I guess I should actually do a pinned post about⌠idk, who I am and what my whole deal is, since a bunch of new folks are following me? yeah? COOL!
so yeah! Iâm PV, Iâve been on the internet and in fandom spaces for 700 years, and I am here to ramble about my hyperfixations on the sole site that doesnât seem like itâs become entirely a cesspool yet.
I am a huge nerd, primarily around reading, video games (RPGs and cozy shit mostly), and theatre. formerly a much more active cosplayer and working my way back to it as an adult, but I did my time in the con circuit when I was a wee babby. Iâm also a huge Renaissance Faire attendee, and I have a degree in theatrical costume design.
I tend to rotate my hyperfixations like a rotisserie chicken in my brain, so if you donât see me post about something for a bit, assume itâll come back around again.
most of my opinion posts will be tagged with âpv rambles,â and any of my fic stuff with âpv writesâ
ao3 is here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetVampire/profile
asks are always open, as are my DMs, just be respectful and not a shithead? seems like basic courtesy?
current hyperfixations include: critical role campaign 4, aftg, heated rivalry, dead boy detectives, and my replay of every version of final fantasy tactics.
speaking as someone with a level of experience being a semi-public figure (albeit on a local scale, so not a huge deal):
some of yâallâs level of parasociality is fucking batshit insane.
public figures have an awareness of the image they are meant to represent, as well as often things like media training. the likelihood of them offering their unfiltered opinions to a fan is slim to none. so when you start taking things like con interactions, âbehind the scenesâ content, and other curated media as gospel, you are missing the point. there is still a character being created even in supposedly âoff the clockâ interactions. unless you ACTUALLY know this person in real life, no, you donât fucking know a celebrity/public figure because you spoke with them for ten minutes or you watch all their content.
in addition, some of yâall donât understand the concept of fucking boundaries. youâre equating a fictional character or public persona with the actual person, so you think itâs just a-okay to ask absolutely invasive weird shit. fucking STOP.
actors and public figures are people doing a job. respect that and stop being fucking weird.
OKAY so it is a show weekend for me so less writing until after I collapse on Monday
BUT I am thinking about cosplay stuff!
univere is still on hold because the damn wig I want is back ordered đ but Iâm thinking about terminaaaaa
any suggestions/ideas on how to create the sentient mask look other than just paint/makeup? Iâve been considering building up a prosthetic so it does look like something actually attached to my face, but Iâm waffling over how to achieve the eyes. sclera lenses, maybe? or do I just use my own crazy ass eyes and call it a day đ¤Ł
I mean, I half jokingly said that Josefir is the Occtis of the Einfasens, but it is Josefir who points out that Primus killed his son, and then asks Otto if he would do the same for the benefit of his house.
just for fun and because the snippets and drabbles are coming fast and furious, Iâve created an AO3 collection of all my prompt fills or other short ficlets Iâve posted here! just in case anyone ever wants to go back to âem, this is easier, lol.
one of the best parts of making up increasingly wild and specific aus with a friend is sending them posts like "this is sooo blorbo in torture chamber au number 15" and they reply back like "YESSS btw have i told you about my latest idea for how to torture them even more" and you get to enjoy a little snack and kick your feet with glee
âOcctis returning the attempts at comfort under mental distress, in the form of "uh... would you like to hold my undead fox?" and/or the world's most awkward attempt to intellectually dissect and replicate the casual physical-contact gestures that were clearly Julien's go-to when Occtis was distressed. (Julien got a vision of undead monstrosity Raimond fighting Teor and Cyd even if he didn't go down there, which has to be fuel for some nightmares once he slows down long enough to think about it.)â
I love this so much, itâs absolutely THEM.
~
Julien has nightmares.
He hasnât said anything to anyone, but Occtis knows what they look like. Itâs one of the benefits of not sleeping anymore, that he doesnât have to endure horrible dreams any longer - heâs definitely had plenty in the past, something that just might be due to the constant influx of power from the Tenebral Reaches spilling into his family homes. So he knows the signs, even if Julien doesnât say a word. He shifts in his sleep, restless, murmuring sounds that are sometimes half-intelligible words, sometimes just noises that almost sound like pain. Heâs not getting adequate rest; there are dark shadows beneath his eyes, and his usually fluid grace is lacking, his movements stiffer and slower than usual. Occtis can hear it every time his heartbeat speeds up or his breathing stutters out of the calm rhythm it should have in sleep, though he doesnât mention it, either.
