#I lost my dignity writing these horrors.

[beanscool]

Grrr... 1/10!1!1!1 Where is straight cis 9 ft long blonde hair, blue orbs, 3 ft tall, slim, petite y/n!1!+1!! Outrageous. /J

BOOKTOK GIRLIES! How much SPICE🔥 is in this book?! /s

[spacelazarwolf]

apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, ��Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

[justforbooks]

Teri Garr

American actor who brought superb comic timing to her roles in film classics such as Young Frankenstein and Tootsie

The American actor Teri Garr, who has died aged 79, once said: “I’ve spent a lot of time clawing my way to the middle.” That remark could have sprung from the lips of any of the fizzy, dizzy, nakedly neurotic women who were her speciality from the mid-1970s onwards.

In Mel Brooks’s horror pastiche Young Frankenstein (1974), she was Inga, the bubbly laboratory assistant who, when proposing a roll in the hay, means precisely that and nothing more. She played the wives of troubled men in two very different fantasies from 1977.

In Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind, she tries to keep her children chipper while their father (Richard Dreyfuss), a UFO obsessive, descends into madness. In the comedy Oh, God!, in which her husband (John Denver) is visited by the wisecracking Almighty (George Burns), she says tearfully: “I went to empty the garbage and two people blessed me. And then one of them blessed the garbage.” In both instances she invested stay-at-home sidekick roles with abundant warmth, humour and generosity.

Younger audiences came to know Garr as the mother of Phoebe Buffay (Lisa Kudrow) in the 1990s sitcom Friends, but her career high point was Tootsie (1982), starring Dustin Hoffman as a cross-dressing actor. Playing Sandy, his sometime lover waiting for her big acting break, Garr was touchingly grounded. She improvised some of her funniest moments, such as being locked in the bathroom and then resolving to use the experience in her acting work, and made comic capital out of the way in which the tiniest knock could send Sandy’s self-esteem plummeting. Most magically, she brought dignity to a part that could have come across as a doormat. Garr was Oscar-nominated but lost out to Jessica Lange for her performance in the same film.

The production was famously troubled, passing through so many writers and potential directors that there were rumours of an “I Also Wrote/ I Almost Directed Tootsie” club in Hollywood. Hoffman and the eventual director, Sydney Pollack, spent most of the protracted 100-day shoot either at loggerheads or communicating only through intermediaries.

Garr found Hoffman exhausting. “It’s not enough to give in to him,” she said. “You have to like what he wants too!” Such off-screen troubles only made the delightful end result all the more miraculous. In the escalating mania of the picture’s final stretch, Garr came into her own with her killer timing and gasping indignation.

She was born in Lakewood, Ohio, to showbiz parents: Phyllis Lind, born Emma Schmotzer, was a dancer with the Rockettes, while Eddie Garr, born Edward Gonnoud, was a vaudeville performer and actor who starred alongside a young Marilyn Monroe in Ladies of the Chorus (1948). After he died when Garr was 11, the family moved from their home in New Jersey to Hollywood, where her mother became a wardrobe mistress for film and television.

From an early age Garr harboured aspirations to be an actor and dancer. At 13 she performed with a professional ballet company in San Francisco. She was educated at Magnificat high school, Ohio, North Hollywood high school and California State University at Northridge before appearing in the West Side Story road show and Donald O’Connor’s revue at the Cocoanut Grove club.

Garr’s earliest film appearances were as a background dancer in Elvis Presley movies; she appeared in nine including Fun in Acapulco (1963), Kissin’ Cousins, Viva Las Vegas (both 1964) and Clambake (1967). She began taking acting lessons and found herself in the same class as Jack Nicholson, who was writing the deranged film Head (1968) as a vehicle for the Monkees. He doled out small parts to his classmates, providing Garr with her first speaking role as a woman who suffers a snakebite. (“Quick,” she tells Micky Dolenz, proffering an injured finger, “suck it before the venom reaches my heart.”)

She became a regular in the early and mid-70s on The Sonny & Cher Show – she based Inga’s accent in Young Frankenstein on Cher’s German wig stylist – and appeared on sitcoms such as The Bob Newhart Show and M*A*S*H.

Francis Ford Coppola gave her a small role in his surveillance thriller The Conversation (1974) and she was also part of the ensemble cast in two ramshackle US comedies by British directors: Michael Winner’s star-studded Won Ton Ton, the Dog Who Saved Hollywood (1976) and John Schlesinger’s Honky Tonk Freeway (1981).

After playing the young hero’s mother in the lyrical Coppola-produced adventure The Black Stallion (1979), Garr became part of the director’s Zoetrope Repertory Company, appearing in other films produced or directed by him.

“Instead of getting a big chunk of money for a movie, I’d take a weekly cheque or a small amount, because we were all going to share the profits later. After a while, even the small cheques stopped coming.” Zoetrope productions in which she starred included The Escape Artist and the stylised but commercially disastrous musical One from the Heart (both 1982). Of the latter, Garr said: “It was over-rehearsed. After you have done a scene 25 times, you have no energy left, you don’t care.”

She was one of the leads in The Sting II, a lacklustre sequel to the 1973 con-artist comedy film. She briefly reprised her role in The Black Stallion Returns and played the wife to a house-husband (Michael Keaton) in Mr Mom (both 1983).

A rare foray into straight drama came as a divorced woman taking up with a cad in Michael Apted’s Firstborn (1984), and she was wickedly funny in Martin Scorsese’s black comedy After Hours (1985) as a Monkees-obsessed, beehive-sporting waitress whose cupboards are stacked with cans of hairspray (a touch that Garr herself suggested).

In Miracles (1986), she and Tom Conti played a couple who reassess their relationship when they are kidnapped on the brink of divorce. Further roles included the gentle drama Full Moon in Blue Water (1988) and the crime caper Out Cold (1989), as well as supporting parts in Dumb and Dumber (1994), the Watergate comedy Dick (1999) and Terry Zwigoff’s wry comic-book adaptation Ghost World (2001).

In 2002, Garr announced that she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Three years later, she published an autobiography, Speedbumps: Flooring It Through Hollywood, which she originally planned to title Does This Wheelchair Make Me Look Fat? In 2006 she suffered a brain aneurysm that inhibited her speech and movement, though she recovered both after months of rehabilitation. Her last film appearances were in two well-liked indie comedy-dramas, Expired and Kabluey (both 2007), made before the aneurysm.

When she expressed her dissatisfaction with the roles that she had been offered, it was sometimes hard to tell if she was being comically self-deprecating. “Directors would tell me, ‘We want you to play a character a little less complex than you are.’ Yeah, sure. What they mean is, ‘You’re playing a dummy.’” No part inhabited by Garr, though, was ever so easily pigeonholed. Her particular talent lay in introducing a sparkling comic complexity far beyond what existed on the page.

She is survived by her daughter, Molly, from her three-year marriage to the actor John O’Neil, which ended in divorce in 1996.

🔔 Teri Garr, actor, born 11 December 1944; died 29 October 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[voxofthevoid]

Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #7—and showing no signs of stopping. It doesn't help that my writing pace has been relatively slow and scattered last month and this one, so I'm covering less of the narrative in a month than I used to. We'll see if November is more chill.

The fic is now 53k, and I've just started Chapter 09. The story is only approaching the halfway mark, and Gojou has yet to show up—next chapter or the one after though!

This week's entry features Tōji and Yuuji, with a little bit of sleeping!Megumi. It's my first time actually writing Tōji, and I gotta say, it's fun. Didn't mean for him to come across...like that, but well. It fits.

Enjoy?

“Fushiguro! Fushiguro, open up! Fushiguro—” Yuuji’s fists meet empty air instead of solid wood, and he pitches forward, right into a slab of rock—that yields ever so slightly, more suffocating than bruising. “Mmmph?”

“Pinkie,” drawls a distinctive voice. “You lost down there or just having fun?”

Yuuji detaches himself from Fushiguro Tōji’s overly generous chest, staring up and blinking till the world makes a little more sense. A narrow-eyed stare greets him. The scarred corner of that mouth is quirked up, but it’s not clear if it’s a smirk or a frown or some biting combination of both.

“Sorry,” Yuuji gasps, a few seconds too late to salvage his dignity. He backs up too, almost tripping down the front steps in his hurry to get away from Fushiguro’s dad’s sheer bulk. “Didn’t mean to—sorry for the ruckus, it’s just—Fushiguro?”

A dark eyebrow rises sharply. “That sure is me.”

“No, I mean—not you, Fushiguro-san, I meant—”

“I know who you want, kid,” Fushiguro’s dad says, stepping back from the door and turning away, leaving it open in what’s the closest to permission Yuuji’s ever gotten from this man. He steps inside, shutting the door behind him. “What’s the fuss anyway? You two have a little lover’s spat?”

“…We’re not dating, Fushiguro-san.”

“Fucker’s spat then.”

Yuuji breathes in and breathes out the urge to slam his head into the closest wall. “We’re not…doing that either.”

“Kids these days.” He scoffs. “Too damn slow about everything.”

Yuuji opens his mouth and closes it without saying a single word. He’s pretty sure the guy’s just fucking with him. Or fucking with Fushiguro, more like. He’s the one who always gets all red-faced and worked up when his dad starts on this. Yuuji usually finds it funny, at least after he got over the initial burst of panic-infused confusion at someone like this man thinking he was trying to woo his son, but today, he’s—

“Is Fushiguro home? I mean, Megumi—” Yuuji makes a face, the name tasting wrong on his tongue—not overly familiar, no, just not allowed.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Fushiguro’s dad tells him, with a rumble in his throat that’s a little too mean to be just amusement. “Just call me Tōji, it’s fine. Family names ain’t all that anyway. But kid, you’ll be grey in the grave before that stuffy brat gives you permission to use his pretty little name. You just gotta take what you want from the likes of him.”

“I—” He’s got no idea what to say to that. He’s not sure he wants to learn. “Is he here?”

Fushiguro’s dad—Tōji, which is weird but somehow not as weird as saying Megumi—drops heavily onto the touch, picking up the remote and gesturing upward with it. “In his room.”

“Oh. He wasn’t picking up his phone.”

“So you decided to, what, run here?” Tōji slants him a sideways glance, scanning Yuuji from head to toe, and he looks immeasurably bored with everything and anything, but Yuuji still feels skewered through, suddenly hyperaware of the clothes sticking to his skin with sweat and the hair plastered to his forehead. It’s not the running that turned him into a sweat factory, but the real reason is worse. “Needy much?”

“No, I…” There’s a wild urge to really explain—everything Yuuji saw, everything he didn’t. But he clings to what’s left of his sense and chokes it down. “I was just worried.”

Tōji looks away with a rough huff of breath, shaking his head while flipping through channels. “Sure. He’s sleeping, not rejecting you or whatever overdramatic bullshit you built up in your horny teenage head.”

“Sleeping?” Yuuji asks, looking at the dusty clock hanging on the wall even though he’s got a damn good idea what hour it is. “It’s three in the afternoon. Fushiguro hates napping.”

“Does he?” Tōji asks disinterestedly. “Go wake him up then.”

“I can do that?”

“Do whatever you want, kid. I’m not going to hold your dick for you. Just don’t get too frisky. The little shit sleeps with a knife.”

Tōji sounds such an unsettling mixture of irritated and impressed that Yuuji backs away toward the stairs in sheer self-defense, turning around halfway and speedwalking the rest of the distance, bounding up the stairs with a lot less care than he usually takes, and he’s at Fushiguro’s door in seconds, grabbing the knob and pushing it open before he can think it through—or think at all.

The door opens soundlessly, revealing the familiar confines of Fushiguro’s room.

There’s a boy-sized lump on the bed, buried under a thick duvet. The window’s open, but the curtains have been pulled shut, drenching the room in dark blue light. They billow out as if greeting Yuuji, settling slowly back down as the breeze dies out.

