#if the people feel its not up to snuff i think they should be listened to

[moonsidesong]

sometimes i read critiques on inanimate insanity and im like. ok maybe the reason the magic on the show is lost on me now just because im not a young teenager anymore. meanwhile two from tpot can literally do anything at all and i will cheer and clap loudly and smile bigly at my screen so who knows how true that is

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXIV)

Chapter 24: ‘Sometimes, when I’m pleased, I let out a little sound. A poet noticed this and it made me feel I might one day properly be loved. Because no one is here to love me, I make tea for myself and leave the radio playing’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some cute moments for you all :)

I’m also making a reference to a documentary in this chapter, I was thinking about Brainwashed directed by Nina Menkes, you can check it out if you’d like!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3096

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Tea

Five times a day, I make tea. I do this because I like the warmth in my hands, like the feeling of self-directed kindness. I’m not used to it— warmth and kindness, both—so I create my own when I can. It’s easy. You just pour water into a kettle and turn the knob and listen for the scream. I do this five times a day. Sometimes, when I’m pleased, I let out a little sound. A poet noticed this and it made me feel I might one day properly be loved. Because no one is here to love me, I make tea for myself and leave the radio playing. I must remind myself I am here, and do so by noticing myself: my feet are cold inside my socks, they touch the ground, my stomach churns, my heart stutters, in my hands I hold a warmth I make. I come from a people who pray five times a day and make tea. I admire the way they do both. How they drop to the ground wherever they are. Drop pine nuts and mint sprigs in a glass. I think to care for the self is a kind of prayer. It is a gesture of devotion toward what is not always beloved or believed. I do not always believe in myself, or love myself, I am sure there are times I am bad or gone or lying. In another’s mouth, tea often means gossip, but sometimes means truth. Despite the trope, in my experience my people do not lie for pleasure, or when they should, even when it might be a gesture of kindness. But they are kind. If you were to visit, a woman would bring you a tray of tea. At any time of day. My people love tea so much it was once considered a sickness. Their colonizers tried, as with any joy, to snuff it out. They feared a love so strong one might sell or kill their other loves for leaves and sugar. Teaism sounds like a kind of faith I’d buy into, a god I wouldn’t fear. I think now I truly believe I wouldn’t kill anyone for love, not even myself—most days I can barely get out of bed. So I make tea. I stand at the window while I wait. My feet are cold and the radio plays its little sounds. I do the small thing I know how to do to care for myself. I am trying to notice joy, which means survive. I do this all day, and then the next.

Leila Chatti

Your conversation with Andrew was exhilarating.

Of course, you were aware that he was smart, you knew him well enough by now to be very aware of that. And of course, as he studied literature for a living, you knew that he was extremely knowledgeable in that field. Still, it was just so… exciting, to talk with him. About anything, really.

You were in his home to watch the documentary you had spotted about the male gaze in cinema, the film was just over. There were remnants of tea and biscuits on his coffee table, and Andrew’s dog was curled at his feet, on the carpet. Outside, the weather was moody but dry, there was a lot of wind though, and it made a strange sound as the air hit the windows. And now, even if the documentary was over, you kept on discussing the subject, bouncing ideas and examples. And he was listening to you, paying attention to what you were saying, he was even interested in what you had to say. He wasn’t contradicting you, more like asking deeper questions, debating in a productive way. You had already been commenting during the film, but it had been half an hour now since the documentary had ended, and he still seemed perfectly content with talking about it more with you.

You couldn’t help yourself as you drew a parallel with Frank, how you knew he was faking interest when you talked about your work. You thought he was making an effort back then, but perhaps you were being too kind to him. As you listened to Andrew agreeing with you, offering more arguments, his hands moving as he spoke with an obvious interest that was almost passion… you couldn’t help but question yourself. If Andrew was so enthralled by something you were passionate about, perhaps Frank should have been too… or… perhaps he could have at least properly listened to you.

You were interrupted by Elwood though. Andrew was cut mid-sentence as his dog woke up from his nap, and immediately rose and put his front paws on Andrew’s knees, looking at him with an impatient look in his eyes while waiting to get attention. Andrew couldn’t refrain a chuckle as he scratched the dogs head, making the animal happily wiggle his tail.

“Your dog is so cute,” you chuckled fondly at the adorable sight.

“Yeah, he’s a very good boy,” Andre nodded.

“Oh, God! I almost forgot, wait! I brought you something!”

Andrew frowned hard, staring at you while you stood up from the couch and hurried towards your bag.

“Y/N, there was no need… you shouldn’t have brought anything…”

“It’s not for you. It’s for him.”

Andrew merely frowned again, and you couldn’t help but find his puzzled look adorable.

“For… Elwood, you mean?”

You nodded proudly, taking a toy out of your purse.

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“I told you not to buy him anything…”

“I wanted to!”

It was just a little something, much like a ball, but it was shaped like a frog. You had seen it in the supermarket the day prior while buying groceries, and thought of Andrew immediately. So, you bought it, thinking his dog could like it.

You handed it to Andrew, who chuckled happily at the sight. His fingers brushed yours as he took the toy, his fingertips calloused because of years spent playing the guitar. You shuddered, your heart skipping a beat. You watched how ridiculously small the toy looked in his large hand…

You shook yourself out of these thoughts, cleared your throat.

“I just saw it yesterday in the store, and just… had to buy it! It was so cute!”

“Christ… thank you so much, Y/N. This is adorable.”

He pressed on the toy, a little squeaky noise coming out of it that immediately caught Elwood’s attention.

“You didn’t have to, though,” Andrew admonished, but you brushed off his remark.

“I was happy to buy it for him.”

Andrew let the toy drop to the floor and Elwood immediately hurried after it as it rolled away, happily chewing on it too to make it squeak. Andrew smiled fondly at the sight.

“Thanks Y/N.”

There was something else in his eyes too, something fond and almost tender as he looked up at you. You tried not to think about it too much, rekindled the conversation so your brain would focus on something else than the green in his eyes…

“I’ve never asked you… when did you get Elwood?”

“Oh, way back! I was in college. I found him on the road with my parents when he was just a puppy. He didn’t have a tag or anything, it was pretty obvious he had been abandoned. We tried to find out if anyone was claiming him, but no one was, so we kept him. He moved back with me when I got my job at Trinity, instead of staying with my parents.”

“That’s kind of you to have kept him.”

“We always had a dog around at home. I really love dogs a lot. It wasn’t an effort, really. I was hoping no one would claim him, to be honest.”

“Why ‘Elwood’ though?”

Andrew laughed, watched as you crouched by his dog to pet his head. Elwood dismissed his new toy in favour of getting more scratches, making you giggle happily.

“My father thought that he had a spot on his neck that looked like a tie. So, it made him think of the Blues Brothers. So, Elwood it was.”

“I have to admit, I’ve never watched that film.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

“Wow… and I thought you were a respectable person.”

You laughed at that, bright and happy, and you noticed that Andrew smiled because of it.

“We all have our flaws, I guess. I would love to watch it with you though, if you want to.”

His smile turned into an excited grin.

“Yeah, totally. Like… that would be grand!”

You checked the time, it was late already. Almost 7pm, you ought to go home and have dinner. You had spent most of your afternoon at Andrew’s already.

He saw your gesture, but you didn’t say anything. Truth was, you didn’t want to go home. You were happy with Andrew. You had not thought of Frank this afternoon, except when you noticed that he should have done better. It was a drastic change, to have someone who was nice, funny, and actually interested in things you adored. The fact that he looked gorgeous in a blue and white striped t-shirt and a black cardigan, with his hair up in a casual bun, didn’t help you will yourself out of his flat. But you reckoned that you had bothered him enough for one day, you ought to go home…

“Y/N?”

You looked up again, silently questioning him while you kept on giving his dog some well-deserved love.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

You raised a surprised eyebrow.

“I mean… like… unless you have something planned, of course. It’s just… it’s late, and… I was going to order some take-out anyway, so… if you want, we could order something. But if you’d prefer to go home, like… that’s totally fine.”

You noticed how he nervously rubbed at his palm, his shy side coming back to the surface.

You broke into a grin.

“I’d love to stay, Andy. But only if we split the bill!”

He grinned, stopped rubbing at his hand, and you noticed that he was blushing a little.

“Grand!”

You were about to ask about what he wanted to eat when his phone buzzed, and he took a look at who was calling.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I have to take this. I won’t be long though.”

You nodded with a smile, while Andrew was picking up his phone and hurrying out of the room. He closed the door of his second bedroom behind him, and you heard his voice only as muffled sounds you couldn’t decipher.

You waited for him to come back, playing with Elwood and his new toy. He seemed to really like you, and you couldn’t refrain a sense of pride at the thought. He kept on coming back for scratches and attention, even after getting side-tracked because of the toy.

A few minutes later, Andrew was opening the door again, but he hadn’t ended his call. He walked to his kitchen to look at the tiny calendar hanging next to the fridge.

“Yeah… okay. No, I can do that in four weeks. So, a reading, then? Okay. No, no, I don’t mind if there are questions at all, on the contrary. What about the journal then? Four poems! Wow… I thought they just wanted to publish one! How many? Okay. No, no, it’s okay, I’ve got some that are ready to be published, maybe I’ll add a couple new ones… we’ll see. Yeah, I know… okay. Alright. Thanks so much, Caroline. Yeah, have a nice one too. Bye.”

He wrote something on his calendar, then came back to the living room to join you.

“Sorry about that.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop… but… you talked about poetry?” you asked, and Andrew visibly blushed.

He nervously ran his fingers through his beard.

“Yeah… erm…”

“Sorry, that’s none of my business…”

“No, no… that’s… I just…”

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but he answered anyway.

“I write poetry.”

Your eyes grew a little round, but you didn’t try to hide your excitement. And Andrew seemed surprised by it.

“That’s amazing! Have you ever been published?”

“Erm… yeah, like… I have a couple of collections published. I publish regularly in journals too.”

“Wow! That’s so cool!”

He raised a surprised eyebrow.

“It’s nothing particularly good or anything…”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m sure you’re downplaying your art a lot. That’s amazing!”

“Yeah, I… I’m quite proud of that, to be honest.”

“Why do you look all shy, then?” you asked, wondering if you were a little too direct as Andrew stared at you in surprise.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. But then he shrugged.

“I don’t know… you’re right, it’s silly. It was my agent… on the phone, I mean. I’m booked for a reading of some of my poems next month.”

“That sounds grand!”

“Yeah… I get a little nervous with those, but I really like doing that too.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know you were a poet.”

“I didn’t tell you before.”

“I’m supposed to be an expert in literature,” you replied, making him chuckle.