Julien will take it as pity, and itâs not. After what they saw in Obrimus Manor, Occtis would be having nightmares too, if he were still capable. And he didnât even have to glimpse whatever monstrosity his family had been making of Raimond Davinos. Thimbleâs description of it was bad enough; Julien had gritted his teeth and looked away with something like recognition when she had told them, and Occtis wonders if he somehow saw it for himself.
If he did⌠well, it would certainly explain the nightmares. Occtis can sympathize. But he doesnât know what to do about it.
House Tachonis were never big on comfort. They viewed needing reassurance as weakness, being beholden to emotions that are unnecessary in those of their station. So Occtis has very limited experience with trying to offer kindness to another person.
He considers what Thimble would do - though given this is Julien, thatâs probably a bad idea. The pixie has a certain brand of tactless forthrightness that, while it can be reassuring in its own way, isnât exactly comfortable.
He considers what Thaisha might try - but again, while she has a great deal of empathy and kindness, sheâs also a sort of direct that might not be the best option in this situation. Occtis canât really find any kind of solid pattern to follow that might create the results heâs hoping for, and this isnât exactly the time to experiment with trial and error.
Then he remembers Julien outside of Obrimus Manor, his attempts to keep Occtis from losing himself in panic and dread. He remembers warm hands on his shoulders, a bracing sort of contact, a slight softening in the otherâs typically caustic tone. He barely remembers actually leaving the Manor and getting back to Halâs house in the Rookery, having retreated somewhere deep into himself at the sight of his fatherâs murderous rage, but he remembers those touches.
Contact seems a common way to attempt comfort, and a language Julien seems to respond to. Which means that it would likely be the best option.
Trouble is, Occtis has no idea how to go about it.
Heâs not used to being touched, other than by a few select people. Even then, too much casual contact is overwhelming, something he doesnât understand or appreciate.
Still. Itâs the start of an idea.
~
He watches the rest of the party closely for the next few days, taking note of every bit of interpersonal contact, trying to judge and gauge its effect. Kattigan eyes him strangely, and Thimble makes a comment about him being weirder than usual, but Occtis continues to observe. He jots notes down during his sleepless nights, trying to find patterns, to make sense of what works when and why. Bolaire seems to recognize what heâs doing in some capacity, but he doesnât comment; now that Occtis knows what the other is, he wouldnât be surprised if he has a similar lack of understanding of this complex language of touch. Heâs had longer to figure it out, though.
At least Occtis is making some progress, beginning to find some understanding. So the next night Julien has a nightmare and wakes in a cold sweat in the dim hours after midnight, Occtis steels himself, and reaches out.
The knight flinches when a cold hand closes on his shoulder, jerking back and instinctively reaching for the rapier lying next to his bedroll. He stops when he realizes itâs only Occtis, and in the dim light, the arcanist can see the confused frown knitting his brow. âWhat are you doing?â
Occtis panics, just a little. Itâs far from the intended result, and he pulls back, grasping for words of an explanation. âUh. You justâ your dreams, I know youâreââ Shit. Heâs not good at this. This isnât academic, itâs emotional, and he has zero healthy framework to fall back on.
In that moment of mentally flailing ineptitude, Pin emerges from the pocket dimension heâs supposed to stay in, dropping directly onto Julienâs lap. The fox looks up at the man with button eyes, and he stares down at it for a moment - then starts to laugh, though quietly, so as not to wake the rest of their party.
Occtis winces, shrinking back as if he can disappear into the shadows on his side of the tent. âHeâs⌠better at comforting people than me, I guess.â The words are muttered mostly to himself, but Julienâs gaze darts back up, a flicker of something there and gone behind his eyes.
He half-expects the man to fling the undead fox away, but instead he lets a hand drop to Pinâs back, lightly stroking over the fur. Itâs a repetitive, soothing motion, and Occtis can hear Julienâs heartbeat slowing, steadying. He lets out a long sigh of a breath, and slowly, the tension begins to seep out of his muscles. âHm. I suppose he is useful.â The words should be insulting, but they sound calm, almost approving.