Fushiguro doesn’t stir.

Yuuji creeps closer, all his urgency pulling back under his skin to writhe there. No matter what Tōji said, Yuuji doesn’t really want to wake Fushiguro. He just has to see him.

He just needs to make sure he’s okay.

Yuuji stops in the middle of the room, still a few steps away from the bed. He’s close enough to see Fushiguro’s face and even the shape of his body under the covers. He looks…fine. Healthy, unharmed. He’s breathing deeply, and his face looks different than it usually does, but that’s always the case when he’s asleep, all those stubborn frowns and furrows falling away to turn its lines into something softer and sweeter.

And there’s no real expression on Fushiguro’s face right now, but it’s almost funny how this lack of expression is so different from the inhuman blankness that bore into Yuuji from those church pews. Fushiguro’s eyes are closed right now, but Yuuji knows in his bones that, if he pried those eyes open, it’d be blue-green fire that glares out at him, not that horrible darkness.

His legs almost buckle as pure relief floods him.

Yuuji backs away instead, anything but steady. He’s still careful to be quiet, even when he finds the half-open door without looking away from Fushiguro and steps back out of the room.

He can’t bring himself to close the door and deny himself the view of Fushiguro’s sleeping body.

That’s creepy, right? Not as bad as whatever Tōji thinks Yuuji plans to do to his son, but that’s a low bar. He shouldn’t be standing around staring at his sleeping friend, even from a distance.

It’s just—

Yuuji doesn’t remember.

The last time Yuuji saw Fushiguro, it was at the church, and Sukuna was holding them both—Yuuji in his arms, Fushiguro under his fucked-up spell. And that’s the last thing Yuuji remembers of the church. Standing there with Sukuna while his worldview shattered into splinters, each one drawing blood. He thinks the hands around his neck tightened, but he doesn’t remember suffocating.

Only darkness—and then light, the sun streaming in through his own bedroom windows.

He’d wanted it to be a dream so badly.

But he knew it wasn’t, even before the bruises made themselves known.

He lost hours. Nanami wasn’t in the house, but there was breakfast cold on the table. Yuuji didn’t take a single bite, but he’ll apologize for that later. At least Nanami wasn’t around to hear Yuuji curse that church and the monster there, his voice and his panic growing louder with every text and call that went unanswered, and he didn’t see Yuuji tear out of that house like the hounds of hell were at his heels.

Maybe it’s a miracle Tōji let him inside at all. Kugisaki’s grandma sure wouldn’t have.

But Fushiguro’s here. He looks like himself. He’s…not safe, probably, but he’s whole and alive. And that tight, thorny knot in the center of Yuuji’s chest won’t really fade until he talks to Fushiguro and makes sure it’s really his friend, all inside, but he doesn’t want to wake him up for that.

In case it’s vacant black eyes that flash open to greet him, in case—

No. That won’t happen. Yuuji won’t let it happen, even if he has to march back to that church and tear Fushiguro out of Sukuna’s belly himself.

He finally closes the door, staggering back to slump against the opposite wall. His heart is somewhere in his throat, not pounding away so much as clogging his airways. Every breath tastes like congealed blood.

It’s no phantom flavor.

Yuuji can feel it in his own blood—the rot, waiting.

Is that what Sukuna did to Fushiguro? Pry open his mouth, pour in the filth.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Hi! I have a request, could you write meruem x reader (female). Fluff and he being overprotective over his lover, a oneshot or ongoing fic. Perhaps pregnant reader if you are ok with it ofc.

I don't do pregnancy sorry:( how about we compromise with a forced wedding trope:))))))

oh wow, you said fluff? does-does killing loved ones and forcing the love of your life to swear their life to you count as fluff? Istg I cant read I'm so sorry

(Dark content, forced marriage, implied murder, implied stalking)

You've heard what was happening in the Kakin Empire.

Just rumors. Murmurs whispered here and there. People were disappearing in droves, but no one knew what was really happening. Some people speculated of aliens finally touching the Earth, taking humanity into the stars. Others thought it was a government failure, a leaked chemical plant that was causing people to die and the Empire was just covering it up.

It was a tragedy, but you lived two countries away from the Kakin Empire. It wasn't supposed to effect you.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. You were supposed to marry the man of your dreams. Live the rest of your life in marital bliss.

Now, the man you were about to swear your life to was dead, and someone else sat at your side.

You've never seen anyone like him. He was peculiar looking. Handsome, but his skin was an inhuman green color. You've never seen someone with a tail before. He was oddly beautiful, in a tragic sort of way.

But you could barely care about appearances, not with how effortlessly he started to massacre.

He called himself the King when he entered the venue. You thought him rude, at first, when he interrupted the ritual with his sudden presence. Your fiance looked annoyed at the appearance. You could see him turn, about to curse out the stranger.

In retrospect, you should be grateful his death was quick. Painless.

You don't notice his subordinates until they demand attention as well. Three, just as peculiar as their leader. One demands that everyone bow for their so-called King. When the crowd doesn't listen, still amassed in hysteria, you have a perfect view as his men begin to pick off the crowd one by one. The only ones left are the few that were smart enough to reel in their horror, slinking down to their knees.

And then there's you.

He's slow when he makes his ascension. You wonder if he was the personification of death itself, coming to claim you for his own. You wished he would, but instead, he stops, right by your side. Instead of killing you, he starts to speak.

He has a nice voice.

He says he's been watching you for a while. He says that in order to respect your tumultuous human customs, he will finish this ceremony with you so you two can be wed. Then, he sits down right next to you, urging the shaking priest to continue.

You don't acknowledge him, not at first. You're not smiling anymore. You don't stare into the remaining crowd, too scared to see who you also lost. Instead, you look down at your hands, draped in jewelry and henna. You continue to stare, reminiscing how just ten minutes ago, you were so so happy.

You wince when a hand reaches over to roughly grab your arm. It doesn't hurt, but it easily could have.

"You don't seem happy," He hisses, "I expect you to behave gratefully. It is an honor to marry a King."

You nod because you're a coward. You value your life more than your dignity.

"Yes, your Majesty," You respond quietly.

"You must not use titles when referring to me," He declares, "From now on, you will call me by my name or husband."

"I don't know your name." You respond.

Of course, you didn't know his name. The monster of the man who entered your life so suddenly. He's silent, and you wonder if that's the last graciousness he'll give you. If he's decided to slay you here, leave you for another more obedient one.

"Meruem," He finally responds, "My name is Meruem."

He doesn't speak another word, intently focusing on the priest. You both sit in silence, hearing the priest shakily recite the mantras, hearing your remaining family quietly sob on the floor.

He acknowledges you once more when he ties the mangal sutra around your neck. It's thin, discrete, and easily hides under your gaudy dress. Still, it feels like a chain that suddenly snaps in place, bogging you down.

You don't remember much after that. It's only after Meruem pulls you up, effectively pulling you back into reality. There are still many rituals to be done. He doesn't seem to care. You don't either.

He leads you away from the altar. Your bare feet hit the smooth tile as you are dragged outside. The anklets create small jingles, bells that ring your perceived fate. The men who came in with him, silently trail behind. The doors close behind you with a sickening thud, locking you away from your dream forever.

You wouldn't be able to bury him.

Meruem suddenly stops, turning back to you. He reaches up to your face as though he is fascinated. You can feel him wipe a tear off your cheek.

You hadn't even realized you'd begun to cry.

"I can make you happy," He promises, his voice small, so much different compared to how he spoke less than ten minutes ago.

You search his face. His eyes show a glimmer of loneliness. Desperation.

It's gone within a moment. The King takes a breath, removing his hand.

"Come," He says, the usual cruelty back in his voice, "We should return to the palace. Your new home."

[fulloftheloveyouwant]

Ghostober/Kinktober day 1, "Foreplay."

Summary: Rain teases Aether for a week straight and ends up "learning" his lesson in bed with Aether.

Warnings/Tags: Anal sex, anal fingering, orgasm denial, overstimulation, edging, dacryphilia, and of course foreplay.

Rating: Explicit, MDNI 18+

Length: 2.2k words

Notes: October is here! Now besides my love of the horror month, it's also time for kinktober which is way more exciting in my opinion. I'll be sure to be cozied up watching plenty of slashers while writing this month.

Extra (extra) notes: The list I'm using is compiled by Kroas-Adtam. My ghostober will also be cross posted on my Ao3.

It was so difficult to concentrate like this, Aether was being overly calm as he kissed Rain and stroked his horns. He refused to touch Rain in any of his sensitive areas, he was.. Toying with him, at least it felt like it.

Rain panted as he was able to have air, how long have they been at this? Minutes? Hours? Time felt lost to him as Aether pulled away, he had an idea. Rain was looking at him curiously, wondering what the quintessence ghoul had in mind.

They didn't exchange words, perhaps because words weren't needed. Aether pulled Rain out of his pants and discarded them, the wonderful thing about water ghouls is their self lubrication. It saves you from needing extra lube most of the time..

Rain whimpered underneath Aether's touch, one hand was dancing along his sensitive thighs. Fingers would come so close to touching his cock that was sputtering occasional drops of pre and yet Aether ignored it completely, it was almost impressive how cruelly Aether bypassed it.

His fingers outlined a careful pattern around Rain's body, seeing which way he'd react and when he wouldn't. How much longer could they keep going like this? Rain was fading, at least he thinks he's fading. It's hard to concentrate with the barely there pleasure, especially now that Aether was dancing across his bare skin.

Finally Aether took pity on the water ghoul and pushed one finger inside of his ring of muscle, inside he was well lubricated but he only pushed up to his knuckle. Rain whimpered, just barely audible. He wanted more and Aether was dragging this out..

The finger curls inside of him, roaming around with its limited range. He made sure to have Rain subtly whining before he even thought about adding a second finger, he can feel quintessence starting to flood his system. While it wasn't very strong, it was still.. able to be perceived. It was relaxing him, making him boneless.

When the second finger is added, he lets out a small gasp. His black curls are starting to stick to his sweaty face, his body had been steadily heating up from its generally cool state as Aether had been messing with him and making him hot all over.

The two fingers inside of him work in tandem, scissoring before pulling back out and then abruptly thrusting in again. Aether was just prepping Rain but he was being so deliberate about it, making sure Rain could never get too close. This is just foreplay after all, they haven't even got to the main event.

He added a third now, the three fingers fanning inside of Rain and brushing past his sweet spot that made Rain moan. It felt so good yet it was clearly not enough, Aether was making it difficult to get any tangible satisfaction and was merely leaving Rain on the edge constantly.

His cock drools a solid line of pre, he wants to reach out and touch himself, just a few strokes- But Aether would punish him for ruining preparation. He whined, looking down at Aether as his body wiggled. "Shh, stay still." Aether was calm, perhaps too calm. Rain cried as fingers touched his sensitive nerves again, his cock jolting at the action.

This was near excruciating, being slowly fucked on Aether's fingers. Rain's dignity and pride was fading impossibly fast, he wants more and he needs it now. "Aeth- Please. Please I can't-" Rain whined, his eyes glossy with forming tears. He'd be crying soon if Aether didn't indulge him more.

"I know.. I know." Aether shushed as he pulled his fingers out of Rain again making the other ghoul sob, he pushed himself close to Rain to kiss around his neck and gently rake his claws on Rain's skin. The sensation made Rain want to bite Aether, the teasing was making him absolutely miserable because he couldn't get off to it alone.

It seems like Aether took pity on Rain after a millennia, his hand scooped Rain's member up into his grip before he had languid yet strong jerks. Each one sent a shockwave of delight down Rain's body, from his scalp to his toes. It seemed to be radiating in combination with the quintessence that Aether had been steadily increasing, Rain's mind becomes cloudier with each stroke.

Then, Aether pulled away just as Rain's body started to tense and become taut. "Nooo!" Rain cried out, actual tears dripping from his eyes. They wet his cheeks as his face blushed a cerulean blue, the frustration of losing his orgasm after that was indescribable. He wanted to rip Aether apart but also pull him closer.

