So I Was Planning On Writing Some Fic Stuff For The Blog But My SO And I Today Have Apparently Started

So I was planning on writing some fic stuff for the blog but my SO and I today have apparently started a joint writing project instead.

I'm not complaining by any means but I have so many ongoing fics now 😅

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.

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Lesson 1: "White Man Painted Black"?

Lesson 1.5: "Hair for Thought"- how visualizing affects your writing

Lesson 2: “That One Hairstyle? RETIRE IT!” Black Hair is an Art (pt.1)

Lesson 2.1: Addendum to Hair pt 1

Lesson 2: "It Takes HOW LONG?" Black Hair is an Art (pt.2)

Application! Ice's Lazy Loc Wash Routine

Application! How to: Simplified Braid

Lesson 3: "Defying the Default"- Skin Tones and the Presence of Black Characters

Application! What are Black fans looking for in Commissions?

Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life

Lesson 5: "The Same Place As the Music" Lighting & Color

Lesson 6: "Let's Have A Talk, First" Stereotypes, pt 1

Lesson 6: “Why’s she so rude?” (She’s Not)- Stereotypes, pt 2

Lesson 6: "Is He the Threat (Or Are You?)"- Stereotypes, pt 3

Lesson 7: "That's the Black one!"- Imagery and "Black-Coded" Characters

Tav is clearly the God of Defiance

You’ll need to excuse the ramblings of a writer that is a bottle of wine deep for this. But clearly, in my mind? Tav is the God of Defiance.

Across all of the companion quests, the ideal outcome is “No, you adorable moron, what this God/Lich/Devil/Vampire wants for/from you is terrible. Choose your own path. These divine bastards can fuck right off.” and that stance just… Works out well for Tav? Even when considering that you are facing down against the Grand Design of an elder brain as the focal point of the main quest, Tav straight up decides, “No - screw you - screw this - I’m not allowing that to happen” with no real repercussions to that.

Across the story, you as the player character come up against what would be to you and I as insurmountable odds and just… brute forces their way through to the outcome that they want?

You anger multiple gods or godlike entities, and instead of being wiped from the face of the Forgotten Realms the story just continues right along as if you didn’t just paint a massive divine target on your back?

In every companion questline, the team you form around you over the course of the story become stronger or more powerful in their own ways BECAUSE they listen to you when you tell them to ignore the powers that be and choose for themselves. Which as a whole makes the team stronger - makes TAV stronger. Because while a God in the context of the Forgotten Realms needs to be worshipped? A God of Defiance wouldn’t need to be. Every day when a mortal in the realms wakes up and chooses to live, to persevere in the face of the entire world around them conspiring to kill them? That’s an act of defiance, and that’s a prayer to God.

So when Gale decides after talking with you that he won’t blow himself on Mystra’s command? Tav gets stronger. When Wyll defies Mizora and refuses to kill an innocent Karlach? Tav becomes stronger. Because the people around them become more empowered in their ability to self determine their own fate.

We could go more meta and argue that clearly Tav is a God because they are operated by the player, a being outside the realm which the story is taking place in. An omniscient being with knowledge the characters simply don’t have. The ability to choose to not accept a roll of the dice, to explore the multitudes of choices available and simply to choose to return to a prior point to make a decision that aligns with your personal story preference the best in the long term.

But why do you need to when quite frankly Tav should have been a name in that book of forgotten/dead gods in the crypt where you first meet Withers?

Do I also like the idea (as a massive brat) of telling Ao, god of all gods, that in fact, no, I will not simply stop interfering with the lives of mortals? That by telling me that I can’t that you have given me all the power in this situation to do just that? Or that I could in theory punch Mystra in the face as Tav for implying that Gale could win her favour back by blowing himself up? It’s at least part of that.

In my mind Tav simply can’t explain this to their companions, that maybe Ao got a little pissy when he realised his mistake. Something along the lines of “Unless they already know or figure it out you can’t tell mortals that you’re a literal GOD. And no - I’m not allowing you to weasel your way out of this one Tav.”

And here comes my fic idea that I may or may not already have imagined at least a dozen chapters for:

Could you imagine the plot twist when you first meet Elminster? Your companions are questioning why the gods can’t interfere and the old wizard is just sitting there like “You do realise there’s already a God among you?” and it turns out Tav put themselves into a situation where they would be tadpole’d because it allows them to directly interfere because this is no longer a problem affecting mortals but also the Gods? The fact that this 1300 year old wizard (who must have figured it out along the way across his many adventures) points out your godly essence allows you in that moment to become this divine bastion against all the shit your companions are facing - people who have very quickly become important friends or lovers to you over the course of your little adventure? And now you no longer have to pretend to be this dumb nobody that just so happened to be spearheading this mission to save Faerun? Damn, I want that fic. I might write that fic.

Listen, if Stephanie Meyer can Mary Sue her way into a multiple book/movie deal I’m just saying that I should be allowed to get away with this in fanfiction.

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.

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.

Virtue the Swordsmaster

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:

https://www.tumblr.com/monsterspet/738994232748048384/i-love-how-i-started-this-blog-for-monster-smut?source=share

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.”