Itâs not how Occtis intended to help, but itâs still something.
things currently in the works that are going to appeal to exactly about six people (all of whom I love very much for enabling my weirdness!):
- next chapter of In Your Shadow Bound (I PROMISE Iâm still working on it!)
- the Archenade as a high protocol kink space (because Araman ABSOLUTELY needs a fancy sex dungeon and thank you @cr-404 for putting this idea in my brain!)
- aniko seremai and doset tachonis being batshit insane with each other. these are my assigned Evil Horny Brain Demons, it has to happen.
man, if anyone thinks smut canât be a vital part of characterization and storytelling, they clearly cannot be me, who finds ways to tie in absurd amounts of psychosexual longing in whatâs supposed to be self-indulgent kinky shit đ¤Ł
I'm just going to go ahead and very quietly request Julien and Occtis in a tent somnophilia with either one of them asleep tbh 𩷠ily đđđ
YESSSS absolutely my darling I love this! (is it still somnophilia if one of them doesnât actually sleep, WHO CARES WE RIDE)
nsfw ⨠established âthese two are definitely fucking but absolutely not talking about the emotions of it allâ
~
Occtis no longer sleeps, but his mind and body both still demand rest on a nightly basis. Vaelus taught him how to slip into a meditative trance focused on memory, to allow his subconscious to reorder itself so he doesnât go mad. In the weeks since, though, heâs managed to experiment and make a few adjustments, allowing his rest to become something more like a state of heightened dreaming. He has so few pleasant memories, after all; better to be able to form images and scenarios that are more restful than his actual life was. Maybe in time, heâll have memories to fall back on that arenât closer to nightmares, but for now, this suits him best.
It doesnât hurt that on occasion he has⌠help, that makes the dream state far more appealing.
It started with idle curiosity: Julien coming back from his watch to find Occtis in his trance state, and questioning him in the morning about what exactly it entails. His explanation hadnât quite managed to encompass how heâs trained his mind to rest, but the knight seems far less interested in the specifics of the process, anyway. Heâs more curious about what dreams the arcanist is creating, what thoughts are filtering through his unconscious mind.
Occtis manages to dodge the question for all of about five minutes before being forced to admit that much of the time, heâs dreaming about Julien.
However it is theyâve managed to go from enmity to⌠whatever theyâre doing now, the physicality thatâs developed between them grounds him, gives Occtis something far more pleasant to focus on than the rest of what their group is dealing with. And sensory memories are strong impressions, anyway, the easiest things to weave into his dreaming state to nudge it closer to a memory than a fantasy. (Julien is, of course, insufferable upon learning this, and Occtis hates that he almost finds his smug smirks and teasing comments charming.)
For a few more nights after that, Julien seems content just knowing he is the subject of Occtisâ dreams. Then he brings up a question, one Occtis canât tell if heâs been dwelling on for days, or just popped into his head.
âWhat happens in those dreams if I were to touch you in reality?â
Theyâre both sprawled across a bed in a relatively ramshackle inn, Occtis tucked into the curve of Julienâs side, one broad arm around his waist keeping him securely held there. The knightâs words make him raise his head, brow furrowing slightly as he considers. âI have no idea,â he admits after a moment, giving an absent shrug that makes Julien grumble as a bony shoulder presses into his ribcage. âThis isnât really an established process, itâs all kind of⌠trial and error.â
Thereâs a faintly wicked glint in Julienâs eyes as he looks down at the arcanist. âCare to find out?â
Occtis absolutely does.
~
It is not the first time heâs teased the boy while heâs dreaming, drifting in that strange state between sleep and awareness that somehow keeps him tethered to his body. Julien has been given blanket permission to do as he will while Occtis is in his nightly trance, and while he does not always, tonight he does intend to take full advantage of that.
The arcanist is beautiful at rest, long limbs splayed across his bedroll, the tension he usually carries in every inch of him gone. His eyes are closed, dark lashes splayed against pale skin; even though he lacks a heartbeat and does not breathe, he still looks asleep, not dead, quiet and peaceful. Julien brushes an errant lock of hair off his face with a tenderness he would never show when the other is awake, fingertips brushing along the line of his cheek, his jaw.
