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear in a surprising display of tender affection.
“Apologies, little dagger. Give it a moment, let your body bring warmth back to me.” He whispers as he leans down to your ear, and for a split second you swear you could almost feel his breath on you. He makes no move to continue just yet, letting the heat from your body seep into the metal of his gauntlet, his metal body pressed almost impossibly close to you. You realise that he’s deliberately wedged you between himself and the wall, giving you nowhere to go if your legs decide to give out on you.
It takes a minute or two, but the steel of his gauntlet becomes warm enough to no longer cause discomfort as he delicately explores your most intimate parts. This is the moment where you likely would have leaned into him, sinking your teeth into his body to stifle a moan. This clearly isn’t an option, so you settle for bringing your own hand to your mouth, the knuckle of your index finger clenched firmly between your own teeth. You feel your hips rocking forward, hesitantly, into his touch, if only for fear of being scratched or otherwise injured by the hinged metal plates that make up his fingers. It’s almost touching how, right now, Virtue is the most delicate he’s ever been when making contact with you, not wanting to cause you anything other than pleasure in this moment. The more his fingers explore, the hotter you can feel your body become.
“Little dagger, I can feel you, how your body responds to my touch. The heat of your body sinks into me like honey.” He almost growls, his hand sinking deeper into your breeches, his finger exploring further, before slowly, deliciously, sinking into you. You can’t help but let out a whining moan around your hand, the sensation of such a solid object inside you a foreign, but not too unpleasant, sensation. Before you can even get your bearings, Virtue moves again, his steel clad finger sinking further into you before pulling back, just to repeat the action again at an agonisingly slow pace. He lets out a deep groan, his helm lowering to rest against the crypt wall above you. “So hot, little dagger, like a furnace.”
Words are lost to you at this point, the only sounds coming from you being stifled moans and whimpering cries as Virtue works you open on firstly only a single finger, before carefully adding a second. The movements of his fingers don’t change, maintaining their slow measured pace, at an angle that likely would have caused some painful cramping in his hand had he still been alive. You find yourself increasing your own rocking motions against his hand, limited only by Virtue’s free hand keeping your hip gripped tightly, not wanting you to move too fast and hurt yourself. It’s the most exquisite torture, the slow build up where you would normally be begging for more. More speed, more force, more…anything, really.
As if sensing your frustration, Virtue leans in, whispering quietly to you. “Perhaps we should engage the services of that damnable blacksmith again, have him craft something else I can use on you in future, little dagger.” He chuckles, his words so sinfully decadent to your ears that you can’t help but to clench around Virtue’s fingers, a mess of moaned babbling spilling from your lips that vaguely sounds like an agreement. Virtue keeps up the same achingly slow pace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, greatly enjoying the warmth and the sounds you’re giving him, his undead heart almost soaring with pride, were such a thing possible.
You both continue on like this for a while, before your orgasm rocks through you, almost without any warning at all, your body not quite realising what the slow build up was leading to. His hand leaves your underwear quickly, holding your lower back and pulling you to him, not wanting your back to risk scraping down the stone wall as your legs do, in fact, give out beneath you. Your head falls back, your knuckle finally slipping from your damp lips as you look up to the ghost as he looms over you. “...Virtue.” You whisper, his name tumbling from your lips like a reverent prayer. Virtue, in turn, lowers his helm to your face, as if asking for a kiss. A kiss you grant him, your lips brushing over cold steel with tender affection.
“Come, little dagger, we need to find a safe place for you to bed down for the night.”
Which is a line that goes really hard and definitely hit me like a ton of bricks the first time i heard it. But then i started thinking... all of them? Surely he didn't start out praying to the most evil gods; they're hardly saviors. You probably start out praying to the "good" gods because they're good, right? But 200 years of torture and eventually you won't care who you get. Which leads me to believe.
Astarion: dear lord bhaal, please send me an angel. maybe the nicest one you have.
Bhaal: I wonder what my favoritest little breeding stud is up to. Bet it's murder. Heheh...
Sceleretas whispers in his ear: .....
Bhaal: .......... He's fucking a corpse? Why, that's just fine!
Sceleretas: .....