Aether stroked his cheek gently before he removed it, he was using all of Rain's body to his advantage to keep working him up and then letting him fall again before he ever reached his pinnacle.

Aether ran his hands across Rain's body before lowering himself to suck on the perked up nipples, Rain keened into Aether's mouth wanting more of him all over his body. His back arching as his hips shifted uncomfortably, unable to get rid of the ache settled deep within his body. The quintessence lightened enough for him to have more clear thoughts again.

"I can't keep- Being worked up like this. Please.. Aeth, please." Rain begged, all sense of pride completely gone. He just wanted to fall apart under Aether's masterful touch, anything for him to recognise that and just reward Rain for his obedience and patience so far.

Aether pulled away once Rain's skin had a bruise forming on it, his tongue ran against the points of his fangs as he gave Rain a dangerous expression. Had he talked too much? Begged too many times? He couldn't help but whimper at the glare he was receiving, however Aether surprised him once he looked away.

He lined himself up to Rain's stretched hole and then pushed inside, Rain gasped before it became a hiss as Aether's cock twitched inside of him. He was large, it always took a lot of adjusting and easing in for the two of them to make it work.

Rain knew that but the foreplay was always treacherous with Aether because he brings in edging to the mix, Rain loves it and hates it at the same time. If he really wasn't feeling it, he would've told Aether earlier. But he tolerated it today..

He tolerated it just so he could have Aether to himself.

Aether's behaviour now was a complete contrast to how soft he had been before, now it was hurried and vicious. Each thrust being pointed and directed, Rain cried each time- It was so much and everything he had wanted. He can't imagine anything but Aether ruining him right now.

Aether's quintessence starts to seep into the mix again, accidental this time as Aether was also in the throes of lust and couldn't concentrate on not letting it affect Rain. His claws hold Rain down, making sure he couldn't move while Rain kept blinking the watery tears out of his eyes while trying to focus on Aether.

His body is filled with the urge to consume and be subsumed at the same time, his orgasm was building fast and it took him by surprise when Aether hit his sensitive spot. Rain gasped before it turned into a moan, it was ripped out of his throat as Aether continued fucking him through the orgasm- Not stopping even once.

That was one down, could they pull another?

Aether was being measured about everything, making sure his own body didn't get too riled up and end their fun early. After all, this was about Rain. His hands scooped up the still warm pearly cum before stroking Rain with it, Rain makes a sound caught between pain and lust.

He was overstimulated but he didn't want Aether to stop, another knot was building in his stomach much quicker than the last one. His hands reached out for Aether who lowered himself so Rain could grab him, his arms wrapped around Aether's neck as he pulled him down for a needy kiss.

The kiss they share feels hot yet burns on Rain's side, his body is impossibly hot now and Aether just made it worse. This heat kept steadily building, not to mention how his nerves would first have a wave of pain before it was overpowered by a stronger wave of pleasure.

Aether was an excellent kisser which didn't help, their tongues dancing with each other and playing some sort of game Rain can't decipher. Aether pulled away first, his thrusts now being slower as Rain came a second time. He bit against his bottom lip, drawing blood from how hard he bit down. Once he was done spilling in Aether's hand, he let himself calm down.

Aether stopped accordingly, whispering praises and soothing Rain until he was comfortable and could take Aether. The blankets underneath them felt rough against his sensitive skin, he focused on more minute details as he gave Aether the okay to continue.

Aether wasn't faring well anymore, Rain had squeezed him twice and his arousal was so pungent it was all he could smell. Rain's gasps now are quiet as his cock was steadily softening, Aether wasn't attempting to get their water ghoul worked up anymore.

His thrusts are erratic and slowed, after a few more moans pulled out of Rain he came. Dropping against the other ghoul with a thud, Rain didn't really mind. His hands came up to rub at Aether's back, both of them were equally exhausted after all of that.

Rain's noises were so pretty, his face stained in tears was also pretty. Every part of him was just beautiful, like a work of art you can never stop staring at. Rain knows this and uses it to his advantage on everyone, it's no surprise water ghouls tend to be the most appealing. The myth of mermaids didn't come from just anywhere..

He had been teasing Aether for days, getting the quint ghoul all worked up in his mind as he was trying to decide if Rain was just being nice or was attempting to seduce him. It's a fine line with Rain and Aether hadn't been in the mood to second-guess multiple times, he took Rain aside earlier today after another suggestive tail flick.

"We're not going to keep doing this." Aether says flatly with a scolding tone towards Rain, "Doing what?" Rain asked back beating his eyelashes at Aether with a dumb expression, "This. Don't act stupid." Aether then says now with an added growl.

"This..?" Rain says, pressing Aether even further. Aether wasn't planning to take Rain today, but clearly Rain was in the mood to provoke. "My bed, now." Aether then snarled, fangs snapping at Rain. Rain didn't say a word back, his body turned and walked away as his tail was wagging. Aether followed behind and here they were.

Aether pulled his softened member out of Rain, both of them hissing at their senses going haywire with the sensation. "That was good." Rain finally says as he stared at the ceiling while Aether climbed off his bed, Rain was staring at the projected stars on the ceiling above. Aether has a pretty cool light projector that displays the constellations and galaxies alike onto his ceiling.

"I'd agree. Although next time, don't tease me for an entire week." Aether huffed, not quite angry but definitely not pleased about why they're here. "I'll.. Attempt to remember that." Rain grinned watching Aether disappear into his bathroom before returning with cool rags. "Open your legs, it won't take long if you don't make it take long." Aether says, voice softening once more.

"You say that like I ever fight, I'm not Dewdrop- He's the one who hates being cleaned after sex." Rain says, spreading his legs wide enough for Aether to start wiping him down. Aether paid attention to whenever he'd hiss or seem like he was in pain, pausing before continuing more softly than before.

Once Rain's body was cleaned off Aether cleaned himself off, "I'm gonna need a shower." Rain sighed, Aether sniffed lightly and could still smell the aroma of arousal. "I agree, we reek." Aether says with a small laugh, Rain smiled as he pushed himself up to be kneeling. "But first, can we go again?" Rain asked, tracing his sharp claws on Aether's neck.

Aether paused before looking up and tilting his head, "Didn't have enough with two?" Aether questioned amused. "Never. C'mon, I'll let you do whatever you want to me this time." Rain says, once again that same teasing and suggestive look he had all week returned.

"Don't test me Rainy." Aether says with a growl, "So? If you can put me in place then do it." Rain scoffed back, Aether discarded the rag towards the end of the bed before turning with his claws out as he pinned Rain back down underneath him in a well executed pounce. "You just don't learn, do you?" Aether asked, orchid irises being swallowed by his pupils that dilated as he was the hunter above Rain.

"I guess I don't." Rain says back with a barely there smile.

[ykzzr]

Deadly love (22 June 1908)

(On this day 115 years ago, Prince Nikolai Yusupov and Count Arvid Manteuffel duel took place, in which Nikolai was killed for his beloved Marina.)

In March 1908, at one of the dinners of amateur artists from high society youth, Nikolai was introduced to the young Countess Marina Haydn. Marina, as a lady-in-waiting to the Empress, was invited to take part in a charity performance.

She was 19 years old and was about to marry the captain of the Life Guards Cavalry Regiment, Count Arvid Ernstovich Manteuffel, heir to an old Baltic family.

Yusupov played the role of a man in the play, and Marina unexpectedly boldly chose the role of a nasty hunchbacked old woman, who played her role deftly and cheerfully. Nikolai Yusupov could not help but pay attention to such a charming girl.

Their meeting can be called a fatal chance. Passion broke out between them instantly, and the fact that Marina's wedding took place a month later did not stop them.

Nikolai Yusupov was going to marry Marina, but his mother, Zinaida Nikolaevna Yusupova, did not agree to this marriage.

When Marina learned of Zinaida's refusal to see her as her son's wife, she began begging her lover: "Let's run outside and get married!" They planned to escape, but Marina's mother intervened: she couldn't allow her daughter to escape so shamefully before the wedding with a man.

The girl tearfully begged her parents to cancel the wedding, but to no avail. On the eve of the wedding, the two lovers met. On April 22, 1908, Nikolai Yusupov and Marina Gaydin arranged a farewell dinner in a separate room of the restaurant, Marina and Arvid Manaville's wedding took place on April 23, 1908, as planned. There were three hundred guests at the wedding. Zinaida Nikolaevna Yusupova sighed softly: this is all resolved.

After the wedding, they went to France for their honeymoon. Left alone with her unloved husband, the beautiful, eccentric Marina realizes the horror of her situation as a recluse in a golden cage, She bombarded Nikolai Yusupov daily with passionate letters, begging him to come, and Nikolai followed marina to France

Marina asked her husband for a divorce, but was refused. Seizing the moment, she secretly met Nikolai Yusupov, who settled nearby at the Hotel Maurice in Paris.

After that, Marina and Nikolai, as if forgetting about decency, appear together in society, at fairs, at operas and restaurants. Arvid finds out quickly enough and demands an explanation from his wife, Marina in the midst of a quarrel, boldly says to her husband: "I'm leaving you. It's all over between us!" Indeed, she leaves her husband.

Inspired, Nikolai Yusupov writes a letter to his mother and again asks permission to marry Marina, who is on the verge of a divorce.

Then Count Manteuffel, in order not to become a laughing stock in society, challenges Yusupov to a duel. He is instigated by regimental comrades: "Yusupov insulted your honor and dignity! It can't be left like that. Only a duel..."

Nikolai wrote to his beloved Marina in their last letter:

“I am not afraid of death, but it’s hard for me to die away from you without seeing you one last time.

Goodbye forever, I love you."

The duel took place on June 22, 1908 in St. Petersburg, on Krestovsky Island At the predawn hour.

At 8 o'clock in the morning on June 22, 1908, Nikolai Yusupov was mortally wounded in the chest. An honest passion cost the prince his life: the cold-bloodedly offended Manteuffel shot Nikolai, who shot twice into the air, from a distance of fifteen steps.

Felix Yusupov described this tragic day as follows: “I heard tearful cries from my father's room I entered and saw him very pale in front of the stretcher on which the body of Nikolai was stretched out, my mother, kneeling before him seemed to have lost her mind. With great difficulty they separated her from her son's body and put her to bed after they had Calmed down a bit, she called me but when she saw it she thought it was her brother it was an unbearable sight then the mother fell into prostration and when she came to herself she would not let me go for a moment.

Nikolai Feliksovich Yusupov was buried in the Arkhangelsk family estate. Marina begged Nikolai's family for permission to say goodbye to her lover, but she was refused. Shaken by Yusupov's death, Marina was in a terrible state. Her family sent her to a clinic in Geneva, where she spent several months.

Marina and Arvid's life is turned upside down: they become outcasts in society. She is a shameless married woman who killed a brilliant young man, a cold-blooded killer.

They finally got divorced. Count Manteville left military service, went first to Latvia, and then to France, where he died in 1931 at the age of 52.

Marina in 1916 married Colonel Mikhail Mikhailovich Chichagov, with whom she left for Europe. They had one son, who died in infancy. Marina and Mikhail's marriage collapsed.

At the end of her life, Marina Haydn published the book "Sapphire brings misfortune", which was published in only 100 copies. Marina Alexandrovna died alone in Monte Carlo in 1974 at the age of 86. Marina Haydn kept Nikolai Yusupov's letter as a great relic.

[mk-wizard]

Top 15 Games that SHOULD get a 100% Reboot/Restart

Hi. I felt like doing something positive especially after my last post, so as a follow up, here is a list of games that I think should get the reboot treatment. And when I say reboot, I don’t just mean remake with fancier graphics and bonus features. I mean restart altogether with fresh new storylines that go their own way though in some specific cases, all they need is a new look. Note that this is my subjective opinion and nobody here has to agree with it. It’s just a fun suggestion.