When heâs in this state, there is no particularly dramatic response to any given touch, but Julien can tell when Occtis registers them in the dream by the slight shifts, the soft intakes of breath he does not need. Heâs quieter like this than during their average entanglement, so the knight doesnât feel the slightest bit of guilt doing this when their companions are in tents close by.
As if he would, anyway. Though he does get tired of Thimble bitching about being kept up all night by his âpervy anticsâ with her best friend, so Julien usually tries for at least a little discretion.
He can do as he will now, though, and Occtis will not utter a sound louder than a breathy gasp. Thereâs something terribly appealing about being able to toy with him like this, about having him vulnerable like this. There is some dark part of Julien that revels in having a Tachonis subject to his whims, helpless, unable to defend himself.
But at times like tonight, heâs found he has stopped thinking of Occtis as a Tachonis at all.
Julienâs hand slides down the line of the otherâs neck, over the flat planes of his narrow chest. His thumb brushes the metallic seam of his scar, but he does not linger, not wishing to invoke any unpleasant memories. Instead, he shifts his attention lower, drawing absent whorls and spirals over Occtisâ hipbones, hooking fingertips into the waistband of the soft trousers the other typically sleeps in. He smirks as he tugs the fabric slowly down and sees that the arcanist is already halfway to an erection; perhaps he was having a pleasant dream even before Julien decided to take it into his own hands.
He slides down the length of the otherâs body, palms smoothing along the muscle of his thighs, and has his mouth around that half-hard cock in a span of heartbeats. Occtis lets out a breathy little murmur of a sound, long fingers twitching where they lay against the blankets, but nothing more. Still, Julien can feel him growing to full hardness under his lips and tongue, slowly but steadily. The boyâs undead body might be a bit more sluggish to react to stimulus than it was when he was alive, but Julien has always enjoyed taking his time.
Occtis is a pleasant mouthful even when soft, and as Julien works him up, he takes the other to the back of his throat with a little effort, swallowing around the heavy length of him. One hand absently slips between his thighs, caressing his balls, and another faint sound of pleasure answers the touch. Julien grins, dragging his tongue along the underside of the arcanistâs cock as he slowly pulls off him, then shifts to prop his cheek against one lean thigh.
He wraps a hand around the other and begins to slowly stroke him, murmuring mixture of curses, endearments, and filthy suggestions in Sylvan as he does. His eyes are on Occtisâ face, though; he takes note of every breath the boy draws, every tiny noise, every slight flutter of his eyelids or twitch of his fingertips. Julien is fixed on every slight expression of pleasure, drinking them in like fine wine.
He draws it out for a long while, altering his approach every time Occtis seems to be nearing his peak, pulling back to indulge in teasing touches that map out every currently accessible inch of the otherâs flesh. Julienâs own need for sleep seems irrelevant at the moment, his continued exploration of the trance-bound arcanist far more compelling. Heâs half-drunk on the power of being allowed to do this at all, on the knowledge that his every touch is likely impacting Occtisâ dream state. Itâs an intoxication that he will carefully ignore acknowledging when the other is awake, or that he will write off as a mere perverse thrill. Julien knows itâs more than that, though. In these moments, asleep and vulnerable and trusting, Occtis is his, and he likes the thought of that more than he will ever admit.
When he finally decides to let the other come, Julien swallows him down, a hand shoved down into his own trousers to roughly jerk himself off at the same time.
He gets little sleep after that, but itâs worth a little exhaustion the next day. Particularly when Occtis is in his arms when he wakes, loose-limbed and relaxed, a curious little smile on his lips. âI had the most fascinating dream last night.â
Occtis/Julien/Kattigan and collars. Occtis needs something to remind those two that they need to fucking cool it, cause he knows and he cares too lol
lol I got this one and basically started frothing at the mouth immediately, itâs PERFECT. đđ just an undead wizard and his situationships boyfriends guard dogs
nsfw for inappropriate uses of magic, vague d/s dynamics, men on leashes, and general horniness.