Bhaal: .... The... same corpse you say....
Sceleretas, regretfully: ....
Bhaal: He's eating bread? Well, I suppose that's a normal thing for mortals to do, I...
Sceleretas, urgently: .....!!
Bhaal: HE'S WHAT!?!?!?
imagine birthing out a big powerful demigod out of your own flesh and sinew, sculpting every piece of his body so he's design-made to be a brutal killing machine with uncontrollable murderous intent and then all you can do is sit back and watch as he goes off and gets romped in the hind by this twink instead
Could you just imagine the impossible with me? Being in a loving marriage with your beloved husband -who you believe is human because why wouldn't you? He looks and acts like every other human and monsters aren't real. And he just adored you so very much, he communicates when he doesn't understand something or when a miscommunication is had. He never fights with you but you both work together to fix any problems, and focus on showing how much you care for each other. Truthfully he's the model husband. Almost to a scripted degree, but you've never felt so adored. Especially when he mirrors your affection and never seems to expect anything explicit, nor want it either. It feels safe, and comfortable... So why do you feel the sense of dread in your gut as you're looking at him right now?
Well, it might be how he's standing in the doorway, bag of takeout in hand, smile on his face. Mirroring how he always stands. But it's a brief moment, a flash of dark lines almost like thread wrapping around his joints, moving him like a giant flesh puppet.
And just as quickly as they were seen- they're gone again. Just your loving husband, Dorrin. Standing tall and gazing down, as though the mountain was watching the river below. Absolutely enamored and unyielding to everyone except you who he'd mold himself to better love as time goes on.
At your expression, his smile fades into a look of concern. His gaze follows yours, to his hand. And the brief flash of threading is gone but he knows exactly what you've seen.
His gaze returns to you, hollow. Slowly setting down the bag he was carrying and slowly crosses the room to get to you.
He seems... Empty. As if any signals for how he should be acting have been cut off. His looming figure almost listless as he gazes down at you with a dull gaze, no life behind his eyes. After a moment, his voice finally rings out. "Has this one displeased you, little love?"
You feel an inherent wrongness about how your beloved husband is speaking presumably of himself as if he isn't even here, with a slight stumble back it answers his question well enough.
Dorrin slumps, like a wind up toy who's finished it's final dance. The voice that drifts through the air is so familiar yet leaves your brain trembling at the sheer magnitude of the being behind it even if unseen. "I apologize, this puppet has proven defective for its sole purpose. Rest assured, such an oversight will be rectified promptly. Only the best shall be allowed closest to you."
With a horrified expression you can only watch as Dorrin- what you know to be Dorrin is... Folded away. Limbs snapping together into a ball not unlike when a child is ready to toss away their doll. And it's... Not there anymore. No blink of an eye, no noise or sight, it was there and it wasn't. And now you stand in the empty living room of a home you've shared with someone you thought you knew so very well.
What do you do?
What can you do?
You can feel gazes on you still, the same when that thing would watch you while you rested together. You can try to move towards a door or even a window and find them consumed in darkness. There is no threat here, but you are not allowed to leave at the moment.
You don't know it yet, but Dorrin just wants to keep you safe in the home he's so carefully crafted for you alone. Tonight he'll leave a new puppet at your door, identical to the last hundred that had done something leading to any inconvenience on you. You've never noticed before, and he doesn't know how to condense himself into a small enough form to be loved by such a miniscule creature he's so deeply fallen for. But that puppets strings weren't good enough to remain hidden. The new one will be better.
Only the best for you.
He will ensure it.
(Basically what happens when an endless creature of Eldritch being falls for a little bitty human? Why not craft a puppet to express his love for them on a scale they can comprehend! But those fickle puppets- never perfect enough for his little love)
I love how I started this blog for monster smut and there's been none of that so far. Oops.