“Not in contemporary Irish poetry though. That’s my jam, back off! Soon, you’ll take my job as well as my dog’s love.”

You laughed at that.

“Nah, I’m just bribing him so he will tolerate me in his home,” you argued, right when Elwood was reaching to lick your cheek.

“Yeah, of course… he clearly hates you,” Andrew replied, “look at him, he’s this close from biting your head off.”

You giggled, tickled by Elwood’s tongue, and you almost fell over as Elwood rested his paws on your chest.

You laughed loudly, and Andrew did the same.

“Alright, Elwood, that’s enough. Come here, boy. Come here,” he ordered, and Elwood obeyed in an instant, earning some scratches and praises as he reached Andrew.

You walked back to the couch to join Andrew.

“Andy?” you asked, trying to think of the right words to ask your next question.

“Hmm?”

“Would you find it weird if I read your poetry? Or can I?”

He froze, his hand stopping all movement on Elwood’s head, who looked up at his owner with a questioning look.

“Like… I don’t know… poetry can be really personal, so… If you don’t want me to read it, I’d understand. But, I’d really like to read it.”

He looked at you then, blinking, like he was trying to process your words. He looked adorable like this, with a confused look on his face that made his lips part and his eyebrows knit together.

“You… you want to read it?”

“Yeah! Of course!”

He blinked again.

“Oh… okay.”

“Unless you don’t want me to…”

“No, I… I don’t mind. You can read it if you want.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

He clenched his jaw, but kept on looking at you.

“I don’t know… it’s just… Sam never really cared about that. Like she… she didn’t get it, you know? She didn’t really like what I wrote. It’s… it’s quite political, most of the time. Or about love. Or… I don’t know… she didn’t like it. She wasn’t interested in it.”

“I’m not Samantha, though.”

He stared at you then, intense and a little stunned. His voice was so soft when he spoke.

“No… no, you’re definitely not Samantha.”

If the phrasing was rather emotionless, his tone made it sound like it was a compliment. As if he was acknowledging the fact, your differences, and that he was happy to find them. You gave him a smile, a little lost, not knowing how to respond.

You saw that he was struggling to swallow, that he looked impossibly nervous again.

“You… you could come to the reading, if you want,” he offered in a breath. “Like… if you’re not busy and you want to, of course.”

But you grinned.

“That would be amazing! Yes! Of course, I’d like to come!”

He grinned back at you, looking excited too now.

“Grand!”

“Should I have read your poetry first, or is it better if I discover it then?”

“Ermmm… I don’t know. I like listening to poetry readings a lot, it’s not the same. There’s something very… melodic, about poetry, that you don’t really have when it’s only on paper. So… you can definitely discover it at the reading. You’ll have to sit through it even if you don’t like it though.”

You took his last remark as a joke and laughed, but his surprise showed you that he was being serious.

“Andy, I’m sure I’m going to love it! Why wouldn’t I? God, I can’t wait now! Can you send me the details then?”

“Sure, yeah. I’ll send you everything.”

“Thank you!”

He chuckled.

“Thank you, for being interested in that.”

“We’re friends! Of course, I’m interested!”

He grinned again, slowly nodding.

“Well… what do you want to eat?” he changed the subject.

“Pizza?”

“Oh! Yes!”

Andrew got you some pizza, and you spent a long time chatting, drinking beer while you ate. Soon, it was already 11 pm, but you didn’t want to go home. Instead, you had moved back from the kitchen to the couch, and you admired him like this, relaxed and babbling away about Breath of the Wild and the last movie he had watched.

He took off his cardigan at one point, and before he could readjust his t-shirt, you noticed dark traces on his upper-arm.

“What’s that?” you asked, making Andrew laugh.

“My tattoo.”

Your jaw dropped.

“You have a tattoo?”

“Yeah…” he chuckled, rubbing at his neck. “Nothing special though.”

“Let me see!”

“No!”

“Come on! Let me see!”

He rolled his eyes.

“It’s only two words, that a friend of mine tattooed on me when we were in College.”

“You know a tattoo artist?”

“No, he did it like… prison style, you know,” Andrew joked. “Just… with a pen and a needle and just…”

He mimicked the gesture of repeatedly stinging somebody with a needle. You blinked at him.

“Wow… you will never cease to surprise me, Andy.”

He laughed at that.

“You’re actually a delinquent,” you joked, making him laugh even harder.

“Of the worst kind, I’m afraid.”

“Can I see?”

He hesitated for a second, and then he pushed his short sleeve up, until you could read the words painted there on his arm.

Noli Timere

“It means ‘never be afraid’,” he explained, blushing.

“Why that phrase?”

He blushed some more.

“It was Heaney’s last words to his wife.”

He seemed to expect you to mock him, but you didn’t.

“I should have known, a fan till the end,” you smiled, and he nodded. “It’s a nice reminder to have. Very meaningful.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so too.”

You stared at him to speak again, diving into his hazel eyes. At such an hour, Andrew was growing tired, and so his eyes wore a vivid shade of green, like leaves in the summer sun.

“Besides, tattoos are sexy.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look away despite his obvious blush. He slightly tilted his head to the side, and his tone was flirtatious when he answered.

“Are they now?”

You merely nodded and hummed along.

What the fuck were you doing? Were you flirting with Andrew? Your colleague?! Your friend?!

“Even if they’re made with a pen and needle by a drunk friend?”

“Especially if they’re made like that, yeah. That sounds very bad boy of you.”

He winced at that, making you laugh.

“Christ, I hope not…”

“The reference to a poet and the incredibly romantic meaning behind it kind of balances it out but…”

“I’m a sap, I know.”

“Unsalvageable, I’m afraid…”

“Who’s saying I want to be saved from that?”

You exchanged a smile, and as you sat there, on Andrew’s sofa, staring at him and how gorgeous he was, and how tender his gaze was and… you just…

You would have let him kiss you if he had tried to. You would have let him…

“It’s quite late, I should go home,” you let out in a breath, unable to hide your reluctance to actually do what you said.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”

You didn’t get up though. Instead, you leant forward to kiss his cheek, resting a hand on his chest to steady yourself, and you could have sworn that under your palm his heart was pounding.

“Good night, Andy,” you whispered against his ear, and you heard how his breath caught in his throat.

You were pulling away when he stopped you, hand reaching to cradle the back of your head. He turned his face to kiss your cheek as well, but his kiss landed on the corner of your lips, almost on your mouth.

“Good night, Y/N. Tell me when you’re home, okay? It’s late.”

“Okay.”

You stared at each other for a moment longer, his fingers still in your hair, your hand still on his chest.

You would have let him…

You pulled away, got up and finally walked out of his flat.

The skin he had touched with his lips was burning still when you got home.

[letters-from-dekarios]

[Roux is a human thief who worked for the Guild. He is cold and impersonal on the outside but very affectionate when he likes someone. He romanced Gale but didn't accept the proposal because he had his own stuff to figure out. The letter is written in a scratchy hand, with ink smears and crossed-out letters indicating that it was written rather hastily]

Dearest Gale,

I hope you're doing well. Professorship suits you, I think. I never got to go to school but in my entirely unbiased opinion you make an amazing teacher. I hope you can actually read this, since I know my writing isn't exactly up to snuff, but if you can't then I'm sure you'll spare my feelings somehow.

Baldur's Gate is as busy as ever, although being a hero certainly has its perks. It's weird- people buy me drinks and stuff, now. People know my name and they respect it. Important people want to talk to me, and want my help making decisions.

I don't know if I like it all the time.

Not to be bitter, but must of these nobles would've spit on me a year ago, and the only reason they'll listen to a street rat is because I saved their sorry arses. Oh well, at least I can help some people while I'm at it. Wyll says hello, by the way, but he already writes to you enough, so I'm sure you know that.

I do wonder about your tower, sometimes. Everything you told me made it seem apart from the world, in some pocket of peace that all the chaos couldn't touch. I'd welcome some peace, I think.

I spent my whole life being a sticky-fingered kid, stealing to get by, but you made me feel like more than that. You treated me like a person- a person that mattered.

I'm not good at letters. I know I've been dancing around it for a while, and it only took me so long to write because I was putting it off. I'm sorry about that. But... I still love you. That never went away. I miss having you tell me about anything and everything and nothing at all. I miss having someone hold my hand.

I won't say that I regret my decision- because that would be a lie and I'm trying not to lie so much these days. I needed a little while to figure out who I am what I want.

And... Well, what I want is you. I need you. I need peace. I need to stay in one place, for a while. I understand if our leaving left a sour taste in your mouth. If you want nothing to do with me I won't push you. But if you do want me... Well, I don't own much in the way of material possessions. It wouldn't be that hard to move to Waterdeep.

-Yours, Roux

Dearest Roux,

I am glad to hear from you! It has been awfully too long since we last spoke. At times, I find myself missing the presence you held when we’d camp together. Though I do prefer not having a tadpole to worry of.

Blackstaff is treating me rather well! Though that is no surprise to even the most knowledgeable man. I have taken a quick liking to my work and as most would say, “fit right in”. I walk the halls with the reminder of my history here, and it brings me comfort to remember that I was once much like the very students I teach today. This is about the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever experienced, second only to saving Faerûn.

Baldur’s Gate hasn’t known an ounce of calm peace in decades. But, regardless, they try and feign normalcy after an event as huge as we had conquered. Being a “hero” of sorts is never easy to get used to. I feel as though one can only continue chasing that feeling of “more” as though you must continue with your acts of service to consider yourself worthy of the praise being received.

Nobles spit on anyone they consider lower than they. They’ll even spit on other nobles if given the chance. The opinions they hold in the grand scheme of things should, in all reality, mean nothing. But I do understand the point you draw. It’s an odd experience to have people who’d kill you now kill for you. One does not simply “adjust” to that.

Your words bring a sadness to my heart. The backgrounds of us all were much to be contested with. Look at the likes of Astarion, or Karlach, for example. You, out of all of us, certainly mattered. Without you, I’m sure the rest of us would have either died or been sent back to the hells we came from. I’m sure I would’ve exploded in the midst of the Weave and my memory would’ve long faded without you. I couldn’t be more grateful for your existence and your kindness.

Roux… I have not the words I need to reply to you. What I can say, however, is this; I never stopped loving you. Through it all, I still find myself aching for your presence beside me. I am not mad at you for leaving, I would be a selfish bastard to be angry with you for that. And, quite frankly, I’ve tried to swear off being a selfish bastard after my last consequences.