1- Metal Gear - I don’t mean Metal Gear Solid, I mean Metal Gear in general. In fact, I think the “Solid” should be retconned entirely because it not only stopped being about Solid Snake who is the hero, he was done dirty with a pathetic ending and the only sequels we get now are prequels. Not to mention the constant drama and tragedy became nauseating. My advice is to restart from the beginning by rebooting the games that date back to the NES as are with better writing and then after that, only do a half-reboot of Metal Gear Solid and then go its own way while respecting Snake as a main character. Solid Snake is a staple in war themed games and set the standard of how we create them. He should REMAIN the main character and have his endings always remain open with him still standing with dignity.

2- Dino Crisis - I don’t think I need to say much here. Everyone is dying to see this game get remade and it’s not hard to see why. With the exception of the third game and the spin off, Dino Crisis 1 and 2 are amazing. They are dinosaur themed games that actually feel like survivor horror games and not like shooter games with the dinosaur gimmick. This series deserved a reboot and a third game that gives it proper closure.

3- Parasite Eve - Like Metal Gear, this series did dirty to its main character (Aya Brea) in such a way that they wrote themselves into a corner. Only the first game feels unique and special while the second and third instalments have an identity crisis, a confusing weapons and spell system, and a tank control that never belonged. Only the first game should stay as is with a simple remake and then, its sequels should actually be true sequels that keep the battle, spell and control system as are. Let’s just forget that PE2 and The Third Birthday ever happened.

4- Silent Hill - Let’s be honest. Harry Mason is the most underrated male protagonist in survivor horror because unlike all the others, he is not a man of action, not a badass and very relatable for it. He is a widower, a writer, a pacifist and one heck of a dad who literally jumped into the underworld to save his daughter. Now, while I like a lot of the sequels, this series lost its way. With the exception of Silent Hill 2, I think Harry and his daughter should have remained the main protagonists of the series. Harry is proof that real men come in all flavors and having one like him is different while still showing the best attributes of masculinity.

PS: I know Silent Hill 1 got a reboot, but it was bad. Period.

5- Turok - Before there was Dino Crisis (and I’m not discrediting it), there was Turok. The titular hero who might I also add is aboriginal which is a very underrepresented group in fiction period who literally kills dinosaurs with his bare hands. He is a badass and he while he has gotten reboots before, none of them hit the mark yet, but creators should not give up on him. He is worth the effort and if they keep trying, they will strike gold.

6- Castlevania - This series is ICONIC and nobody ever gets tired of it. It should make a comeback and it is one of the few series where being 3D would make it better. And considering that medieval settings in video games is all the rage now, it would be great to see Simon Belmont back in action. Heck, I would even be open to seeing a Belmont fighting evil in our modern times in 3D.

7- The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time - Now, I stand by that this series doesn’t need a reboot, I think this game specifically should get a remake because it is a great game that reshaped the series into how we know and love it now, but it was very buggy and the graphics were not that great even for their time. Everything else about it is great, but it does need a facelift.

8- Prototype - A forgotten gem if there ever was one. This series is unique in that it is the one game where you play as the monster who is also an anti-hero. Yet again, its series did its main character (Alex Mercer) dirty though on top of that, left too many questions unanswered. This series needs a reboot with a much better storyline. If you haven’t seen it, play the first game and you’ll see my point.

9- Tomb Raider - Now, we can all agree that this series has lost its way. While I am all for origin stories and I admit it makes sense for Lara Croft to not be hardened or toughened up from the start. Keeping her as a weak frightened girl doesn’t make her realistic nor does it make her a likeable heroine. And I am woman enough to admit that being athletic, confident, daring and badass is a part of Lara Croft’s character. I don’t want her to be realistic. I want her to be cool and fun to play. This series needs to go back to its roots when it was fun and Lara was allowed to shamelessly be herself.

10- Dead Rising - Another case of a game losing its way and its main protagonist becomes someone they’re not. The second instalment was the only game that felt true to what the series is supposed to be and even then, it felt like a spinoff not a part of the main story because Dead Rising is Frank West’s story. Another thing that also stood out about this game is that unlike most zombie themed games, the main character is not only not a fighter, he’s a total lover in all the great ways. Frank is (or rather, was) compassionate, honest and it isn’t for nothing that you only got the best ending when you would save everyone. Heck, he would save people who tried to kill him. This series should get a total reboot and a total rewrite after game 1. And can we please not give Frank a heart of stone? Him being loving is what made him great.

11- ObsCure - Another lost gem with a unique premise and group of protagonists. This game plays up our childhood fear of the dark because the monsters in this game literally are allergic to the light and the setting is in a highschool. It feels like Scream meets the Blair Witch Project making it a lot of fun, and the monsters are so delightfully creepy. Plus, the story was compelling. Sadly this series only got one sequel which was actually great, but never got that third instalment that would wrap everything up. I say we give this series a reboot, so it can finally finish what it started.

12- Resident Evil Outbreak - I know this is a spinoff series, but it’s one of the best in the series. It fills in a lot of gaps in the main storyline and any game that allows you to have your own tyrant fighting alongside you is awesome. It also has a multiple ending system which was well done and very rewarding when you get the best ending. I think this should get the reboot treatment and even have a third game that expands the aftermath further.

13- Resident Evil Dead Aim - Another one of the best spinoffs in the RE series because it expands the story specifically in how tyrants are made and how the variants work. And to be honest, I even liked the characters. I would love see new life breathed into this compelling game even if it just remains the only one of its kind.

14- Days Gone - I don’t care what anyone says. Any game that allows to play a biker with the spirit of an honourable warrior is badass. Also, can we talk about how this is one of the few games where the main protagonist is married and remains loyal to his wife even long after?! He may be white, male, straight and Christian, but he is still pretty progressive and embodies the BEST part of masculinity. The parts that drive a man to be romantic, noble and heroic. This game with extremely misjudged to the point of bigotry and it deserves a proper reintroduction because it was going places.

15- Half-Life - This series helped Valve get its jump start and it had the most unique and most iffy type of protagonist in an action/sci-fi game possible yet worked: a scientist. After all, who expect the skinny nerd with the big thick glasses to save the day? Yet, it worked and this game has tons of monsters that became iconic in video game lore. What’s really sad is that a third game was in works, but never saw the light of day. I say we reboot this series and give it the chance to honour its promise to give that third game at long last.

Bonus - Other honourable mentions here are Left 4 Dead because Back 4 Blood stinks, Alone in the Dark though I hear a reboot is in the works, Doom, Devil May Cry and the right way please, Bloody Roar, The Suffering, Fatal Frame, The Evil Within and any other fantastic game series that either went bad due to bad sequels or never got the chance to keep going.

[nerdieforpedro]

Wyrms and Soggy Milk

Chapter Three of Fire and Fury

Pero Tovar x Calista (fat/plus size OFC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Arriving at the church was supposed to be a reprieve, it proves to be anything but. By the end of their continued troubles , Pero ends up confused and in a tub. Calista may have the advantage.

Warnings: (Dark Fic/DDDNE - violence and threats of SA) time-period misogyny, blood, mentions of some gore, insults, mention of sex work, way too much milk talk, unlawful use of scales (unsure if there's a lawful use?), Pero in a tub

Word Count: about 5.2k

Notes: I tried my best with writing fight scenes, I think the chapter ended up long because of it but they should make sense. It’s my second or third time writing one so I’m hopeful? 🤔 Let me know how it reads.

Main Masterlist/ Pero Tovar Masterlist/ AO3 Link

Meeting the Father

The sun hung low in the sky by the time they reached the church Pero and William had stopped by before heading into the forest yesterday. The trio had settled from their bickering as fatigue and hunger quieted them. Father Ignacio spotted them in the distance. He recognized the two men, but had never seen the woman before, she didn’t look like anyone from his flock from the nearby village.

As the small group comes closer, the priest is able to make out more details about the woman with the two mercenaries: this does not bode well for him. He was hopeful maybe she was older, but she appears young, full-bodied with a silver and light green dress stained with blood. Her hair is an unusual mix of the same mint green and black. What draws Father Ignacio is her lips, a vibrant bold pink. Such a color on a woman and given her clothing, he assumes that the two men have found a woman of the night to share for the night possibly, though there is something about her that doesn’t quite fit with the usual defeated look of those women. For one to enter the church, he must make it clear to Pero and William that no matter what they may have paid for, no such activity can take place under God’s house.

“Hey Father! I found him! I found Pero! You were wrong, though I’m not quite sure what happened after but we’re all okay I think.” William bounced up to the older gentleman and hugged him. Pero scoffed and Calista stood behind the Spaniard. She’s weary of men in robes, they tend to call her kind the embodiment of evil and try to hunt them. Not that any of their so-called holy relics to any more than make dragons itch. She feels vulnerable since she knows she’s weaker than normal. 

“I see that Will. Who is your lady companion? I don’t remember either of you mentioning a third person.” Father Ignacio’s eyes are fixed on Calista, those sinful lips, bright honey eyes that have what looks to be paint on her eyelids. Some of the noblewomen wore adornments like that on their faces. Draws men into temptation, makes them commit acts they wouldn’t normally. But she cannot be turned away, the sun is nearly gone from the sky now and darkness is taking hold of the heavens. Such horror would befall a woman like her if left alone. “What is your name my girl?” The priest didn’t mean for it to sound vulgar, but she brings it out of him. He’ll need to be far away from her but this woman proves captivating. The Father would rather not put too much distance between them. A healthy about, room enough for The Lord if you will.

“This is Calista. We rescued her from some wolves in the forest. She’s staying with us so we can see her into town. She got lost while traveling.” William explained and Pero nodded. Ignacio assumed that what the pale one said was indeed a lie, but one to likely preserve her dignity given who the priest believes she really is. 

“That will not be acceptable William. She’ll need her own room. This is the house of the Lord after all. Come. Let’s get the three of you cleaned and fed.” He smiles and William returns it, Pero does briefly and Calista doesn’t smile at all. They follow the older man into the inner part of the church past the congregation hall. He stops and points that William and Pero will share a room at the end of the long hallway they have turned down. Calista’s room would be in the middle of the hallway since normally there are men studying to be priests there but given the notoriety or the forest, few come to accept the call. 

“I would prefer to stay with my protectors, good sir.” Calista informed the priest, feeling the words were foreign on her tongue. He’s been watching her this entire time. She may be a young dragon and had limited experience in the human world but she knows how many men view women, especially men whose eyes follow her with such clear intentions. Instinctively, she crosses her arms to cover her chest, much of which is exposed from the low cut of her dress. Now he wishes to separate her from the group, such a basic tactic.

“I agree with the lady Father. She is our responsibility and should remain with us.” Pero steps between her and the Father. He knows men like this priest, who act holier than most but if given the funds, access and anonymity, they would live in a brothel. Father Ignacio takes a step back, the Spaniard is intimidating to say the least and the priest is sure that he has no qualms about spilling blood in a house of God. William is watching the exchange between the three and is trying to think of a compromise, it’s a bad one, but it’s better than being run out of the village for killing this man.

“Father. Pero. Let’s just sort this out.” His hands are raised as the pale warrior speaks. “Now, Father,” William turns to face Ignacio, “Miss Calista is under our protection. We can’t very well leave her unattended and unguarded, that would go against the agreement we’ve made to see her safely home.” He slaps his palms on the Father’s shoulders and smiles. “Now I believe, there should be two sleeping quarters next to each other because I know that’s what your true issue lies despite it not being a true concern at all.” The priest begrudging looks at Calista, then Pero, and back to Calista. He is not convinced that there will not be some sort of illicit activity happening, but it is also a fair alternative. He has lost this round, but the battle is not over yet.