~
It starts with a comment spat by a mercenary who had almost ended up getting skewered rather than giving over the very important, very necessary information it turned out he had.
âBetter get your dogs on a leash, boy.â The words are snarled at Occtis as he stands between the mercenary and the combined, dangerous front that is Julien and Kattigan. Between the formerâs short temper and the latterâs relative disregard for social niceties, this isnât the first time theyâve almost started a fight when talking would serve them better. Occtis has managed to salvage the situation this time, but itâs beginning to become a problem.
Especially since they still spend an unnecessary amount of time trying to outdo one another, which means that every situation tends to just⌠escalate.
The words linger in his head, even when he knows they were meant as an insult. A part of him is revolted by them; it sounds like the way his family would treat people they viewed as lesser, as if they were mere objects or, at best, animals to be owned and controlled. Occtis cannot imagine treating anyone that way.
StillâŚ
Images intrude on his thoughts when he least expects them, filtering in like particularly insidious daydreams. Flashes of hooking his fingertips under a band of leather encircling Kattiganâs throat, feeling his pulse thundering beneath Occtisâ touch; a vivid picture of Julien on his knees, a leash trailing from Occtisâ hand to the collar fastened around his neck. The thoughts return and return, no matter how often he tries to banish them as perverse fantasies unworthy of consideration.
Itâs driving him a little crazy.
Heâll think of it when heâs trying to sink into a trance for the night, one or both of them asleep alongside him (theyâve stopped letting the two of them take watches together after an⌠incident that led to the entire camp getting woken up by a shouting match). It takes every bit of self control he has not to trace his fingertips along the fragile skin of their bare throats, imagining.
He continues to shove the constant images down until a night in the far north of Timmony, where theyâve managed to find an inn for the night rather than needing to camp. It means they have more comfortable accommodations, but it also means easier access to a few of the partyâs more obvious vices, and Occtis is unsurprised, but not remotely pleased when Kattigan and Julien end up half-drunk and arguing, yet again.
He at least manages to get them upstairs and into their rented room before his temper snaps. He doesnât think; he just lashes out, channeling a spell with formless, angry intent. Cold green light encircles both of the older menâs throats, tethers of it extending back to Occtisâ hand, and he yanks just hard enough to get their attention.
Julien stumbles, almost going to one knee, and Occtis sees the slight glassiness of drink give way to a flicker of heat in his eyes. Kattigan stills, but his gaze turns immediately to the arcanist - not in anger, but as if awaiting a command.
The sudden knowledge of the power he holds right now - not just the spell itself, but the effect he is capable of having on these two - absolutely floors him. His anger wavers, and the magic fizzles out, dissipating into empty air.
Kat moves first, ducking his head in an almost sheepish motion, a slow grin curling his lips. âSorry âbout that, pretty boy.â Thereâs still a faint slurred edge to his words, but his attention is focused, direct. Julien hums a wordless agreement as he closes distance to catch Occtisâ hand, pressing an apologetic kiss against his knuckles.
He is sufficiently distracted from his earlier annoyance to accept the apologies. Julienâs lips brush over the back of his hand, then the curve of his wrist; Kattigan slips up behind him, mouthing at the corner of his jaw. Occtis relaxes into the familiarity of their touches, and he lets the night dissolve into something softer: kisses that taste of too-rich wine, warm bodies against his, calloused hands on his skin.
In the morning, theyâre still sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled, pleasantly sated. Julien stirs from where heâs sandwiched between Occtis and Kattigan, running a fingertip absently along the arcanistâs collarbone. âThat spell,â he murmurs after a long few moments, quietly thoughtful. Occtis freezes for a moment, but the knightâs next words are more than a little reassuring. âI wonder if you could do it again.â
Kattiganâs chuckle holds a note of wordless agreement, and Occtis feels heat beginning to build in his core again, sees the flicker of new and curiously compelling images in his mindâs eye. âOr maybe Iâll find something a little more permanent,â he muses, already considering, and no longer remotely disgusted by the thought.
Judging by the way both of them answer, they arenât bothered by the idea, either. In fact, Occtis thinks as he moves between them, they seem to be looking forward to it.