I cannot blame you for needing time. For needing space. After saving all of Faerûn, it’s only reasonable to need time to understand where you’re at and who you’ve become. It is not within my rights to hold any kind of a grudge after all you’ve done for me. I would wait decades for you, Roux. I would curse the gods for immortality if it meant I’d have you at the end of it all. I would devote my dying breath to your highest altar just to have a glimpse of what could have been.

Perhaps that is idiotic of me. Perhaps you will be thinking I shouldn’t hold onto such a thing for that long. I cannot deny the inclinations of my heart, I never have been able to do that. I cannot tie my heart to yours and cut it off so easily. I am not capable of such an act.

Whatever you have to give, whatever you want to give, all of it will be more than enough. Your association at my side is more than I could ever need in this lifetime and the next. If I am to be reincarnated after death, I shall find you then too. You are all I have ever wanted and all I will ever desire. With you, my breath catches and my heart swells with joy. I have never met a person so comfortable to be around.

You, Roux, will always have a space within my home, my mind, and most especially my heart. Whatever you need, whatever your desire, I shall fulfill it to the best of my ability. However you are, however you come, I will take you in. You are most here in Waterdeep.

And, if it happens to sweeten the deal, Tara misses you, too. My mother has even offered to bake some sweets for your arrival if you do so choose to return here.

I would be more than happy to have you here, Roux. I am not a man who tends to lie on matters of such grave importance, you know that. Write me when you have started your journey to Waterdeep, if you are still interested in coming here, that way I have some time to prepare for your arrival.

Yours in every lifetime,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

[theoddcatlady]

I'm Never Shooting Another Snuff Film

You don’t start out shooting snuff. You build up to it. To be honest, I never thought I’d let it get that far. And I wish I never did.

I started out wanting to be a legit film maker. But that’s a hard business to break into when you don’t know the right people. Living on your own is expensive, and it gets humiliating to ask your parents for help covering your rent after the second time. My mom was always more than happy to help, but it wasn’t like my parents were loaded, and I hated being a leech.

Eating nothing but ramen noodles and cheap mac n cheese is its own kind of misery. Not to mention being unable to go out and do anything with friends. I mean, I survived, but I was miserable. So when the chance to film a porno came up, I jumped at the chance. I told myself it would be just this once.

Just this once turned into just one more time, then this would be the last time, and before I knew it I started getting deeper and deeper into the taboo. Like Fifty Shades of Grey looked vanilla compared to some of the BDSM I was behind the camera for.

I knew I was getting out of the realm of legal when I filmed a girl cutting open her arms and licking up the blood. I don’t know what she was on, but she had to be on something to do this all while smiling and giggling. But that check felt so damn good, so I kept my mouth shut. I was finally in the black. I told myself no one made her do those things, so what was the harm in it?

Then one day I was approached with a once in a lifetime deal. I normally worked with my guy Charlie, he got all the hook ups for the weird stuff. One day Charlie came over with this other guy I’d never met before who introduced himself as Noel.

Noel doesn’t look how you’re probably picturing someone in this scene, he was about five foot six and balding on top. He wore these round wire framed glasses and made me think of a schoolteacher. The kind of teacher that everyone loved, the one that you couldn’t wait for his class every day because he never assigned homework and let you listen to music while you worked.

“I’m a fan of your work, Frank- can I call you Frank?” Noel took out his wallet and counted out a few hundred dollar bills. “This is your signing bonus. Once the film is complete, I’ll give you double that.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “How long’s the filming going on for?” I asked, already snatching up the money.

“Oh, just a day. Maybe two, if we need to do reshoots. Don’t worry, you’ll be compensated if it takes any longer than it should.” Noel extended his hand. “What do you say? No hard feelings if you feel you’re not up for the task.”

I shook Noel’s hand and asked when I started.

I figured it would just be over the top BDSM when I saw the set, all chains and brick. I had a few drinks with the two male actors while we waited for the actress to make her appearance. Not gonna lie, I got Ted Bundy vibes from the guy calling himself Tommy, but Gabe seemed like another average, fun guy.

When I saw the actress get dragged in, I realized how very deep I was in over my head.

Her mouth had been duct taped shut, she’d clearly been crying and looked pretty banged up. Noel followed the men dragging her and clapped his hands together. “Let’s get to work then! Frank, I’d like for you to focus a lot on her limbs. The commissioner is very into legs and arms. You’ll only get one chance, but since this is your first time filming this sort of kink, I won’t be too upset if it’s not perfect.”

I should’ve just bolted then. Gave Noel back his goddamn money and left. Gone to the cops, gone to someone.

Instead, I quietly sat behind the camera and treated it like any other porn film.

Lights, camera, action.

I never knew the girl’s name. Both Tommy and Gabe wore full leather masks and were armed with hand saws. I zoomed in as they started sawing through her shoulder. Drops of blood landed on the camera and I brushed them off without even thinking. I saw Noel nod approvingly at that natural motion. The arm fell to the ground and I panned over it nice and slow as it rested on the floor.

They took off her other arm and both legs, her struggles slowly fading and her eyes fluttering shut by the time they got through the final femur. Tommy and Gabe stood, bowed to the camera like they were on stage for a play.

And cut.

I had to run to the bathroom after that. I vomited for what felt like an hour. When I finally stumbled out, Noel handed me the rest of my payment. He patted my shoulder and helped escort me to my car. “It’s always hardest the first time. I bet you had dreams of filming the next summer blockbuster someday?” He said.

I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t need to. Noel just nodded. “We all had dreams like that. Maybe if things turned out differently we would’ve been working on one of those blockbusters together. I’ll call you when I need your services again.”

I told myself that I wouldn’t pick up the phone again when Noel called.

But I did.

I did twenty-five snuff films in total. The money felt so, so damn good. And after a while, you really do become desensitized to it all. For me, it just felt like I was in a dream. A dream with gore and guts and horrible, horrible things happening to people, but it wasn’t happening to me. I just saw it through a lens.

The twenty-fifth film was the one that finally made me quit.

I was out drinking with my fellow crew members when Noel came up with this darling blonde on his shoulder. I don’t know how he did it as he was pretty average in appearance, but Noel could get the hottest women.

“Gentlemen, this is Rada. Rada, this is Tommy, Gabe, and Frank,” He said, gesturing to them all.

Rada giggled and clapped. “Noel tells me you are… actors?” She said, her Russian accent thick on her words.

Gabe puffed up. “Tommy and I are the actors. Frank’s the camera man,” He said.

“Camera man?” She cocked her head to the side. “Is it fun?” She asked.

I shrugged. “Well, I like it. It pays the bills,” I said.

“Very good, very good!” Rada clapped before looking up at Noel. “Could I be in a film? I’ve always wanted to be an actress.”

I nearly dropped my glass. I had to excuse myself from the table, unable to ignore that glint of darkness in Noel’s smile.

I got a text about twenty minutes later saying to head to the ‘studio’. I stopped by at home to change into clothes I didn’t mind getting bloody before I walked over.

Rada was clearly drunk as she teetered around the set. She poked at the chains on the wall and smiled. “Am I a captive in your scene, Noel?” She asked.

“That sounds about right.” Noel helped her into the chains, Rada’s innocent doe brown eyes looking excitedly around. This whole thing made me genuinely sick. It was one thing when they were terrified, begging for mercy and sobbing as they realized they were doomed. But the innocent expression on Rada’s face, how clear it was she had no idea what was going to happen… I almost walked out then.

But then Noel slipped a few hundreds in my hand and I just got the camera ready.

“Now remember, Rada, you are terrified. You are in true fear of your life as this man is about to gut you. Don’t be afraid to scream,” Noel said.

Rada nodded. “I can do that! I’m very good at being scared,” She said.

Tommy snickered before he pulled on his leather mask. “This is just too easy sometimes,” He murmured to me. I just rolled my eyes.

Lights. Camera. Action.

Rada’s bubbly expression changed to one of true terror as Tommy walked into the camera. “Please, why am I here? I want to go home, please,” She said as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Tommy twirled around the knife before sliding it down her front, slicing through the front of her dress. Rada whimpered and turned her face away. “I’ll do whatever you want! Please, take my money, use my body!” She begged.

The knife nicked her skin and I saw this brief moment of confusion before she began to struggle in earnest, realizing this wasn’t just a movie anymore. “Nyet! Unchain me! I don’t like this game! Director! I don’t want to play anymore!” She shouted.

The knife went into her stomach and her breath caught before she screamed so loudly I felt my ears pop.

Tommy sliced down her stomach, thrusting his hand inside to pull out her intestines. He held them in front of her eyes as she continued to scream actual bloody murder. Even Noel, who was typically quite passive during these scenes, winced and rubbed one of his ears.

Rada’s dying breaths came as all her organs were spilled out in front of her. Tommy bowed for the camera.

And cut.

“Incredible,” Noel shook his head before he got up and threw Tommy a towel, “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Tommy nodded before I heard a groan.

“Noel, can I go again? I can do better.”

I am not lying when I say I literally pissed my pants when I saw Rada’s head roll back up, blinking a few times before her eyes focused on Noel.

Tommy screamed like a school girl as he scrambled away, ripping off his mask. “How the fuck!?!” He yelped as Rada began to tug at her chains.

The girl groaned before rolling her eyes and smashing her right hand against the wall, I heard bones crack before she pulled her mangled hand free. She did the same to the left before she began the impossible task of shoving her organs inside her mangled torso. “Scene… sorry… your language is hard… when I hurt…” She grunted as she popped her large intestine back inside. “Scene would look better, covered in my blood? I can be cleaned,” She looked up with a smile as she attempted to pull her skin together.

Noel got up from his chair, I saw him shake as he slowly approached this woman that should absolutely be dead. “What are you?” He said softly.

Rada giggled.

“An actress, Noel. I want to be a very good actress.”

We filmed that scene three more times. Rada had to film the rest of the shots naked, but she didn’t mind. Only thing that bothered her was how cold the stone under her ass was. After each time she’d get up, put herself back together, and we’d go again. I’d never filmed for so long before, not for one of Noel’s films. The sun was coming up when Noel finally said we were done.

I was about to leave when Rada stopped me. “Can I see?” She asked, snuggling into the shirt she’d stolen from Tommy.

Swallowing, I let her have the camera and rewound to the final time we filmed, which Noel had said was going to be his best work yet. She watched silently, nodding approvingly as Tommy tore out her heart and squeezed the beating organ in his hand. “My expressions are believable?” She asked.

“Does it really hurt you?” I asked.

Rada nodded. “It hurts like it would if it would kill me. But like I said, I want to be an actress. Will I be famous in these films? I can change if the director needs me to be a different girl.” She looked so eager for my response.

“… In certain circles, you’ll be a star.”