“Fine young William. I shall show you all two rooms that should work and are side by side.” The older man huffs and walks down the long hallway and turns the corner. Neither William nor Pero realized the church was quite this large when they first came here though they’d only been in the vestibule and chapel, never any further. Calista’s head is swiveling side to side observing the tapestries hanging on the wall, gold and silver adorning the walls and various prayers etched in Latin. That part seemed strange, usually words aren't etched into the walls of churches. There's too many questions raised about these priests here to Calista, but she remains silent for now. She needs to keep playing the part of the helpless woman. She hated the role and that it was closer to the truth than she would ever admit. The four finally reached the two rooms that Ignacio had to offer. Each room had two twin beds, were clean, had a nightstand and two candles each that could be lit for light. There was a door in the middle connecting the two rooms, the priest said that he would be right back with a change of clothes for each of them. The three inspected the rooms and were satisfied by the accommodations. 

“I'm looking forward to sleeping somewhere soft.” Calista plopped down on one of the twin beds in the first room, Pero was finishing up a walk through of the second room, it was quick as both rooms were equally small. William nodded, sitting across from the young dragon on the opposite bed. He sighed and was trying to figure out better sleeping arrangements, this wasn't what he expected from a man of the cloth. He looked for the good in people which wasn't always there, no matter what their station or profession. Pero stood with arms crossed, scowl on his face per usual, except this time he was squinting his eyes at William.

“William, we can't stay here. I don't care what you told that priest. I know you're still recovering from what that gray dragon did but you saw how that bastard-” He raises his hand and Pero huffs. 

“Look, I know Pero. How was I supposed to know he was like this? He's a priest!” William laments, rubbing his temples. Normally, the church takes any and everyone who walks through their doors. Apparently, the two mercenaries have the unfortunate luck of finding one of the corrupt ones. Always their lot. One break, could they just get one break?!

“You can't trust any of them. They're all assholes. How are we getting out of here?” The Spaniard is set on leaving. Calista rolls her eyes and stands to pinch Pero's nose. “Mierda (shit)! What was that for?!” He quickly grabs his nose as she takes a step back, clicking her tonuge. 

“You two are ridiculous. Yes, he is disgusting, but there are warm beds and you're forgetting that I am a dragon - human form yes, but a dragon. It will be in that priest's best interest to leave me be. If he does not, he'll go meet the god he speaks of.” Her eyes flash jade to match the wicked smile that graces her face. Pero throws his hands up and sits on the bed opposite William where Calista once sat. 

“Do what you want, dragón pequeño (little dragon). You're clearly going to.” Pero still hates this entire idea. He'd sleep outside at this rate, and he always prefers a bed over the ground any day. Calista was about to make another remark, but there's a knock at the door. Father Ignacio is back.

William is the one who answers the door, he knows if Pero answers it, he might punch the father in the face to start. A forced smile is on his face as he greets the portly priest, hopefully for the last time tonight. “I brought changes of clothes for all three of you. You can wash up before eating.” Is what the older man leads with. Gods, he won't quit will he?

“Thank you Father. We're tired so we're just going to wash our hands, eat, sleep, then be up early in the morning. Want to get Calista safely to the village. Need an early start for that.” At this point, just having food and uninterrupted sleep are luxuries. Frowning, Ignacio nods and carries the clothes as he walks the trio to a small wash area where two seminarians are finishing up cleaning their hands before quickly leaving upon seeing the two mercenaries. Their eyes linger on Calista as it's rare for women to be in this part of the church outside of the nuns who visit on occasion and especially during the night. After washing their hands, sitting down to eat a meal was not the worst. Their bellies were full for the time being and the stew had a passible taste. The walk back to their rooms was unaccompanied by the good father. Pero insisted that Calista sleep in one of the twin beds and William sleep on the floor. He could use one of the mattresses. When asked why he would be the one to sleep on the floor, Pero snickered.

“You made a fuss about stopping in at the local church. Even though I told you we would have been better off to skip it. That's your bed.” At this, William sucked his teeth. Yeah he had told Pero that, but in all the other churches they've visited in their travels, only one other priest was filled with something other than the holy spirit.

“Fine. I'll just be happy to be on something other than the ground, though it won't be much better. As long as I can finally get some sleep.” Pero and William dragged a mattress off one of the beds in the other room and placed it on the floor. Calista gave William her blanket stating that she was still warm from the stew. 

“Don't complain you're cold later.” Is all Pero said before pulling his blanket over himself and rolling over to face the wall. William and Calista looked at each other and sighed, they exchanged goodnights, “Be quiet. I thought we were all supposed to be sleeping.” The three drifted off to sleep for a few hours. But one of them woke up. 

Getting out of bed, Calista thankfully retained her enhanced vision, able to see Pero and especially William so she wouldn't step on him. She exited the room and stood in the hallway. It was slightly cooler, but her body still felt so warm, from the inside out. She ate the same soup as the two men and neither one of them was awake. Was it because she's a dragon and not used to human food? She recalled where the mess hall was and assumed there should be a kitchen not too far from there, somewhere she could get something to drink, preferably water. She passed by one of the seminarians who directed her to the kitchen and walked with Calista, even pouring some water for her. He asked if she wanted to be escorted back and she declined stating that she won't be long, she misses her warm bed already. He gives her a slight bow and leaves which gives her pause, why would he bow? She leans against one of the counters, sipping the water slowly, she's hoping that will make the cool feeling last a bit longer.

“Your senses have become quite dull Calista. You have fallen quite far, you might be in what the humans refer to as hell right now. Quite ironic given where we are.”

Calista’s back straightens and she gags on her water, coughing as she spins to turn in the direction of the voice. It's a man who's a full head taller than her, but still shorter than Pero. His build is slender, but muscular. His voice is high pitched with every word wounding like a sneer. She knows it all too well, but what would he be doing here? It's much too soon, neither her nor Pero are ready to encounter him here. They're both still adjusting to their new forms. 

“Nothing to say to me sweet Calista? Where is that fiery spark that cut me before?” Setting the glass down, the young dragon slowly backs up, keeping her eyes focused on her would-be attacker. She knows he will, just a matter of when, she's still burning up, even after finishing the water. “Trying to leave me so soon. You want to run back to your new human toy? I wasn't aware that was your type. I could see how I would not be a match for you. That matters little, it only means I'll have to work that much harder to breed you.”

“To hell with you Acanthus! I will never allow you to.” Her eyes flash jade once more and she lengthens her nails into crimson claws. She'll need to fight to have a sliver of a chance to make it out. Focusing is so difficult. He closes the distance as she jumps back, only to be caught by Father Ignacio, he was not only a filthy minded priest, but a wyrm. A lesser dragon that can be under the command of a young, great or elder dragon. His facial features have contorted into a longer, more reptilian face with a long tongue that slides across Calista's cheek while his black claws dig into the flesh of her shoulders. She shakes side to side to try and free herself, but she's too weak to even escape his grasp. “Dammit! Dammit!” Calista tries to call for Pero, summoning him using the same mental command she used when he fought her mother, but she can't seem to connect with him. 

“Her skin even tastes sweet, Master. May I have a taste? While she is in this form? She is of little use to you in this form, yes?” Ignacio's speech has become subservient and simple. How did she miss it? What else has she not picked up on? Her senses are truly this poor? Did she miscalculate how much of herself she transferred to Pero? Acanthus smiles, his skin has a gray pallor to it, even in his human form that makes him look like a ghoul, matched with his yellow eyes and red lines on his neck, it isn't that far off from his dragon form. 

“I may allow you to do so my minion while I watch. She'll be begging for me afterward. This one is quite depraved and that's coming from me as you well know Calista.” Her eyes widen at the implication, she spits on Acanthus’ white and silver robes. “What makes this better is that you don't even know why you can't call your toy? Did you not notice the change in your body? I had the good father behind you add something special to your bowl of soup. A few of my scales for seasoning. You didn't forget what that does right?” His thin fingers cup her chin as she stares at him, realizing the gravity of the situation. Consuming his scales means that she's connected to him. Even for the week that he held her captive, she managed to avoid eating them, no matter how hard he tried. It was why she was so hungry, eating anything in his lair could have meant a loss of control. Maybe due to her essence bond with Pero, that's why she wasn't under his command, but it also meant that she couldn't reach him either.

Dreams into Reality

Tovar doesn't often remember his dreams. There's darkness and then he awakes, lives, sleeps and repeats. Tonight is the first time in a long time that he dreams. That damn dragon is in his dream, holding his head on her lap. Stroking his hair, never would she do something so tender. She hates him and he hates her too. He is aware that he needs her to stay alive, that much is certain. That disgusting priest pops up, leering at Calista, but Pero doesn't move, head still in her lap and neither does she. Fire begins to burn around them and they disappear, the next thing he knows is that he is standing. Calista is in front of him, but that dirty old man is holding her arms behind her. Why won't she break free? Pero knows she's strong enough, but she's crying. He hears a man's shrill laughter and Calista screaming.

Pero awakens with his head pounding, he notices a faint green glow in the room, it seems to be coming from his head, the left side where his scar is. “What the hell is this? Is this what happened before? Wait…” Pero looks over at Calista's side of the room and sees her bed empty. “Godammit this fucking woman! Get up William! She's gone and likely in danger!” Rising out of bed, Pero kicks Will's side and grabs his broadsword and small swords, arming himself before leaving the room. Will is soon right behind him still groggy. Tovar finds that he can't pinpoint where she is, just a general direction. “This way!” He starts off down the corridor but is met by two of the seminarians. “Choir boys out of the way lest I cut you both down!” Will draws his sword as he and Pero watch them change into large snakes.

“If I ever mention, setting foot in a damn church again. Punch me hard Pero and remind me of this moment.” Will lunges toward the first snake cutting its head off with ease, the purple blood that splatters on the wall eats away at the tapestry and stone. “Be careful! Looks like the blood is high acidic!” Pero makes short work of the other snake, lobbing its head off and having some of the blood splash on his cuirass, it eats through part of it, exposing the leather under the iron. The two men race toward the mess hall where they hear a scream and a crash.

The white dragon is laughing as he sees Ignaco bleeding from a severed arm. “Master, why will you not help me?!” He whines, Acanthus sits on the counter shaking his head. His master had promised him a taste of this dragon turned human, to play with her before he took her back to his lair. Ignacio almost had her. Calista had been pinned to the ground, but she was able to get in a fire breath directly in his face. It didn't hurt him much, but with her claws she was able to take an arm and use it to get a few hits to the wyrm’s head before it broke in half. The entire ordeal was entertaining to the white dragon. Watching his future broodmare fight filled him with an unwarranted pride, the mother of his hatchlings needed to be strong after all. 

Battered and bloodied, Calista didn't see a way out alive. Her best bet would be to end her life while killing this wyrm. If she tried earlier, Acanthus would step in and let the wyrm have her arm or no arm. If she did so after, she would risk trying to overpower the white dragon which she knew was impossible in her current state. it had been difficult enough in her full dragon form. There were no good options, but at least Pero might be none the wiser and would go peacefully in his sleep, maybe. He may have been a rude bastard, but he did try and help her for the little time she knew him. She could have been nicer, but it was too late to dwell on that now. “Maybe he wasn't so bad. Not a complete reprobate.”

“That right arpia pequeña (little dragon)? Only upon threat of death do you say something nice about me? Dragons have the same manners as humans then.” A silver blade met Calista a few inches away from her face, leaving her covered with purple blood. It didn't burn her nor her dress as both were naturally resistant. The wyrm fell to the floor convulsing in pain from the hole in its chest.

“Master…help me. I…my promise…” Its eyes alternated between Calista and Acanthus, ending on its Master as the light faded from them. Pero and William leaped to stand in front of Calista as she smiled, a genuine one at the both. Her focus quickly turned to Acanthus who wore a similar scowl to Pero's now.

“The two rats have come to play have they? No matter. I'll kill the pale one and separate your limbs from your body so you cannot pursue us mercenary.” Red and white flames gathered in his hands as he got off the counter.