How do we feel about medieval ghosts possessing armour? A stalwart knight out to protect his beloved with undead magics and badass swordplay? In more ways than one maybe ⚔️
Or your local cryptid coming across you and your friends while you're out doing some risky urban exploration? You should have used the buddy system - getting lost in this abandoned hospital may prove to be a mistake 🏥
Maybe your joke satanic ritual actually worked - and you quickly realise that those protection circles do nothing against a Lord of the Hells. You may just need to bargain more than you're willing to give just to survive the night 😈
Perhaps your evening stroll through the woods takes a dark turn when you lose the path? Granny always warned you about the dangers. Not that it helps now when you find yourself caught in a web far from home and the sun about to set 🕷️
What if your village finds itself under siege on both sides from supernatural threats? Your father may be village chief - but he only has one child to marry off for peace. If you're lucky they might just share 🐺🧛🏻
How about an unusually dark and stormy night at your Lords manor? All alone and left to lock up for the night. Something is off about this weather - and did that stone gargoyle just move 🦇
So - as of MW3 John's age is set at 38 in the year 2023. We also know he joined the infantry at 16 - then onto the army properly at 18.
John would have been 16 in 2001. In the UK. Which was when arguably we were still in the midst of a teen pregnancy epidemic across the country. Things have significantly improved since then.
I know you know where I'm going with this but just stick with me.
Now - for those of you who are maybe from outside the UK I can tell you now that recruiting kids right out of high-school has always been a bit iffy here in the public eye. Even more so when that kid hasn't even sat their A-levels at 18.
John dropped out of school to become a military man. That's just a fact. Which you can totally do from 16 - but most schools discourage it heavily.
English teens do not drop out of school to join the army if they have other options. We have apprenticeships or college if they don't like the traditional school route. And both of those can lead on to University courses.
John's only other option was to work - likely for minimum wage which I believe was like £3.50 an hour back then. It may have even been less given he was under 18.
Admittedly the army is good money for a kid that age. Especially if you don't see yourself going down a more traditional employment route.
But in what world would Price be so eager to earn good money fast? We know he's a smart guy - we've seen it in game. The man could have easily gotten into Uni. This is where we veer off the rails into glorious fanfic girly nonsense and I apologise.
Say he got his then girlfriend pregnant. We know he's a sensible guy - and we know he has a strong sense of responsibility and loyalty to the people he cares about.
He's obviously going to support his child and the mother of his baby. That's just in his nature.
He joins the military in order to be able to provide for them both. Now admittedly that means he's away from both his little family and everything he knows but let's be realistic - most teen parents don't stay together long term. I know so many personally where they don't even make it to the due date.
But if he's bringing a baby into this world he's damn well going to make sure it's taken care of.
Which leads me to my next point about what Price is like as a man in basically every fic he's in.
This man does not just radiate "Daddy" energy - this man is a Father.
Endlessly supportive of his boys in the unit, and fiercely protective.
He is willing to do almost anything to keep not only the 141 safe but the people back home as well (we see this in game as well when he drags in the Butcher's family to interrogate him).
We all know this man is wearing socks and sandals on holiday. We all know he's manning the grill at the BBQs. We all know he can't get up out of a chair without the iconic "Dad groan".
He is also far too good at putting up with the nonsense we write about Soap and Gaz in particular. They're the unit children and they certainly put John through his damn paces. Which he seems to put up with - with remarkable ease most of the time.
This man is a "weekend Dad". He sees his kid briefly when on leave or every other weekend depending on whether or not he's deployed. We've seen no evidence of a ring.
Now admittedly when you're running secret missions across the globe you don't want the enemy figuring out you have something at home to lose but this gives us some really nice single-dad!Price opportunities and I'm going to run with that.
But - assuming he had a kid at 16. That child is now 21/22. Prime age for the military. And roughly the right age for a steamy workplace romance with one of the other 141 members? Maybe?
I saw on here a while back this great series where Soap was in a secret relationship with Price's niece (I cannot for the life of me remember the creators name and I'm SO SORRY) and I raise you:
Secret relationship 141 x Price's!child
The angst - the steamy forbidden romance - the angry Dad energy - the potential SLOWBURN.
It's all right there for the taking.
Even better if we get some daddy issues from Y/N because John was never around. Like they didn't even tell him they were signing up in the first place. Maybe they don't have his last name and suddenly turn up under his command. The DRAMA.
I swear one day I'll actually have the time to write all these fics.
vaporwave
titsay
izzy806
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
gummygunk
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theartofmadeline