I left that day and never went back. I never picked up Noel’s phonecalls. Charlie was as good as dead to me. I cut my lease early and am now living back with my parents in Ohio. I think I’ll be going back to school, go into something less bloody like accounting. My mom always wanted me to be an accountant.

I never want to film anything again. Especially one of Noel’s films.

I wonder if Rada’s starring in all his movies now.

[somethingelseishere]

Detective Miles sits at his desk, despondent - staring into space when a knock brings him back.

“Yeah.”

The door opens, it’s officer Burns - with a brown paper bag in hand. “You bring me lunch?” asks the detective. “Got another one.” replies Burns.

He closes the door, takes a seat and places the bag on the desk. “Wait til you hear this.” he goes on.

Miles removes his glasses. “Guy just left, said it was the worst thing he’d ever seen.”

The detective leans back in his chair, interlacing his fingers behind his head.

“It’s a war picture, from a third and different shop location - about halfway through it cuts to this weird shit, two sick fucks beating an old man.”

Miles stares through the officer while he gives the rundown. “He said they nearly kill the guy - and then - they set him on fire.”

Miles takes in a breath and exhales, lowering his arms, crossing them.

“But get this - the guy said he knows the old man.” “Okay.” Miles responds. “It was his father.”

A very tense and quiet moment passes.

“Well shit.”

ONE HOUR LATER

Detective Miles is seated in Father Burton’s office. The elder priest enters the room, closes the door and rests himself on the plush chair behind his desk.

“Say whatever is on your mind.”

Miles moves to the edge of his seat, leaning forward. “Three different cases this week. People buying used videos, movies - not knowing somebody somewhere has recorded snuff films over them.”

The Father lowers his gaze to view the detective over the top of his glasses.

“I know you have contacts in - questionable places.” “I’d like to think I serve the entire community.” Burton informs.

“If you could just, maybe keep your ear to the ground, you hear something, anything - it would help a great deal.” requests Miles.

“Such a loathsome act.” the priest replies.

Detective Miles stands and reaches out his hand. Father Burton acts in kind.

“You will be the first to know, should I come across any relevant information.”

“I appreciate that.” Miles says with a forced grin.

The two exit the office and Father Burton escorts Detective Miles to the front entrance. The older man returns to the nave, slowly making his way up the main aisle. He stops to glance a young man seated alone on a middle pew. Mid 20’s, fidgety. The man turns to see the father staring and offers a nervous smile. The Father nods and continues through the cavernous room - stepping into a confessional.

It’s only a few moments before the door to the penitent’s compartment is opened and quickly shut.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” the Father recites.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

“It’s fine my son, God’s mercy is plentiful enough for us all.” “Although, that’s not really true.”

“What’s that?” asks the Father. “I don’t truly believe I have sinned. It’s just what the world wants me to think. So I can be overcome with guilt and grief and live a miserable life under thumb.”

“Perhaps you’d feel better to unburden yourself regardless?” “I’m giving the world what it wants. The non-filtered, raw and untamed experience of humanity - at its worst.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” “Cowards, living in fear. Liars, whose every action only compounds the lies they tell themselves.”

“It does no man any measure of justice to align himself with the false light.” the Father injects.

“I take the risks, so it is I who should reap the lion’s share of the rewards!” the young man seethes.

“Please lower your voice.” Burton politely requests.

A pregnant pause settles into an uncomfortable length.

“We need to reopen discussion on further compensation.” says the young man.

“Let me tell you what is going to happen.” the priest begins. “You are going to leave here and never return.”

The young man listens, holding his tongue.

“You will not compromise this operation, do you understand?”

The confessor is silent.

“Answer me!” the Father demands. “I understand.” “Your liaison will be in touch.”

Father Burton leaves the confessional and disappears into the long rear hallway.

"Close to Home" - Final in the three-part series 'Erased' Mixed media on plywood. My 160th painting.

[littlewalken]

aug 17

Somewhere around today or maybe it was tomorrow or the next day in 1994 I joined the mystical cult of If You Fall, I'll Be There-Floor. It was an eerie feeling 10 years ago when I passed the lived longer after than before threshold but I did.

Unrelated point is part of the service fee mom paid Geek Squad to look at what is now her iMac included them telling her I did everything right in wiping the memory from and trying to reinstall the OS to the 2017 iMac. Most likely our budget internet couldn't handle that big of a download. But that'll tell you for basic computing and internet an iMac really holds up. And that's the one that went to the Mystery Flesh Pit with me.

For weird little things, the 2017 has a rounded corner display and a square keyboard, the new one has a square display and a rounded keyboard.

If anyone from Apple is listening you need to do a campaign to I'm Still standing by Elton John showing people who are getting new Apple products passing their older still working ones on to other people.

I don't know how much longer I would have kept using my 2008 legacy laptop, even with the butterfly keys falling off, if there was a way for it to keep updating.

It was decided tho if the 2017 won't boot up again we'll turn it in to Apple for recycling and I think if that does happen then I'll bring in the rest of the gang, minus the classic iPod, that isn't up to snuff. Then mom can have my current iPad with its keyboard case and I'll get a new one. That's the next thing on the list but it's working fine.

As a good part of yesterday was spent trying to reboot the 2017 in between laundry and other things I'm still trying to get the new one set up.

I did need to go in to this one fresh off the external drive because the iTunes was a bloated mess and needed to have redundant things deleted and longer format things like concerts moved to a different folder. And it just hit me that there are several other things but as long as I don't sync the tablet they should still stay on there.

*Guess what has 4 USB ports and passed it's check up with flying colors? My old 2017 iMac. It just turns out our budget internet couldn't handle the download for the OS. Take care of your stuff, kids. And don't make butterfly keys for your lap tops, Apple.

[kirkfall]

putting the L in LGBT

this is just the first part of my DND / Curse of Strahd character’s backstory. his name is sopping fucking wet. i love him.

length: ~3.1k

They’ve been choking on the mist for what feels like decades; the dead have been piling at their feet for even longer.

There’s something about this shithole that Sop can’t put his finger on—something beyond its suffocation and the masses of the undead that have been clawing their way out of the dirt for days. Something far more sinister, like turning to find the path they’d taken gone, or finding themselves turned around in the woods at least five times before they finally managed to escape it.

Something like the hissing in the shadows. Or the figures that Clara swears she sees, just at the edge of her sight, but never catches.

“I can smell evil,” she’d noted, grimacing and wrinkling her nose as if she’d tasted something unpleasant. Maybe the vomit from earlier, when she first dug her hands into the soil to feel out the space. “But I can’t see it.”

Sop understands that, sort of. He’s studied, examined, and healed the dead, the undead, and the dying—respectively—long enough to know something is wrong. There's nothing he can see beyond the skeletons being shat out at them, nothing he can hear beyond the scrape of their bones as they stumble across fields, nothing he can smell beyond death, and death, and death.

But he can feel it. Sop can feel an unease just underneath his feet. It radiates through the land. Like a poison—slow acting, lethal, hard to detect. Hard to identify. Seeping into the veins of the people living on it, making it near impossible to save a fucking soul. It’s an energy he’s never felt before. Something ominous and malicious and entirely wrong.

Something like the bodies piled up before them having fought for their lives—only for the latest toxin of the week to snuff their lives out.

“Any survivors?” Sop sits back on his heels, hands dropping to his sides as he releases his spell. Shakes the remainder of it from his fingers, tries to ignore the feeling of blood underneath his nails. The woman wasn’t going to make it from the beginning—none of them were. The undead were rising fully armed, something that the average family is woefully unprepared for.

“No.” Graves’ voice has a light tremor to it. Sop lifts his head, gazing up at his friend—his free hand is wound tightly into the fabric of a cloak, war pick tossed to the side. His shield is still up. Shards of bone are embedded in the metal—remnants from the undead shattered by Bane’s spell. “The father died fast, I saw ‘im go down. I tried to save the kids.” When he looks up, Sop sees the torturous grief etched into his eyes. “Three of ‘em.”

Damn. “How old?”

Graves shrugs. “Maybe ten, same as my kids back home. Didn’t stand a fuckin’ chance.”

He hears Bane’s low whistle behind him. “Looks clear,” she calls over, “Lawson went to finish off the bastards who ran into the woods.”

“Told her not to go alone,” Clara adds, exasperated. “Never listens to me.”

Graves’ laughter, though hollow, makes it easier to breathe. “Eh, she never listens to anyone. You’re not special.”

“That,” she says, “is not what your mother said the night we left town.”

“S’that the truth? If memory serves, your father—”

“Alright! Okay,” Sop pipes in, lifting an arm to wipe the blood from his forehead. He won’t be able to do much—maybe a minor healing spell, what with the way he’s fucking exhausted himself—but he should check. “Everyone alright? How are we looking?”

“I’m okay!” Bane says, a bit more cheerful than any of them have any right to be. “Sexy as hell, too.”

Sop can’t help but snort. “That’s because you put yourself in the middle of a storm and blew up most of the skeletons, Bane. Nothing touched you. Probably not even the bone dust.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Damn right. What, are you jealous?” she asks.

“Remind me—when was last time you cast a spell that didn’t nearly kill one of us?”

“Hmm.” Bane pretends to think about that for a moment. “Probably a year ago. Before I picked up shatter.” Her shoulders droop, lips slipping into a pout as she points a finger at him. “No one’s died!”

“Then no. Holding onto the fact there’s still time,” Sop says, solemn and as serious as possible. It lasts only a moment, after which Bane flicks a couple of sparks in his direction. He blows her a kiss that she pretends she doesn’t see. “Clara?”

“Twisted my ankle,” she complains, lifting her leg to examine it. Scowls, but shrugs. “But you and Graves kept me right the hell up. Kiss it better in a bit and I’ll live.”

“Done. Graves?”

“Fuckin’ drained.” Sop looks up at Graves, who grins at him through bloody teeth. He drags himself up, hand pressed to his side and his own weapon and shield lying forgotten on the grass as he stumbles toward his friend.

“Where is it? How bad?” he asks.

Graves’ lips are set in a grim line.

Sop puts a hand on Graves’ shoulder, shifting to force eye contact. “Where?” he repeats, and then a bit more gently: “I’m going to cast the spell anyway—but it’ll be more helpful if you’d stop being stubborn and tell me—”

“Back.” he grits out. Immediately, Sop gives his shoulder a light, comforting pat, and shifts around to peek at his back. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut, and his hands are shaking. Sop isn’t sure if it’s the exhaustion or the fear—he knows this isn’t good. Yes, they’ve been injured in the last three days. Minor injuries—cuts, bruises, a mild concussion—but nothing serious. Nothing life threatening. Nothing like whatever it is that Graves doesn’t want him to see. And Sop, for the millionth time in the last three days, doesn’t know that he can save him.