“Why the hell are you calling me pale? You’re the one who looks like spoiled milk!” William shouts and Pero snorts. The white dragon answers with a fireball in William's direction, he rolls out of the way, but now the wooden counter is on fire. Pero uses the opportunity to try and slice Acanthus’ head off, but the dragon catches his blade with his hands, his surprise is that his hands are bleeding.

“It seems the bond you have with her is stronger than I thought. No matter. I'll still kill you.” He pulls Pero's broadsword down and breathes white flames in the mercenary's face. Calista threw up a jade barrier to protect him, it did but unfortunately it broke. William took the opportunity to sink his sword into Acanthus’ side. The white dragon growled and threw the pale mercenary off, his sword still stuck in his abdomen. “Filthy human scum!!” The villain's eyes turn white and flames simmer from his body. Calista recognizes the pattern on the flames, Acanthus is preparing for a large-scale attack. The young dragon pulls Pero by his chainmail and dives near William to huddle the three of them together and forms another barrier.

“Brace yourselves! I don't know if I can completely block it!” Calista raises the jade again. She's forgone her crimson claws and is focusing all her energy into the barrier. Pero places a hand on her shoulder and feels some of his energy fading, he leans his forehead on the back of her shoulder. Will huddles close to the both of them as the heat in the room intensifies and the flames off of Acanthus’ body are becoming brighter. All three of them close their eyes to prevent being blinded and there's a loud boom coupled with an explosion. 

They thought they would be knocked against the walls of the church, but there were none anymore. William was the furthest back so he ended up hitting some rubble on the side of the church. Only one wall far opposite of the kitchen was left standing, the rest had either been completely obliterated or were dotted pieces of smoldering stone embedded into the ground. William’s sword that had been stuck in Acanthus’ side was sticking out of one of the nearby stones, flung from his body. The sun was rising and Pero was face down in the dirt once more. Twice in two days. “Fuck…” His entire body ached but it at least felt like he had all of his limbs. His head is ringing and he can at least make out shapes though given how much rubble is everywhere it doesn't help much. There's some movement that he can make out followed by a deep growl. Pero assumes that's the damn white dragon but that when his sight finally clears upon hearing the word ‘bastard’ screamed with a wet gurgle. Acanthus has his hand on Calista's throat, her claws are much shorter but she's making cuts in his forearm, he's lifted her up off the ground. 

“Did you enjoy your last little bit of freedom? I think I will kill them both. I’ll figure out a way to end the one with the scar. That bastard burned my hands? How much of yourself did you give to him?” Acanthus bends his arm to close the distance between them. He sees the fear in her eyes buried underneath the hatred. “You care about one of their ilk? They vilify us despite us only bothering them if they trespass on our lands. Such a horrid fortune I have that you are the only viable female our clan has to offer.”

“Then go find another one asshole.” Calista continues to struggle, she won’t go with him willingly and not without a fight. “And yes I prefer Pero to you.” She laughs and spits blood in the white dragon’s face. “Will’s right, you do look like spoiled milk. A dingy shade of white.” He spins her around and throws her against one of the larger pieces of remaining stone. The young dragon gasps, coughing up blood as she attempts to move but cannot. Her body isn't allowing it. Pero is able to stand to his feet as his left eye glows a bright jade again, only this time, green flames have gathered in his right hand.

“Stay the hell away from her you soggy fucker!” Acanthus expects to be able to stop Pero, maybe even a burn this time as well. He did not anticipate being pushed back and needing to dig his heels into the ground. Their fingers were interlocked and their flames burning in nearly equal amounts. It was the first time Acanthus had appeared surprised during this entire ordeal. Neither of them were giving a quarter as the ground began to sizzle. “What's wrong? Is one of the filthy humans holding you hostage?” Pero taunts and hears the white dragon growl. 

Calista is finally on her feet watching the two men be evenly matched. It occurs to her that they might be able to kill him here. She focuses and circles behind the soggy dragon, putting all the energy she was left into her right hand, sharpening her scarlet claws. She starts running, building momentum to strike him from behind and hit him square in the chest for a final blow. In strengthening herself, Pero weakened slightly, enough for Acanthus to push the mercenary back and change the angle at which her attack was going to hit. She was going too fast and couldn't change her direction. Her claws went through Acanthus, but missed his core. Thankfully, it was a strong enough hit to have him cry out in pain. Tovar attempted to bash his face in, but a white barrier repelled them as the grand dragon held his hand over the hole in his chest.

“You bitch…the audacity to harm me?! Next time I will end you, all of you! To hell with breeding you, you'll suffer a slow death Calista.” Acanthus attempted to transform into his dragon form but found that he could not. “The hell have you done to me?!” 

Calista pointed to the back of her hand that was covered in his blue blood. Half of one of her magenta scales was missing. It glimmered within the hole in his chest, the scale itself was seeping into the surrounding tissue, weakening him. “Looks like you're on our level now, spoiled milk.” He screamed a string of curses while extending white wings from his back and taking off. Pero stood up and helped the young dragon to her feet. “Ran like a soggy bitch.” The Spaniard laughed at the woman's foul mouth.

“We survived. How did you know that would work?” He was curious if she'd planned that far ahead. Pero retrieved his sword and Will's then scanned the area for him.

“I figured if he could poison me with his scales, I could do the same. I didn't know if it would work or not. That was some favor with whatever gods there are.” Placing her hands on her lower back, she stretches and points to a large piece of stone where Will is slumped over. Tovar and Calista make their way over and are relieved to find William breathing. 

“Figured you'd half ass something again. Do you ever plan anything woman? You're the fucking dragon.” Pero scoffs and puts one arm of William’s over his shoulder as Calista does the same. 

“Oh? When's the last time you fought a grand dragon Pero? Or bonded someone's soul to yours? I'm new to all of this too. Stop your complaining and show me the way to the village. Maybe this time we can actually sleep in a bed for more than a few hours.” Calista rolls her eyes and walks side by side with Tovar to balance Will between them. They mainly bicker most of the way.

Once finally at the village, they decide the best course of action is to leave Will with a woman who he saved on one of their last jobs here. Her husband may have suspiciously died during said job, but unexpected things happen as a mercenary. Pero did offer her two gold coins to care for him, but she offered to do it for free. Instead, the money was used for a room at the inn. Tovar was surprised that Calista did not argue for a seperate room. 

“There's a lot we'll need to discuss and take care of Pero. No need to waste money.” Is what she told him which he was fine with. They have needed to talk about what changes both their bodies have been through since this entire ‘bonding’ process has taken place. 

What Tovar is confused about is why Calista is standing before him while he's soaking in his large bathtub on the floor. Naked.

Chapter Two. Chapter Four

[blackjackkent]

Poking at Jaheira and Rasaad dialogue from Baldur's Gate 2 to get their voices more in my head for fic writing... some of my favorite bits from the wiki that I didn't get in Caden's playthrough:

Jaheira: You musn't let yourself get so wounded, Aerie. I won't always be around to bandage you, you know. Aerie: I'm a healer too, Jaheira. Jaheira: And what good are your spells now? You should be more frugal and not cast them all at once. Aerie: Y-yes, ma'am. Jaheira: And don't stutter; it doesn't become you.

Jaheira: I see you are hurt, child. I will carry what extra I can if it will lighten your load. Aerie: I am not weak, Jaheira, and you were as likely to be hurt as I! Jaheira: I have more experience in battle, Aerie. Any wound I received might have killed you comparatively. Aerie: So you say, but I shall not learn avoidance of such by cowering behind you.

Dorn: You have fire. I respect that. But I warn you, druid: Attempt to poison me again and you will not see the next sunrise. Jaheira: What nonsense are you babbling? Dorn: This concoction. You neglected to account for my orc blood. Next time, try something more potent. Jaheira: Do not be ridiculous. I am a druid, not an assassin. Dorn: Then how do you explain this vile brew? Jaheira: It is a mixture of myrtle and willow— Dorn: IT IS POISON. Jaheira: Drink it, Il-Khan. Or next time I will leave your wounds untended.

Jan: You know, Jaheira, in all our travels, your smile has eluded me. Jaheira: Oh, come now. Certainly I reserve my emotions for matters of great import, but... Jan: That is the thing. Perhaps I have moved you on occasion, but any fleeting glimmer of a smile is gone before it properly lights the room. Jaheira: Well, have you a relative that might remedy the situation Jan: Eh, perhaps illustrating the horror of unappreciated storytelling? Well... I had an Uncle Richard that tried to bring nude theater to a festival in Waterdeep...Exposure is usually good for an actor's career, but even so, a cold reception for the play caused the cast to shrink steadily. Blackballed, my uncle tried to recruit from the thieves' guild, but they wouldn't let their nick-ers go."Just bare with me," he would say, but they were afraid of being stripped of their dignity. He gave up the lead to attract new members, and eventually the production's genius was uncovered, even with his part left out. Jaheira: Ah... Jan: Verdict? Jaheira: Not... one of your best. *snicker* Jan: They can't all take the brass ring. Jaheira: Keep trying? Jan: I will if you will, my dear.

Keldorn: So this is home to your mysterious Harpers, is it Jaheira: Less and less mysterious with every day of your scrutiny, Lord Keldorn. Had I my choice, I would rather none but me were here at all. Keldorn: Then I thank the gods you do not have your choice more often. Your opinions run often towards the brash, my dear. Jaheira: I am Harper, Keldorn, I am discreet when I wish. I just find other methods to be... more effective. Now, may I suggest you keep your next thoughts to yourself? Keldorn: Ah... yes... aye, m'lady.

Korgan: That's a fine wooden staff you've there, woman. Tell me, ye crack acorns with it? Or call some rarebit friends to frolic with ye? Jaheira: Nature's servant makes no judgment on the woodlands. Your tone betrays you, Korgan. Korgan: Perhaps ye could summon a horde of squirrels to take the day, or make a lovely leaf stew? Make sure ye and yer twig be of some use, though that use be lost on me. Jaheira: A great many things are lost to you, I would think.

Jaheira: My injuries sting, but I think it is mostly my pride that hurts. But we did well enough in our last battle, did we not? I'll wager we may outlive the season if we are careful. Mazzy: That we might, though this was surely but a small scuffle. Our battles will loom larger as we garner more enemies. Jaheira: You do not seem worried at this prospect. Mazzy: Our virtue will guide the way. We shall not falter.

Minsc: Oh! Squirrels, Boo! I know I saw them! Quick, throw nuts! Jaheira: Minsc, could you please maintain a little grace while in nature's presence? Sometimes I simply do not know how you came by your title of ranger. Minsc: Do you wish me dour and sour like most others? No, I say not. The animals run and play without care, and I would too... if such a thing would not squish Boo flat. Jaheira: But your duties are serious things, Minsc. Do you realize that? Minsc: I am very serious! Boo would not let me shirk my duties! I would not want to shirk anything! No, ma'am, no shirking! Jaheira: Admirable, Minsc, but you use that word like you don't know what it means. Minsc: Eh, well... no... but it sounds sharp and painful, and I always reserve such things for freaks that might steal those squirrels' nuts! Jaheira: Good job, Minsc. You keep it up.

Jaheira: Well, little Nalia, it would seem you have grown quite accustomed to the power you now wield. Nalia: Why do you bring this up now, Jaheira? You have that tone in your voice again. Jaheira: "That" tone? I do not understand what you mean. Nalia: Yes, you do. It's that "time for an unnecessary lecture" tone that means you are about to caution me on the use of the power I have earned. Jaheira: I see. And what do you think the outcome of such a conversation would be? Nalia: Well, I believe that I would tell you I have found my true calling, that you should probably butt out, and that I would really prefer you to refrain from calling me "little Nalia." Jaheira: Determined to do good works no matter what the world thinks, is that the gist of it? Nalia: Yes, that would be the gist of it. Jaheira: Then I agree that the lecture would be unnecessary. I need say nothing. Nalia: You... what? Thank you, Jaheira.

