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Nic

@cuntclassique.bsky.social

🇵🇸 she/her/thatbitch™️ multifandom. selfinsertmage. 30. correct always.

58 Posts53 Follower42 Folgt
Nic@cuntclassique.bsky.social · last yr.

You know who do always have my sympathies and my good wishes, the designers, the programmers, the concept artists, the sound engineers, the HANDS. Not the writers or the board heads. EA being evil isn’t new and writing lacking intersectionality or hiding hidden messages, also isn’t new.

BildBild
🏵️@fruitzbat.bsky.social · 2y ago

opening up the pit to say hi! I’m Remy; I write and my passion in my transformative works is good worldbuilding & exploring themes of identity, resistance, and devotion. Also gay sex. You can find my bg3 and critrole fic on ao3 and slide into the DMs for my unpublished DA fics. Glad to be here!

A Screencap which reads as follows: The Herald of Andraste pulled out a wooden cigarette case that he’d hacked his initials into with a dull knife: RZL. “Do you mind?” “Depends. You sharing?” But of course. Rimon extended a finger and lit Varric’s cigarette before lighting his own. “I haven’t smoked anything with cloves in it since the Blight,” said Varric. “The tobacco in the Imperium is so bad that you have to. I never quite broke the habit.” “You’re holding it backwards, Princess.” A Screencap which reads as follows: When asked, those in Darktow would say that the broadcast only played once. But it played over, and over, and over again — Kingsley had instructed Melody that he wanted the number to equal, in total, to the number of Revelry entries in the books of the Hespetarian slavers. Melody was a brilliant inventor. The sound projection on those repeaters was so good that Bacon’s testimony was loud enough that one could hear it all the way down in the Shin Hold. Prisoners’ legs were crossed as they sat at their cotsides, nodding along with each bit of Bacon’s story. Some started snickering at the sound of the frantic guardsmen trying to figure out where exactly the devices had been hidden, given that they sounded to be so close by. A Screencap which reads as follows: He had done his level best to put Hawke further out of his mind, but she kept showing up to ask him along and he could never find a good enough reason to refuse her. Today, Hawke stood at his threshold on a mission, with ampoules of tonics in a woven bag slung over her shoulders. “You’re going to get ill if you leave all of those bodies to putrefy,” she said, hands lifting to re-tie her hair back. “The miasma is how things like the cholera spreads.” He couldn’t even debate. The phrase “what if I want the cholera” couldn’t even come from his straight face of straight faces; he could do little else but step aside for Hawke to walk back into the mansion.A Screencap which reads as follows: The year was 1491. Gale of Waterdeep had not slept in thirty-six hours, pilot of Toril’s smallest ferry between his study and his washroom in the meanwhile. The sun warming his balcony felt too good for the likes of him. Most of all, Gale did not wish to be seen from the streets. He’d petitioned the nearest library to send him all of their tomes pertaining to arcane hunger and wasting diseases — one of the perks of his position. Whether they were going to cut him off once it became clear he was no longer fit for his post as an archmage was a mystery to him. It had been four months. He’d received no word from anyone. He was trying not to take it personally. He was…failing.
Nic@cuntclassique.bsky.social · 2y ago

The brush glides slowly, each stroke reverent, his love for her woven into every shadow, curve. She is his quiet, peace, Each stroke a prayer, his love for her blooming with every color he blends. He paints, he marvels. she exists, freely, in this space. In his mind.