Graves’ wrist catches his arm, jerking him back. Graves meets his eyes, and Sop can see it in his eyes that he knows it’s bad.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” is all he says.

And then he lets go. His handprint adds to the mess that the woman’s blood left all over his clothes and his skin. Sop pushes it down—something to think about later, or preferably never, and moves behind Graves.

He finds an arrow, cut clean through his armor. The chain mail and the leather underneath. Deep. It explains the blood—and why Graves was hesitant to let him look.

“Bane.” It could just be a standard arrow. It could be poisoned, or barbed. But without knowing who fucking fired it it, Sop can’t even guess unless they pull it out. He turns, looking over his shoulder, and shouts a second, more panicked “Bane!”

She’s crouched at his side in an instant, one hand on Graves’ shoulder to keep him steady. The other hovers over Sop’s shaking hands. “Right here. It’s gonna be okay. Small spell, good as new. Right?”

“Yeah,” Graves pipes in, voice lower and raspier than a minute ago. He spits blood on the ground. “S’what I heard. Got the best fuckin’ healer right here takin’ care of me.”

“We need to take the arrow out. Where the hell is Lawson?” Sop glances over his shoulder, toward the woods. There’s no sign of her yet—he looks over at Clara, standing a few feet away and looking lost. “Clara?”

“I’ll find her,” she says, glad to be given something to do, and then she’s gone.

“Don’t worry about Lawson,” Bane tells him, reaching into her pack for a waterskin. She pours the water over her own hands, and Sop offers his own for the same. “She took down an entire camp of bandits on her own. Couple of bones in the woods? Easy. What first?”

Sop tries to remind himself to breathe. He remembers Elias, back home—the arrow had pierced his front, but it was a similar enough procedure. Arrow comes out, healer steps in. He’s just not sure that their combined strength will be enough for this, and he’s fucking terrified that whatever poison is killing these people has had enough time to infect them.

Arrow comes out, healer steps in.

“Arrow comes out,” Sop says, forcing his voice to stop shaking. He shifts back around to his friend’s side, laying a hand on his neck and turning his face toward himself. He waits until he knows Graves sees him. “Graves, we need to take out the arrow. It’s going to hurt, but you—you’ve already lost a lot of blood. You’ll probably pass out.”

Graves scowls at him.

“Shut the hell up.” He knows that look. It’s the same one he turns on the others when they’re about to waste a spell on healing him—when there are more important things and people who need that strength. “You’re not fucking dying. We’re getting the hell out of here and retiring.”

“Knew you wouldn’t last five years.” Graves spits out, a smile still on his face.

“With you four? You’re lucky I’m here now. I should have fucked off after the first bar fight.” 

He can do this. He’s done it at least once before—just not in a land where healing magic won’t stick, or the dead refuse to stay that way.

Bane shifts, holding Graves still as Sop wraps his hand around the arrow.

“On three?” she suggests. Sop nods.

“One,” he says.

Bane meets his eyes. She nods, murmuring a prayer under her breath—the color drains from her eyes, a glow spreading down her arms. “Two,” she breathes.

Sop braces himself to pull the arrow out. “Three,” he says, and—

A bloodcurdling scream echoes in the woods. He feels the magic slip from Bane’s grasp, hears the sharp intake of breath as she recognizes the sound of it.

Clara.

“Get his shield.” She’s moving before Sop even finishes saying it, abandoning one of her daggers for the bloodied shield. “I’m going to take this out and heal it myself. You’ll have to—”

“Are you out of your mind?” she snaps back at him, but steps to the side to guard them anyway. “You’re running on empty, and I saw your side.”

“I’m fine. Take a potion, it’ll close right up. But if I don’t do something now, Graves won’t be.” Sop doesn’t wait for her okay. He yanks the arrow out with one hand, grateful that Graves is already unconscious, and murmurs a healing spell under his breath as he tosses it to the side. He imagines the threads of a tapestry—torn, but fixable. The thread of life can be woven back together, organs stitched and blood replenished. It only takes a bit of patience and a hell of a lot of energy. He pours his into the wound, forcing flesh and bone back together through sheer force of will.

But it doesn’t close.

Blood seeps through where Sop’s hand is pressed against the wound—slower, perhaps, but not nearly enough. The spell took hold. It’s just not enough.

He’s about to call out to Bane when a figure bursts out of the woods, a hand is pressed to their throat. Their arm is covered with blood—their entire body is drenched in it. It takes him a moment to recognize them, but—

“Lawson!” Bane drops her blade, sprinting to meet her halfway—Lawson collapses against her with a sharp cry, and Bane hugs her to her side to drag her back toward their safe spot. But the sound of movement in the woods doesn’t stop. “Sop, check her. Give me status.”

“But Graves—”

“Is already fucking dead, and I get the feeling the rest of us will be very soon if we don’t get our shit together.” She’s right. Sop hates himself when he lets go of Graves, lying him down on his side to ease Lawson to lie in his lap. He can’t see shit with all of the blood—he lifts a hand, mumbling a quick apology as he summons water above her head.

And drops it on her.

She sputters, flailing for a brief moment, but meets Sop’s eyes a second later. Her breaths come in quick, terrified pants, and it pains him to ignore it in favor of looking for wounds.

“Sop?” Bane asks.

“Scrapes from the trees,” he says, framing Lawson’s face with a hand on either side of her face. “I don’t think most of this is hers, Bane. I don’t see any major wounds. We need to find Clara—”

“No,” Lawson breathes, nails digging painfully into Sop’s arm. His breath catches in his throat at the sheer terror in her eyes. “No, no. Clara—Clara, they—oh, god, there was so much blood. They’re coming, they can smell her blood.”

“Who?” Sop asks.

“Her throat.” Lawson’s voice is small, shaking. More afraid than he’s ever heard. “Ripped it like fucking paper, oh god.”

Sop doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to say to that. It could’ve been an animal, but that wouldn’t have spooked her this much. And it sure as hell wouldn’t have taken out the nature cleric. There’s not been an animal alive—or undead—that Clara couldn’t persuade to hang out with them for a while.

Whatever’s out there—whatever rustles the trees, making the leaves and trunks groan and shake—Sop is a bit terrified to find out.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” he says.

“We can’t!” Lawson grips him tighter, and Sop can feel her nails breaking skin. But what the hell is he supposed to do? Throw her off? “No, we can’t leave her—we need to find her, and—and maybe we can bring her back—”

Sop wishes he could. He wishes he could give himself for it, breathe his life into Clara and Graves so they can live. Because he can’t watch this happen again—he can’t let them die again, not when they deserve live so much more than he does.

“Law,” he starts, voice soft. He tries to fight the pity and agony that seeps into it, but realizes it’s pointless. “We can’t—”

“Sop.”

His gaze snaps up to Bane, who is studying the forest intently. He follows her gaze to the now still and silent forest.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she says slowly, “but I don’t think the woods are supposed to be this quiet.”

No, Sop thinks. No, they’re not.

“And things were definitely moving just a minute ago, yeah?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Sop says.

The realization seems to smack something into Lawson—her grip on Sop loosens, and he inhales sharply as the air hits the new wounds. Ignore them for now, he tells himself. There’ll be time when they all get out of here. 

“They’re here,” she whispers, both horrified and horrifying.

“Well,” Bane exhales, rolling her shoulders. “Time for round two.”

Sop’s throat is tight. His own weapon is too far away, and the strength he has left is hardly enough to heal Lawson’s insignificant wounds. “Don’t do anything stupid.” he tells her.

Bane doesn’t look back at him. “Who’s gonna stop me? Graves? You? Someone’s gotta make it back home to take care of his kids, Sop, and it’s not gonna be me.” She hesitates. “Listen. When you get home, tell my parents—”

The silence breaks.

A dozen figures spill from the void of the woods, fangs and claws dripping with fresh blood. His stomach turns as he realizes exactly what they’re facing—and it’s no surprise he didn’t realize it or detect them sooner. The energy surrounding them, the masses of the other undead—it would have been more than enough to cover their trail.

“Stay back!” Bane shouts, raising her shield—thunder rumbles overhead, threatening and warning. A promise of death, should they come any closer. The vampires growl and hiss as they stare up at the clouds, and wisely make no moves against them.

“These bastards killed Clara,” Lawson says, and Sop lifts a hand to her back as she starts to sit upright. The whole of her is shaking as she reaches for Graves’ abandoned weapon—he can’t tell if it’s fear, shock, or anger. A mix of the three seems likely. “I will take as many of them down with me as possible.”

Sop doesn’t know what to say. “Maybe—”

“No,” Bane interrupts. “No maybes. No miracles, no gods. It’s just us.” She turns away from him, jaw clenched. Her voice breaks when she adds, “It’s always just us.”

Lawson drags herself to her feet. She takes up Sop’s abandoned shield—puts herself next to Bane and looks back at him. The fear is gone, overwhelmed and overpowered by vengeance and anger. A feeling all too familiar for every one of them—anger at the world, at the gods, at the people who left them. At the people who took them away. At themselves. “Stay down,” she orders. “Or I will hit you with your own shield.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sop says weakly.

Satisfied with the answer, she turns back toward the vampires. “COME ON, THEN!” she screams, bashing the war pick against his shield. One vampire snarls, taking the taunt—it lunges forward, invading their space in the blink of an eye.

Lawson buries her pick in its eye, shoving it to the ground and yanking its head off with a guttural noise. Its blood splatters over her, over Sop’s shield, and the ground beneath them.

“WHO’S NEXT?” she challenges. Because they’re already going to die—things can’t get worse from here, can they?

The vampires, clearly, accept the challenge. There’s a movement between them, like a wave as a mutual decision is made—and like a wave they stumble forward, a tide of destruction.

Lawson swings her pick up, murmuring a quick spell under her breath; a beam of dark, pulsating energy bursts from her hand, blasting a vampire back a few feet. The second beam hits as it tries to regain its footing, leaving in its wake a gaping hole where organs might have been. That is, if they hadn't disintegrated, or weren’t spilling out onto the ground.

That gives the rest of them pause. Pause, for a few moments.

Then they remember that there are three worn adventurers and ten of them.

The air becomes tight and prickles with raw power as the undead surge forward, and Sop has just enough time to rip free a thread of magic to weave a shield of pure faith around himself—faith in the people that he loves, rather than a god who watches idly as their followers are cut down—before lightning strikes and Bane’s rage shatters the world around them.

[cotton-candy-in-a-thong]

Why the FUCK are anons so disrespectful to slasher writers?