Jaheira: I am curious, Neera. What does a wild surge feel like? Neera: It depends. I never know what to expect. The surges are all different from each other. How does it feel when you cast spells? Jaheira: Not the same, I am sure. I may feel wrath if the nature of my spell is violent, or calm if it is for healing. Beneath it all, I feel a oneness with nature that never changes. Neera: Maybe it's not so different after all. Jaheira: Why? You have this sense of oneness when you use magic? Neera: Sort of. My mind becomes part of... something. What, I don't know—I don't think it's nature. The Weave, I guess? Or maybe chaos? But yeah, it's kind of like "oneness," except it seems more like I'm looking at it through a window. When my magic is working properly, anyway. Jaheira: And when it's not? Neera: A wild surge is like that window shattering into a million pieces of glass. Jaheira: That sounds... unsafe. Neera: I don't mind. If you've been indoors a long time, sometimes you like the feel of a cold gust of wind. Jaheira: We are not talking about wind and windows. We are talking about power and your mind. Be careful of that glass.

Neera: Ohmigosh. Oh, Jaheira, I am so, so sorry! Jaheira: What have you to apologize for? Neera: A lot of things, actually, like the time I lit your hair on fire or the time I elbowed you in the stomach trying to get out of your way or— Jaheira: What have you to apologize for NOW? Neera: I just realized—I never said I was sorry about Khalid. Jaheira: Thank you, Neera. I appreciate that. Neera: I liked Khalid; he was nice. He made me soup once, when we were in Bridgefort.Come to think of it, it was REALLY GOOD soup. You wouldn't happen to know the recipe, would you?Er. Never mind. Not the time.

Viconia: Tell me, Harper, who was who with your parentage? Father the darthiir, mother the rivvil? Or father human, mother elven? It's always confusing with crossbred mongrels. Jaheira: Two people in love, swine. A rain not likely to soak your parade of scabbed obscenity anytime soon.

Voghiln: Come on. Just a little peck on the cheek. What's the harm in that? Jaheira: It'll be in my husband's fists if he finds out about it. Voghiln: Vot? Your husband raises his hand to you? This is not acceptable. Jaheira: No, you idiot. He'll raise his hand to you. And then bring it down on you, over and over again, like a hammer from the heavens. Voghiln: Oh, he'd hit ME? Ja, this makes more sense.

Rasaad: Forgive me, Jaheira, but I do not understand. I thought you a champion of goodness. You say you are not? Jaheira: There is no good in nature, nor evil, either. The wolf devours the rabbit. Is this good or evil, do you think? Rasaad: Well... neither, I suppose. Jaheira: You monks sit in libraries, perusing musty tomes about good and evil. I do not make such distinctions. My world - the natural world - simply is. Rasaad: An... interesting perspective. I shall have to think upon it. Jaheira: Perhaps you could find a book to help clear the matter up. Rasaad: An excellent idea. Have you any suggest... oh. You are teasing me now, yes? Jaheira: There may be hope for you yet, Rasaad.

Aerie: The weather is turning. Rasaad: It is a little chilly. Aerie: If we didn't have bad weather, we'd never appreciate it when it was good. You taught me that. Rasaad: I did? Aerie: Without the dark, how does one recognize the light?

Rasaad: I admire your devotion, Cernd. Cernd: My devotion? Rasaad: To nature. Has your faith in the Mother ever been tested? Cernd: Winds may sway the trunk, but this oak's roots are buried deep. Rasaad: What happens when the storm tears the tree from its holdings? What then? Cernd: When it happens—if it happens—another tree will take its place. Life goes on, Rasaad. Forever and always.

Edwin: Your head is very smooth, monk. Tell me, are you naturally bald? Rasaad: No. I shave it each day. Edwin: You shave it yourself, do you? Tell me, how do you do that? Rasaad: Surely you know how to shave. Edwin: Of course I know how to shave my own head, you impudent baboon!Uh, I merely seek to add to my considerable knowledge on the subject. So tell me—how do you shave your head? Rasaad: Having the correct tools helps. Come, I'll show you what I use.

Haer'Dalis: Yours is a story as old as time, but still as enthralling as the first time it was told. Rasaad: I am fairly sure my story is mine and mine alone. How could you have heard of it before? Haer'Dalis: The narrative shares many similarities with great plays and poems from times past. A stalwart soldier of light, his beliefs thrown into question by forces beyond his control, seeking revenge against those forces in an attempt to right that which was wronged. Classic. Rasaad: I see. And how do these other stories end? Haer'Dalis: The endings are many and varied, Rasaad, but all share one element. Rasaad: Which is? Haer'Dalis: Tragedy.

Hexxat: Still suspicious, Rasaad? Don't you think if I wanted your blood, I'd have taken it by now? Rasaad: Perhaps you are just biding your time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Hexxat: Rest easy. I would never partake of a friend of <CHARNAME>—at least, not uninvited. It would be... discourteous. Rasaad: Courtesy is not something I'd expect from a vampire. Hexxat: It is, however, something I'd expect from a Selûnite monk. Expectations are such slippery things, aren't they?

Imoen: What do you think? Rasaad: About what, Imoen? Imoen: My hair, dummy. What do you think? Rasaad: Has it changed? Imoen: YES! Look at it. Does it LOOK the same? Rasaad: I... yes? Imoen: You could at least TRY lying convincingly. Rasaad: You would have me lie to you? Imoen: Forget it. Don't worry about it. Rasaad: Have I done something wrong? Imoen: If you have to ask, then yeah, you probably have.

Mazzy: Take heart, Rasaad! The day is fine and our victories plentiful. Melancholy ill suits you. Rasaad: You mistake contemplation for melancholy. Do not be deceived. I am glad of our success. Mazzy: Your eyes tell a different story. Whatever demons you wrestle with, my friend, know that we stand steadfast behind you. Rasaad: I appreciate that, Mazzy, truly. But there is nothing to worry about.

Rasaad: You are always impeccably dressed, Nalia, yet I rarely see you shop for clothes. Nalia: I've always been good with a needle—one of the few skills Aunt Delcia managed to successfully impart, much to her chagrin. Rasaad: You sew your own garments? Nalia: Do not sound so surprised. Sewing relaxes me. It keeps the hands busy while letting the mind work. It's really not all that hard, once you get the basics down. The rest is just practice. Rasaad: And a little magic, I presume? Nalia: Here and there, Rasaad. Here and there.

Minsc: Friend Rasaad, I have a question, and Boo is being most uncooperative. What is a honeymoon? Rasaad: After two people are joined in marriage, they are provided with mead for a month in order to... ah... grow comfortable with one another. Minsc: So there are no bees? Rasaad: I have never been married, so I would not know. Jaheira: I can assure you, children, there are no bees on a honeymoon. Minsc: I shall take your word for it. Boo's answer involved both bees and birds. It was... confusing.

[yet-another-heathen]

4. Is there a kind of whump you wish you could write better?

12. What is one of the strangest things you have had to research for your whumpy writing?

25. What advice or wisdom would you like to share with other whump writers?

4. Is there a kind of whump you wish you could write better?

As I recently discovered with @redwingedwhump, the hardest thing for me to write is actually recovery arcs. Stories that have slow, emotional pacing and tend to be more driven by internal conflict than by external forces. I'm thinking specifically recoveries where the character(s) are already somewhere stable and safe, and are having to come to terms with things that already happened to them (instead of facing ongoing re-traumatization at the hands of the Plot).

And don't get me wrong, I still do enjoy writing slow, heavy scenes where not much physically happens! They're just as important to the story as a whole, and they can be a LOT of fun to read. But I can only write them in the context of shorter scenes within a larger story, where the emotions serve as a pause from the forward momentum of the plot. When those emotions are meant to provide the momentum on their own...that's when my skill set tends to feel stretched. (For the time being!)

12. What is one of the strangest things you have had to research for your whumpy writing?

Oh man... that's a hard one, because I don't really consider any of it strange. Niche, yes. Unusual, perhaps. But my deepest research dives have been into what it's like to live as an upper-limb amputee. Or into what medications are most useful for treating Long QT Syndrome, or what having an ICD go off feels like. Or alternatively, about foods and wildlife found in and around the ancient Syrian desert. Or about laqabs (that one was fun). None of it is actually strange, it's just about understanding the experiences of people whose stories we don't get to find unless we go digging.

25. What advice or wisdom would you like to share with other whump writers?

Take advantage of occasional unsanitary descriptions! Don't be afraid to make the things that happen to your characters be embarrassing and gross! I know we all love the pretty kinds of pain, but I feel like we shoot ourselves in the foot by leaving out the stuff that's gross or humiliating. If your whumpee is crying themselves sick, let them get snot on their face! If they just had a near-death experience, let them realize that they lost control of their bladder! If they're being kept like an animal in a cage, let them face ALL the consequences of ending up without a bathroom!

Those descriptions can each be incredibly brief, but just acknowledging that they're happening at all brings the whole story back to reality. If you go too long without them, your suspension of disbelief starts working against you. The whump your character is going through starts to seem oddly natural. Until suddenly there's something there that gives you just that tiiiiny jolt of "....oh. Oh god. It really is that bad, isn't it?" that truly renews the horror of what you're reading. There aren't many things that can have such a big impact on the overall reading experience of your story in so few words.

And besides, when you find various ways to take away the dignity of your characters (and I mean ALL of your characters, not just your whumpees), it's SO FREEING. You learn that you don't need your Aloof Dignified character to be aloof and dignified 100% of the time. And that in fact, when you find ways to take that defining trait away from them and they still come back to it after, that makes the character trait ten times stronger than it was before. Perfection kills personality. Humiliate everybody, and you'll see what they're actually made of.

[daddyd0nt]

So are you a radfem or are you thirsting for girlcock? You are so all over with your posts are you pro-woman or pro-trans?

It has been like 2 years since I claimed the radfem label, I think they have a lot of really regressive ideas about horror and horror is my special interest as an autistic person and I really can't handle people who try to moralize fiction instead of calling their local precincts in a phone-bank situation and demanding that the untested rape kits be run or writing letters to women in prison/visiting elderly women in nursing homes, running drives for supplies for single mothers, escorting at a clinic, anything that takes more effort than going "that art that was made to be disturbing is disturbing so anybody who interacts with it or appreciates any aspect of it as art is immoral and a bad feminist". Like Yeah I like early Lucifer Valentine movies because they were a major part of my teen years and as a bulimic I relate to them in a weird way but Ive also volunteered as a clinic escort 3 times this year for a 7 hour shift in the freezing cold and last time I was in the hospital took both a girl who had never been before and was just 18 under my wing and protected her from the heroin fuckboys and also an older woman who was half-lucid I would personally go to her room when there was a meal or activity to make sure she didn't get left behind and we bonded over liking VC Andrews and she called me her "bonus granddaughter" by the time I was discharged, and then I called her twice a week until she was discharged and we lost touch. Can yall who judge me say that you've done as much? What are you actually doing for women if you are wasting time moralizing fiction?

Also i consider gender dysphoria to be a mental illness, which I personally have, I am detransitioned. I don't want people who have cocks in some of my private spaces but Im also a strong believer that we need to create 3rd sex safe spaces and cis-free spaces for trans people to be safe in. But im not "sucking girlcock" (im guessing you are a "rudefem" or whatever) by trying to be inclusive when I can be and treat everybody with dignity and basic respect regardless of their gender. I don't like making people feel bad because Im not trying to put myself in the place of the bullies who hurt me in my teens to feel better, it doesn't make me feel good to point out ways trans women don't pass or misgender them on purpose. When I feel as if I've hurt somebody's feelings, I feel bad. I don't have this hatred for trans people that a lot of the radfem community professes, another reason why I stopped identifying with the community. Again, when I was in the hospital, everybody under 20 was trans. I protected those kids FIRECLY. I corrected the old people immediately when they misgendered them ("You're so silly, Mr. Smith, Aiden is a boy, he just has a young face") and we had a lot of really great conversations about dysphoria which one of them later contact me on facebook and said I gave them the courage to detransition.