You know what I just discovered? That someone sent a fucking death threat to @slasherrabbitmadness. For fucking what? For taking so much time to write incredibly long and detailed fanfictions about slashers, theoretical relationships and smut with the reader? For being honest about her writing preferences and saying that she only writes for female readers? For going beyond fluff material and exploring the darker aspects of the slashers the wrote about? Whatever the fucking reason that shithead anon thought was a reasonable idea to send this woman death threats is never going to be a good fucking reason.

I'm about to go on a fucking list on what the fuck is wrong with you specifically bitch ass anons who think they're fuckin' slick.

ENTITLEMENT TO OTHERS' WORKS:

First of all, these are writers who are writing for the fandom on their own accord. They're using their own skills, on their own time, and most importantly for their own pleasure. Everyone else's validation of their work comes SECOND. NOBODY is entitled to the time and skill from any fucking artist because they're human beings too. If a writer doesn't wanna write something, they don't fucking have to.

Oh now what are you anons gonna do? You gonna fucking cry? Get the fuck over it, and tuck your crocodile tears back into your ass crack. Not every writer has the time or interest for all of your requests and that's entirely fine because you simply cannot make someone do something they literally don't have to do anyway. That's life.

If you're sitting up here and harassing writers because they literally just didn't feel like doing your dinky ass request, move the fuck on and stop mentally reverting back to your kindergarten self. Your dumb, toilet clogged brain chooses to dehumanize writers from being people into the image of animals or robots who were built for your liking, and you need to fucking stop that if you wanna get on anyone's good side.

A writer listening to your request and DOING IT is a privilege in its own right, YOU ARE ENTITLED TO NOTHING. When writers write for you, you say thank you. When they don't, leave it at that and close your mouth.

These type of anons seem to wake up and expect the world to bend over backwards, create a buffet and kiss their cheesy anus when they should really be just grateful when any writer gives them time of the day and leave it the fuck at that.

BULLYING TOWARDS DARKER FICS:

I'm talking about fics that include the list of yandere, drug use, noncon, kidnap, and abuse themes. The issue with these themes is less that writers explore these concepts when writing about slashers, but more that anons and some blogs in general feel the need to bully writers who choose to explore these areas in their works. Random anons seem to bully writers who do noncon, abuse and/or yandere fics involving slashers because they're drunk on the fluffy side of the fandom while seemingly forgetting that these are SLASHERS.

I'm going to remind everyone in this fandom that slashers are NOT good people.

Michael got boners from murdering people in the novel, and even in the movies he's incredibly perverted.

Freddy Kruger consistently flirts with his victims. He literally kissed people against their will.

Jason Voorhees kidnapped a girl and became obsessed with her because she looked like his mom in the 2009 remake.

Billy Lenz invaded a sorority home, sexually harassed them, and is heavily implied to have sexually abused both his sister and the girl found dead in the park.

Bubba Sawyer held his chainsaw to a girl's pussy and let her live because he got horny. He was still ready to have her killed when Drayton said she had to be sacrificed for grandpa (the second movie).

Bo Sinclair straps people in his sex dungeon and is heavily implied to do "things" to them against their will.

Asa Emory, the Collector, was about to grope that one girl's tiddies in the first movie. Jesse Cromeans literally sexually abuses his victims for snuff films.

Brahms Heelshire was NOT going to let Greta leave without giving him a "real kiss" during the scene of her tucking him in bed.

And that's not even all of the perverted, and dark shit slashers do. All the writers who create darker stories really want to do is express how deeply disturbed many of the slashers canonically are in their works. They're bringing attention to the fact that probably the vast majority of slashers totally fucking would hold you hostage, at the very least. But as I mentioned before, many people seem to prefer the "softer" sides of the slashers. This isn't necessarily a bad thing because some people just prefer reading the more "average" stuff while some writers just don't like to write about darker things. That is A-okay.

But when people start harassing writers who write about darker themes just because "omg that is gross, how could you???" while turning around and dreaming about fucking and kissing Jason-kill count over 200-Voorhees, it just makes me wonder as to how people even got to that mindset.

Based on what I've seen, many people who hate darker fics about slashers to the point of bullying and wishing death to the writers has to do with many things.

First is the fact that lots of people in the slasher fandom actually either never paid close attention to or even WATCHED the movies to help themselves understand WHY some writers would write them in a "certain" way. Even if you never watched Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, The Boy, or whatever and you simply don't get what some people write about the slashers, your own confusion is absolutely no reason to harass people and I cannot fucking believe I have to explain this.

"But I'm a kid! You can't write that because I'll see it!!".

Get. The fuck. Out of here.

Below is a screenshot to prove my second point:

Another is many people, again, simply being full of shit. Some blogs and users have a strong holier-than-thou attitude about writers in the slasher fandom to the point where they feel the need to go in their targets' inboxes and insult them. Despite wanting fluffy content in their feed and easily having the ability to literally not read works with evil themes, these people feel SO empowered by their own preference that they ever so just "must" dictate what the fuck other people write and draw despite the source material consistently showing that we're dealing with fictional, murderous, and mentally unstable characters.

If other writers or users in the fandom aren't interpreting the slashers to how YOU think they should be interpreted, they apparently have to be burned at the stake....(sarcasm).

I'm going to go ahead and wrap this up by wishing the comfortability and safety of ANY writer who's been harassed by randos in their inbox

Just to name a few at the top of my head:

@slasherrabbitmadness

@ebonyslasher

@msgorillagripcoochie

@panteon-doll

@the-thot-clown

@supremethunda gets an honorable mention even though she's from the Marvel fandom. This is because she talked to me about the harassment towards writers in the Marvel fandom whenever they write fics with darker themes as well, and others can attest that the harassment there is even worse.

There are other people that have been harassed by some really rude anons before, but people sending one of my friends threats just hit the nerve for me to post this.

There needs to be more anons with humbleness, patience, appreciation towards the people they're requesting from because for fuck's sakes, they're human beings too. They have jobs, hobbies, friends, family and emotions. Is it SO hard to be fucking nice? It's not, so don't be stupid to these people and remember to use respect.

That being said, Happy Monday, and remember to stay horny for slashers.

[aminiatureworld]

Insecure

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Premise: It is hard not to take the hurtful words of others to heart, even when they are strangers.

In which the reader becomes insecure about their behavior and habits.

Word Count: 2,022

Warnings: Degradation of reader (not by partner).

Author’s Note: Genius title I know. This is the first time I’ve written fic in months so if it’s a little rusty I’m sorry. Hopefully I haven’t completely dropped off the face of the Earth for everyone, and hopefully you’ll enjoy the comeback!

My greatest thanks to the patience of the people who have requested something from me. I hope that this particular request comes out well and that it is up to snuff. I will post Xiao’s part of the request soon, though probably not until after the 15th.

Scaramouche

“Honestly, I don’t think they’ve ever had an original thought in their life.”

Your head snapped up as the voices that had been floating around you came into sharp focus. From outside the tent you could hear some recruits chatting. Focusing yourself on their conversation you wondered if being the partner of a Harbinger would give you the rank to chew out whoever the gossipers were.

“You’re right about that. Honestly, I don’t know why they insist on opening their mouth when they have nothing important to say. I guess being the partner of a Harbinger really does go to your head.”

Your breath caught in your throat at that comment. Surely they weren’t… Realizing that listening to this conversation was a mistake you turned back to the paperwork you had been working on. However now your brain refused to listen to you, insisting on continuing to listen to the conversation despite your desperate wish not to.

“I really must. I guess you have to become a suck up to date someone like that though.”

“You could just keep quiet and let your comrades get on with it. We don’t need to hear a broken record, especially not one that makes such irritating noises.”

“Honestly. I wish I could just tell them to shut up.”

“You know that Scaramouche would have our heads if you did. They’re always hiding behind him. In battle, at the meetings; honestly it’s a miracle they haven’t faded into his shadow yet. They really haven’t had a single original thought in the past year have they?”

“Did they ever?”

The laughter of the gossipers echoed around your head, rattling in an unpleasant sort of way. You could feel your pulse accelerating, as the world around you began to hyperfocus and anxiety bloomed in your chest. Standing up you slipped out of the tent, grateful that the opening was opposite of the voices. You didn’t know where you wanted to go, only that it was far away from the camp and from the people who apparently thought you a puppet.

Reaching a small lake you sat down on the rocky bank, trying desperately to find a thread of focus to quell the unease building in you. You knew that you should ignore, that people were often cruel, especially members of the Fatui. There was no reason that you should take your gossip to heart, that you should believe the cruel musings of two strangers over your own heart. You had your own opinions, of course you did! You were a human after all, one that had their own mind, that knew firsthand that their beliefs did not hinge on those of your partners.

Still the voices gnawed at you, and you found yourself going down a long list of conversations and interactions. When was the last time you had publicly disagreed with Scaramouche? Had you ever? Sure, the idea of causing a scene was mortifying, but you must have argued at some point and time. And if you hadn’t, well what did that mean? Did it mean that you truly had stopped relying on your own experiences. Had you just become another sycophant?

You felt as if cold water had been poured on you. Curling up into yourself a worry suddenly came to mind. What if you were a sycophant? What if Scaramouche found your presence irritating? The idea filled you with dread, with a loathing that surprised you in its intensity. Oh archons, what if he hated you? What if he saw you as he saw the other clingers and graspers that he so often derided? These questions spun around in around in your head, until you found that you could not rid yourself of the thorns that had sprouted in your mind and around your heart.

You decided to stay at an inn that night, unable to find the courage to go back to camp, not even to write a missive. Time. You just needed time to figure stuff out. Besides, maybe Scaramouche would realize that he preferred it this way. Maybe, maybe… You couldn’t even begin to think of what that might entail, what would happen if the love of your life were to prefer you out of his sight. Even beginning to imagine such a scenario left you with a pain is your heart, one that left you gasping. For now you focused on getting a room, and making sure that you were allowed to eat the food by yourself.

The smell of wonton soup filled the air as one of the workers brought a platter to your door. Accepting it grateful, pressing two dozen mora into the astonished worker’s hand, you breathed in the comforting smell. Suddenly aware of how hungry you were you began to dig in, ignoring the still hot temperature in favor of your mind being distracted by the task of filling your stomach with food.

You were about halfway through your meal when you heard a knock on the door. Expecting that it was another staff member your heart flipped at the sight of your partner, face flushed, eyes slightly wild, at your door.

“So this is where you are.” Scaramouche spoke in a hoarse voice, a dark look in his eyes.

“Hello.” You managed to make out, unsure whether or not to shift your gaze to the floor.

Scaramouche said nothing in reply, merely staring at you. He seemed on the verge of speaking, opening his mouth for a moment, before clamping it firmly shut. Nudging his way past you he walked into the small room, he sat in the only chair, bearing and expression more imperious than ever.

“Well,” he spoke, voice constrained. “I do not know why you wish to have our evening briefing here, but since you insist on being irrational I will humor you.”

A sinking pit in your stomach at having inconvenienced your partner once more – surely this would not endear yourself any more with him – you shut the door and walked over to the bed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” you said with what you hoped was a smile. “You don’t have to humor me with anything.”

“What are you talking about?” Scaramouche replied. “You really are acting irrational today. I don’t know what brought on this stunt, but I’d like to know what caused you to first disappear without a trace, leaving me to go after you, then refuse my company when I do find you.”

“I’m not refusing your company. I’m just, well, I…”

“You what?”

“I…” you swallowed. You didn’t want to say it, put the words out into the world, knowing you might well get the answer you were dreading the most. Yet you had to say something! “I, I didn’t want to inconvenience you. I’m sure that you have generals who are much smarter than I am. And I know that you find people who just parrot back your thoughts annoying. You don’t have to humor me, I’m sure it’s very annoying.”

For a moment there was silence. You glanced at Scaramouche, seeing a blankness on his face you could almost read as shock. Was he surprised that you had picked up on such a thing? Or was it something else? It was hard to tell in your anxiety filled state.

“When did I ever say that I was humoring you?” Scaramouche finally spoke up. “When have I accused you of parroting back my thoughts?”

“Well, never.”

“Then why would you assume any of it?”

A variety of emotions ran through you, overwhelming you. Embarassment, fear, shame, even hope. Mingling around they settled for a moment as you stared into the face of your lover. Though his tone was rough and his expression slightly irritated there was a clearness in his eyes, one that called you to confide in him. Before you knew it words were flooding out of you, the burden that you had been carrying around all day finally lifting slightly.

Scaramouche listened closely. Other than the slight tightening of his fist you could barely make out any reaction. However there was a tension in him when you had finished with your story, and the look in his eyes was one of unabashed anger.

“You should have seen who those idiots were. To disparage their superior is unforgivable for a member of the Fatui. They ought to be punished for it.”

“They were just chatting.”

“Just being insubordinate!” Scaramouche shook his head in disgust. “They’re scum. How dare worms say such things about you.”

“You don’t have to get so upset. It’s not like they’re wrong after all,” you mumbled. “I don’t disagree with you in public, or even that often in private. I don’t fight as well as you; the amount of times you’ve had to protect me is shameful. I’m really, I’m not much use on my own am I?”

You glanced down at your hands, only to see as they were wrapped in your partners. Lifting your gaze your breath caught in your throat at the view of your lover’s face hovering mere centimeters away from your own, gaze fierce, dark locks brushing the tip of your nose.

“Do you truly believe such ridiculous things about yourself? About me? About the Fatui? If you think that you would have risen so far in rank without any purpose than you must truly be a fool. If you think that I would fall in love with such an unworthy person than you must think very badly of me.”

“I don’t!”

“Then trust me when I tell you this.” Scaramouche lifted one of his hands up to cradle your jaw, leaning in even closer. “You have no reason to believe such worthless trash that they have said about you. None of it is true.”

The last of the weight lifted off your shoulders, and before you knew tears were building up at the corners of your eyes. Tears of hurt and tears of relief.

Scaramouche drew you into his shoulder, touch gentler than his words and tone of voice might imply. For a while he said nothing, merely stroking the back of your head as you dampened the front of his shirt. When you stopped crying however he spoke up again.

“I cannot imagine why you should ever believe such foolish things. I do not choose my lovers on a whim. And I do not continue to consort with those who have become sycophants. It is not in my nature to be kind or gracious. If I truly thought such things about you, I would not continue to want you by my side.”

The words were harsh perhaps, but you had no doubt of their veracity, nor of the fact that, in his own perverse way, Scaramouche was attempting to comfort you. Allowing yourself to smile for the first time since you’d heard the conversation you looked up at Scaramouche. He was smiling too, a soft small thing that barely turned up the corner of his lips, though his eyes seemed almost to be shining. It was all too much for you, and you reached up to press a soft kiss against your partner’s lips.

“We should be heading back.” You broke the silence.

“Why? Since you have put all the effort into running away, and I to tracking you, we might as well make the best of it.”

There was mischief in Scaramouche’s voice, and you were glad to follow it.

“Very well. Thank you.”

“I did nothing but enlighten you to the truth.”

“Still. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being so kind.”

Scaramouche sputtered at that, his cheeks flushing a light shade of red that had you giggling.

“I love you,” you blurted out, so overwhelmed by the sudden emotion in your heart.

Scaramouche scowled. Muttering something about idiots he pulled your head once more to his chest. You did so gladly, nuzzling into him slightly.

Though it was soft, almost hesitant, you did not miss the murmur he gave you in return, those words that meant so much to you.

“I love you too.”

[mythicamagic]

Boxes: a Sesshoumaru & Rin father/daughter oneshot.

Summary: Sesshoumaru and Rin discuss their bond.

Made in response to today's events. I needed some catharsis.

---

"Sesshoumaru-sama?"

Golden eyes slid open, drowsy at first, before blinking and sliding up to Rin. He arched a brow, noting the distress in her scent.

"What ails you?" he uttered, shifting against the tree he was currently reclined against that overlooked the village.

Rin fiddled with her hands and chewed her lip, scuffing a bare foot against the ground. Even as a teen she hadn't lost some habits.

"Its just that I'm confused about some things people were saying in the village, so... I was wondering if I could talk to you about them."

Sesshoumaru gestured elegantly to one side of the tree, inviting her to sit beside him. Rin plopped down and hugged drawn up knees to her chest.

Noticing the silence and slightly concerned by it from the normally talkative girl, Sesshoumaru took it upon himself to prompt answers from her. "What did the fools say?"

His ward huffed and pouted, "that's not a nice thing to call them, Sesshoumaru-sama," she mumbled, soon sighing and reluctantly continuing. "Well, it was mostly some older women. They were talking about how I'm 'of age now.' I tried to say I wasn't interested in anyone but then... they started talking about marriage prospects."

Sesshoumaru listened quietly, feeling distaste mar his lips into a faint sneer. The girl was no more than 15.

Rin picked at some lush grass, gaze averted. "They mentioned you," she said off handedly, causing him to stiffen. "I got confused. Sesshoumaru-sama doesn't call R-Rin is his daughter," she slipped up, reverting into her old trait of referring to herself in third person. A fresh wave of confusion and distress rolled into her scent, sickly and rotten like dying flowers. "So maybe they're right? They said that it's natural since we've known each other so long and have a bond. You're kind to me. Protect me. You're a man and Rin is a woma-"

"Enough, Rin."

He hadn't meant his tone to slip into one so biting. Youki spilt through his hair, making it flicker slightly, markings emboldening. He closed his eyes to snuff out a burning red gaze. Taking a calming breath, he gave a measured response. "I do not outwardly call you my daughter, no. And correct, we have a bond. Perhaps I am 'nicer' to you than most," he allowed, finally looking down at her and meeting her teary gaze. "But why should that automatically mean romance for us?"

Rin rubbed at her eyes, blinking. "They said its considered 'normal' for humans to marry young and that you wouldn't have protected me for no reason."

Sesshoumaru's claws twitched at his side. Somehow he mercifully kept hold his patience and didn't immediately fly off to have a word with these people. "Perhaps it is normal for them, but that has no bearing on us. This one protected you because you are pack."

Rin thought about this for a moment, "like Jaken and Ah-Un?"

"Hn," his lips twitched. "And you do not see me offering marriage proposals to Jaken, do you?"

A shaky giggle escaped her, "well I haven't seen any, but maybe in private..."

Sesshoumaru huffed with amusement and placed a palm on her head, messing up wild hair and eliciting a squeal that ran into a whine.

The amusement abated however, and Sesshoumaru found himself gazing down at her soberly. True she was no gaped toothed child anymore, but he could not see her in any other light than as... Rin. Rin who liked flowers. Rin who cuddled with dragons. Rin who walked around with mud caked onto her feet and hair. Rin who sang songs. Rin who was small, frightened and sobbed from nightmares featuring sharp toothed creatures tearing her limb from limb. Rin who had died twice before the age of 8. Rin, who needed a guardian. A protector. One stable thing unchanging in her life of confusion, upset and trauma. More than anything. He doubted he'd ever be capable of seeing her as a woman no matter how she changed, nor did he wish to.

"Perhaps it is my fault," he rumbled quietly. "This one is not in the habit of stating things out loud. I should have explicitly said that I see you as...part of my group."

Rin suddenly beamed, sniffing. "You're not to blame, Sesshoumaru-sama. That's just how you are. You like Inuyasha a little better now but you still don't call him your brother."

"Hn, half brother," he said, cutting his eyes to the sky and stroking her head of dark hair.

"I will change my habits, if only to silence those wagging tongues spreading rumors. Or I could rip them out," he mused casually, tone deceptively soft.

Rin winced, "that's a little far," she said, shifting and removing his large hand from her head, studying it. "... I don't think I... see you in a romantic light," she concluded on her own. "Maybe that's weird. They seemed to think that I should. "

"It is not weird," he stated firmly. "How do you think of me?"

Rin was still impressionable, but now that she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, they'd become unclouded. "Like a Papa, but not quite. It's hard to say," she hummed. "My guardian," she settled on. "Definitely someone who will protect me like a Papa."

"Humans often like to box relationships into something they can understand. Familial or romantic," Sesshoumaru uttered, squeezing her fingers. "Demons are not that way. Platonic relationships come easier to us to recognise. Perhaps I should not have left you in the village after all if this is what they're preparing you to think."

Rin quickly waved her hands, "oh no! I still enjoy the village! Kagome-sama seemed angry with the ladies and told me not to listen. I just... wanted to ask you. I trust you."

She trusted him to tell her what was right. To do the correct thing. In the wrong hands, that trust could be manipulated. Become something dark.

Sesshoumaru gentled, nodding. He then leaned back against the tree. "Rin," golden eyes slid to her, serious. "You can marry someone else, if you wish to. If you do not, don't. What do you want?"

Rin pursed her lips and frowned, "I'm not sure. Maybe I'll be a herbalist. Maybe I'll be a demon Slayer!" she gave a cheeky grin, showing her dimples. "But I don't think I'm ready for marriage and babies yet."

Sesshoumaru felt a mild wave of relief wash over him. "And you understand that nothing will change our bond as it is now? You are my ward. There is... Happiness, to be found in that. Far more than some might think. It is not a downgrade from something romantic."