Im not trying to post "consistent" politics because I disagree with and agree with different aspects of most political issues and I don't owe anybody consistency. This is my personal vent blog Im not running for office. Ralph Waldo Emmerson wrote, "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — 'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.' — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood." I think that sums it up better than I could.

[earthgoddessmusings]

I'm finally beginning to understand why my perpetually single Auntie never had "boyfriends". She traveled the world, but never once paraded a man around our family holiday gatherings like the flashy ornaments the single men in my family brought every year. The men seemed to find new girlfriends of varying ages and ethnicities--some over ten years their junior to introduce every Christmas Eve. Sometimes these romances didn't even last until the New Year and I'm convinced it was a secret party game among them.

The women of the family would give cordial greetings to these new young women while flashing each other knowing glances. My worst fear was catching my sister's glare. Her eyes read like a novel--what stories would unfold if this shiny new woman knew that she looked like a slightly upgraded version of last year's? What would she say if she knew that this would probably be our first and last introduction because this man, whose arm she was propped proudly on, would replace her by next Christmas Eve? My sister and I would lock eyes for a millisecond, give each other the same smirk that has been passed down for generations from mother to daughter, then look away quickly as not to burst into fiery hot laughter.

But, my auntie who uprooted herself and started a life and successful career across the country always opted to enter the room alone. The only flashy favors she carried were her joyful pearly white smile, the biggest bear hugs, and beautifully wrapped gifts for everyone. I'm convinced gift giving was her love language--and she had lots of love to give. She would collect beautiful jewel toned scarves, perfumes, and souvenirs from places we dreamt of seeing. But, year after year--no man. As girls, we would sit in the shadows in awe while listening to the married aunts as they prepared pots in the kitchen and spoke about their husbands in the best and worst light. We would hear the highlight reels and horror stories; the latter, God always delivered them from as they stuck by their men. They took the role of helpmate very seriously.

The only window into my single Auntie's mysterious love life was through stories about her travels. She would detail moments with "friends" that made us laugh and brought us to tears. Every now and then a male name would be littered into the story almost like a mild hiccup, then she would quickly drive the plot along. We would hang on every word imagining the sounds and smells of these places while wondering about the real relationship between her and her briefly mentioned companion.

Some 15+ years later--after leaving girlhood in the dust, I'm finally viewing life through the lens of my Auntie. Her freedom is often misunderstood by her sisters who are locked into lifelong contracts. Maybe...maybe I'll hold out hope for a holiday when I will arrive with a husband in tow, but I finally understand; the only things I need to bring to the party are myself, my gifts, my love and my joy. All the love I have to give will not be lost--I will share it with my little cousins, my rapidly growing nephew, the people I pass on the streets, the little black and brown girls at church who watch my every move with the same admiring eyes that I still look at my now elderly and thriving auntie with. A woman who made her own way in the world, she walks with dignity, strength, and has an authentic smile for everyone who crosses her path. All these years and she's still smiling.

**I prompted myself to write something about my Christmas memories and this came out ...I decided (although it's not refined) it's worth sharing. This year has been...indescribable...I just hope everyone who celebrates something finds some happiness this holiday season. xoxoxoxoxoxoxo Earth**

[ofstarsandskies]

"Please....enough with the pumpkin spice." (Halloween starter thingy)

HALLOWEEN   SENTENCE    PROMPTS  ! || @forgottenluck

This year's Shadow's Eve, like most in the now 100% adult Kresnik household, lacked any excitement. They had treats to snack on and Ludger delivered some to the neighbors, but Julius never left the house. Inviting people over also went nowhere: Nova got invited to a class reunion Shadows' Eve party, and Zig wouldn't make it back until tomorrow.

It'd be their tiny family all night.

That just left watching a scary movie marathon on TV waiting for the cake to finish rising. Commercials weren't as frequent on the channel they chose, but the times they did pop up? All of them mentioned a pumpkin spice something. Pumpkin spice coffee, bread, muffins, soup... Every year, companies found new ways to add pumpkin spice to their product.

By the tenth pumpkin spice-related commercial in a row, Koun's patience for those two words ran out. Both Ludger and Julius laughed, though Ludger had the decency to explain their reaction, "Welcome to TV during Shadow's Eve season. If this were ten years ago, we'd be watching the same three commercials for pumpkin spice coffee and pumpkin pie."

"Same went for horror movies; you'd see the same five or so," Oh boy, Julius' nostalgic look was here. This could end bad for Ludger's dignity. "I remember when they'd play a commercial for Bloodlust and Ludger used to hide in my lap and ask me when it was over."

Again with the embarrassing stories of his childhood! Did Julius write this stuff down to keep whipping these old memories out? "Imagine being ten and thinking a super virus could turn anyone into mindless killers that bathed in the blood of their victims!" Ludger still believed in the Tooth Spirit; a super virus sounded just as believable! "And don't pretend like you didn't make it worse! You told me that if I didn't wash my hands enough, it could stick to me and spread Bloodlust to both of us!"

"Did I say that?" That liar was totally smiling as he oh-so-innocently asked. "Scary or not, it taught good hygiene didn't it? Sometimes the best lessons are applied with drastic consequences."

Ludger huffed and let this jerk sit on his high horse. Though in all this arguing, they sort of lost the original talking point: too much Pumpkin Spice Season. "Ignoring someone who thinks he's funny, what sort of Autumn tasted do you like, Lord Koun? Maybe that'll get the Pumpkin Spice out of your mind." Like ginger, or Ludger's personal Autumn favorite, maple!

[musicalhistorical]

Spider Sona drabble

My Spidersona was originally created for the little nightmares games, so here’s a short for her, be warned of blood, body horror, forced cannibalism, and gore.

@oopsitszuli feel free to lmk if you want to be tagged when I write things like this!

Friends were never easy to come by in the pale city. Nor were they permanent; Euphie knew by bitter experience how awful they could be.

But…Pepe was different. They’d been resourceful, clever. When things got too much, when Euphie felt the hunger overcome her senses, it was Pepe that made sure that she was alright.

It was Pepe who came up with a pill for her to take that could satisfy her hunger.

And it was Pepe who gave her hope of a different kind of world. With her careless optimism, with her pinkie promises and wilted flowers crowns, she’d make Euphie believe in a world beyond the pale city.

But nightmares are never satisfied with being at the edge of your mind. The signal got to Pepe, a fresh impressionable child, with a mind that was so gullible. The airwaves and the televisions were so bad around Pepe that Euphie had to go first in every room to ensure there wasn’t a television in it.

But Euphie couldn’t be with Pepe forever; and one day she was hiding from the teacher, tucked away in a crate high above the classroom. Pepe was hiding in another room, only to let out a shriek as the television’s cruel waves worked inhumanly fast to distort the child’s body. First the body elongated, spine poking out of her back slightly. Her hands and legs lengthened, fingers sharpening into nails.

Her mouth became crowded with teeth; whilst Euphie’s was manageable, Pepe’s mouth was painfully overcrowded.

When Euphie found her friend, Pepe was unrecognizable. Eyes bulging out of her skull, features looking as though somebody pulled them off and squished in new ones. Her cries were no longer intelligent, and Euphie knew, with the calm distinction of a farmer needing to shoot a lame horse that Pepe needed to be put down.

So…she lured her former friend out into the streets. There’s no use doing this with dignity; it’s Euphie or Pepe at this point.

The battle is horrid; Pepe’s shrieks as she is struck are akin to the child she was- is, Euphie has to remind herself- but then again isn’t she a child? Why must she do this?

But then Pepe lunges for her, long clawed hand swiping towards her, and it briefly crosses her mind as she realizes that her friend wants her dead.

Euphie has no qualms against killing.

Because in her city, it’s the more humane way to dispatch her enemies.

For Pepe, there is no exception. There’s no exception for not eating as a way to survive, and so Euphie tears into her former friend, blood from her once partner and only friend staining her spider suit.

When she is finished, the carcass is almost picked clean, and she feels a surge of intelligence after she licks her teeth clean.

Her friend is unrecognizable, a far cry from the shy, goofy, and intelligent child that kept Euphie comfortable when the nights in the Pale City became too terrifying to bear alone.

It is at this moment when she, a lost child with nobody else to turn to and the biggest loss in her life on her hands, finds herself within the multiverse.

When she sees the others, each a Goliath over her, a girl no more than 13 inches tall, she flees. Hiding inside a vent, one of the few places that offered sanctuary in the city.

Still, she’s offered a place to stay- or at least get cleaned up. Her teeth have permanently distorted the way she speaks so she can’t articulate her fears like the others can. When she’s shown the multiverse and sees Pepe’s hologram, she looks at the floor in shame. Hunger affected every part of her life, but how can she can explain it to these strangers?

How, when her worst crime is on display for them all to see?

She barely listens as they go on to explain the police captain. She doesn’t know what that is or why that’s important, so she sneaks out of the room- a habit she has that has allowed her to get away from the most dangerous scenarios.

When her disappearance is noted, the first thought is that she’s trying to get back to save whoever the captain is on her world. But she’s in the vents, avoiding everything as much as she can before getting to the kitchen.

And the others come in to see her digging into a raw steak.

[unpossession]

ohfiendangelical​.

Perhaps he should be flattered that she would try to preserve his feelings, but her attempts to backtrack only make it worse. Of course it’s about him. It has to be about him, because that’s all his rot. If there’s any truth to what she’s saying — which he doubts — she at least gathered inspiration from her many probing forays into his psyche, which isn’t any better. Either way, she’s seen too much, knows too much.  

He thought he was good at handling himself. He thought nobody could see beneath. He’s tried so hard to keep it all buried, to be the perfect work of art — but if his ugliness is there, visible, tangible, on display for everyone to see, then it’s all meaningless. They will turn on him. Nobody will ever love him again. How could they? He isn’t even really here. He’s a projection, a hologram, nothing but an empty image. 

Zero feels as though his skin is cracking, disintegrating. Soon he will break and be no more. Maybe in millions of years, they’ll find him in the wreckage of this city, a shattered statue. Maybe his antiquity will render him worthy again, beautiful despite the damage, like the Venus de Milo. Time will have melted away all meaning and his ugliness will be lost to history. They’ll put him in a museum to be admired as an ancient thing, a fragment, a remnant. 

          “I don’t like being lied to,”          he snaps, swallowing his hysteria.          “At least give me the dignity of honesty. I thought—” 

I thought you liked me, I thought we had fun together.

         “I thought you didn’t see. Nobody’s meant to see.”

She  feels  rotten.       She feels rotten for her thoughts and the fact that she still thinks them and the way he is so obviously wounded by her assessments. Did she read him wrong? Did she harm more than his vanity? Has she betrayed more than a facade? Willow never wanted this. She has never once considered it a gift to be able to transcribe the world as clearly as she sees it in prose -- to be compelled to... She has ruined something with this. He has ruined it by looking at it. 

It all felt so grand when she was writing it. She thinks back to one of their earlier conversations. She compared herself to Basil Hallward.  Is the likeness too true to the subject? Is the romance she thought she put into her work rotting within the pages? Dorian looks down at her now, doesn’t he?      You told me you destroyed it.      I was wrong, it has destroyed me.     It is the face of my soul. 

Exposed to the reality of her writing now, she wishes she was Basil. His end came quickly after the horror. Willow knows she will be granted no such mercy. She’s spiraling again. She feels herself circling the drain, being swallowed by a panic attack. She breathes too quickly, talks in wispy, slurred sentences. 

                   “I wanted to see everything,”   She answers him weakly.   “It’s all beautiful to me. It’s all art.”