Rin nodded in agreement, giving a smile and hugging his side briefly.

As she stood and removed a leaf from her hair, muttering a thanks in preparation to leave, the demon formulated some words on his tongue. They felt strange and foreign to speak aloud, but they were necessary. As he'd said before, humans needed to place relationships into boxes. He would willingly put himself in the appropriate one, if it meant bringing her comfort.

"Farewell, daughter."

Earthy brown eyes swung to him. Rin froze, looking younger then, childlike, wonderful joy brightening her face. Something seemed to visibly settle over her, a blanket of ease and comfort. Like she'd found the thing needed. It wasn't a bereavement to be rejected by him. To reject the notion of romance. Their happiness and bond as ward and Lord, was more fulfilling than any humans trivial assessment of their relationship.

"See you later, Papa," Rin gave a wave, hurrying away with her long legs, gangly form drawing away.

Sesshoumaru closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the rough tree bark. There would perhaps come a time when he would watch her dance with her partner barefoot at her wedding, or maybe she'd never be wed. Whatever Rin chose to do, a certain silver inuyoukai would keep vigil over her life. She had suffered greatly, and brought him quiet joy, the way only a pup could.

Thin lips curved, and Sesshoumaru lazily sunbathed for the rest of the afternoon, watching over the village silently beneath the refuge of his tree.

[franki-lew-yo]

Happy New Year to you and @nukeli in my notes, @ultraericthered.

I disagree with the both of you and wow you both wrote to me on Christmas Even you must've been mad. =) In fairness, I am sorry for not tagging "mirrorverse critical". I def should have done that and wanted to. But, thanks for not bothering to actually listen to my argument, so let me go through your own:

"Your argument for why Mirrorverse is so horrible is that Disney allowed and officially liscenced a product where many of their characters get to have reimagined iterations and they all get to interact and play off each other in an original setting with a storyline and lore of its own, a product where the people behind designing and fully realizing it were clearly big Disney fans themselves, and that's somehow blasphemy because fans should only be able to do that in unofficial, unliscenced fan works? "

No. I'm not saying Disney adults shouldn't enjoy crap that was clearly made for them. Believe me, I knew some of that was already the case with Wish and I was excited for it being made for us...and I was disappointed by it. I wanted to like Mirrorverse but it just kept feeling wrong to me and the og post is the wording of what and how it was wrong to me.

I'm saying I find your uncritical devotion to the company, not the writer behind the projects, the company, is sad. It's self-destructive.

I really hate this kind of attitude towards fandom+online criticism as a whole. This 100% unironic "if you're negative = HATE" attitude...that I can at least get because even the most pissy of us don't wanna be surrounded by rage all the time. But, your complete lack or willing to consume any media critically? That's annoying.

-"because fans should only be able to do that in unofficial, unliscenced fan works? "

That literally was NOT what I was saying at all hon. Official merch is fine and a lot is great. Like, a lot. I don't consider official merch itself a threat to fanstuff; what I consider a threat is the higher up of Disney wanting to snuff out fantasy-fan made merch.

I'm glad you two both love Mirrorverse, but i'm sorry. If I can respect your opinion and keep outta your tag, respect mine then.

ALL I see with that game is creativity of individual people wasted on a corporate IPlords who wants to crush smaller artists inspired by them, and even their own workers. Disney does not care about you. Disney doesn't even care for it's own people. Disney wants to own fanworks so that they can profit off you even more than they already do. And, to me, that's just kind of horrifying.

-"OK sure, but I couldn't disagree more."

Are you saying you don't have an imagination? Because A: no. You do have one. Obviously. Liking what somepeople may think is "cringe" =/= no imagination and I SINCERELY hope you didn't take that away from my post.

-"What an entitled attitude, too. "How DARE the big company make something that fans will tend to love when it's done by them -"

We are in a late stage capitalism apocalypse. My argument isn't that Disney DARE'ENT be what it is but that you should use your brains when it's pandering to you and not just like it because 'poepl worked on it whichm means it's good. You are not mandated to like something and your attitude, to me, frankly feels like that's why you do like Mirrorverse. Disney is telling you to like it and you're blinded by this delusion that the company itself is on your side simply because it has Disney fans as it's own writers and artists working on it. I want to be proven wrong on that and believe you're like my friends who also like mirrorverse and the modern crossover disney stuff- people who like the ideas within because yeah, that can be fun, and whom I just disagree with, but given your attitude. I don't see it.

Fan merch is not perfect or even all that good, but it comes from a point of passion. My point was never that fan made = good. My point was I think Disney the company wants control of even that and, when they are hiring the artists who have genuine ideas about crossovers, are exploiting them. It's *cute* of you to call me entitled when you sound like one of the most entitled people ever through your message.

"Fuck all the creative, artistic people who worked on this thing, if they're with Disney, they need to know their place!"

You are assigning shit to me that I did not say/mean. I'm upset on the part of the writers and artists at Disney (btw can you please maybe list some of them out? The mirrorverse artists could probably really use the revenue you're so quick to only attribute to Disney as if Disney itself is the writer of these works.) I believe Wish was made/written with love. Every Disney project is made with love and creativity and I think it's horrible to imply that Wish was AI-generated because it's writing came up as lackluster, if that's what you're trying imply of me.

My issue with Wish, with Mirrorverse, and with a lot of modern Disney projects is at this point the same I am having with Illumination entertainment; and that's not ever that "capitalist = bad"/"idea I don't like = bad writer". For as annoyed I still am at Princess and the Frog, you really go that feeling the the writers were trying and the project as a whole wasn't geared by executives telling the directors "no. You have to do x, x, x, and x because then it won't sell." Mirrorverse had a soul. Wish had soul. Bob Chapek stole both these properties' souls and you're using hardworking artists' work as an excuse to continue promoting the craphole who's overworking them.

My issue is that the fans (artists, creators and writers of these works) care. Disney does not. Disney cares about exploiting you even in the smallest ways and even on small matters like bad bootleg merch that's in no way a threat to them. Because it isn't.

My issue with the two of you is that you hate criticism and see my post as some kind of threat to your special interest. No. It's not. I never even tagged mirrorverse. This is a rant meant for me and for other likeminded people like me. Speaking as a woman who's defended and still will defend Frozen all these years - YOU are coming off as the most entitled, zealous people. You are creative. And you love Disney and obviously like Mirrorverse and Wish where I don't; unlike the artists behind these products, you don't have room to complain about being disgarded or treated like AI cuz I don't like your writing or Disney's handling of your writing- you're just a butthurt fan.

Presuming the both of you ever read any of this, I don't like the insinuation that my own bitching and moaning it hurting the hardworking writers and artists personally just because the fans of these overall products love them and I don't. I really don't like my personal criticisms being hurled at or treated like an attack on the people who are real artists. I know that's not what I'm doing. You could have just blocked my blog or chosen to just not read the post the moment this post opened with "I hate mirrorverse". You didn't. You engaged and now I'm engaging to tell you that I disagree.

I hate Disney's Mirrorverse so much. I have no words for how much it legit ticks me off and how I think it's an insult to even compare it to Kingdom Hearts, which isn't high art but was at least trying for something.

Kingdom Hearts, House of Mouse and other crossovers that really aren't all that good in retrospect but I find fun AREN'T 'better' because they're from my childhood and so couldn't be garbage. No, they are. The issue I have with Mirrorverse is the same issue I have with that awful Chip n' Dale Rescue Rangers movie:

it's Disney selling you you're own fanfiction premises and making it so you don't have to think or be creative, snark on, reinvent or just have with these properties yourself. You have to do it under the lens of something they can sell to you.

Kingdom Hearts was only ever trying to sell you itself and the current Disney thing at the time, which was what was expected of it. House of Mouse was hokey fun with the Mickey gang and the catalogue of classic characters Disney had, which is why so many people like it. It's all made for money and profit and brand recognition come on Disney has always been this way it's what Walt would have wanted.

Mirrorverse is wearing the skin of a heartfelt fan design project to sell you a sandbox game where Disney makes your favorite characters OP Overwatch ripoffs, not you.

As YMS put it, Chip n' Dale is putting on the guise of being self-aware which actually just being references and mean interpretations of it's own characters. The Lonely Island was wasted.

And they're doing all this more than ever to have a deeper stranglehold on their fandom which they know will fork over money to them no matter what. That's what's not just slimey, like it's always been, but sinister about modern Disney.

I refuse to use that asshat Steven Crowder image meme here. You legit aren't changing my mind.

[shinsurou]

𝙝𝙦 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 + 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙞 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢

contains dark content underneath the cut!

featuring: suna rintarou; kita shinsuke; konoha akinori; oikawa tooru; kuroo tetsurou; matsukawa issei; hanamaki takahiro

inculdes: vomit kink; sadism; plushophilia; incest; (pseudo)snuff; knifeplay; gunplay; darcyphilia

a/n: hehe minnie here with some actual headcanons????? also friendly reminders; these are just my headcanons and in no way represent the intentions of who the characters actually are!

Kita Shinsuke + sadism and darcyphilia

Kita just radiates so much sadistic energy for some reason. Like he will fuck into you, as rough as he can, preferably without prep. Hell, he probably doesn’t even check if you’re wet enough or if he used enough lube if he decided to use some – especially when he fucks your ass. The way you scream out whenever he fucks your dry asshole mixed with your moans and begs for him to continue just gets him riled up.

He will spank you, hit you, pull on your hair too harsh, chokes you to hard on top of that he will do everything in his power to make you cry. Kita thinks you’re the most precious when tears stream down your cheeks while quietly begging him for more. He will leave marks and bruises all over you and if you’re not in pleasurable pain then what's the point?

Obviously, he would make sure you’re fine with everything he is doing to you and he will always look out if you say your safe word.

Konoha Akinori + plushophilia

Oh boy, oh boy. Akinori thinks you’re the softest, most adorable and precious person on this whole planet. He loves to see you in cute lingerie – preferably in soft pinks or pastels in general. Now to melt his whole heart; add a little plush you cling to whenever he pounds into you. You hold it so tight, hide your face in it and Akinori adores it every time. He also knows that you use said plush to take care of yourself, you grind down on it when ever you can’t have Akinori to take care of you, when he can’t touch you but you’re so needy. You just use your little stuffed companion who gladly takes care of you. Sometimes, just when you’re being a naughty little bunny and don’t listen maybe then he will fun with your stuffie as well.

Suna Rintarou + vomit

Suna just seems like someone to me who loves to make you vomit on purpose?? Maybe it’s the sadism in him but god seeing the sight of you wrenching your guts out like the little vomit whore you are turns him on so much.

Like it would start off with him just trying to make you feel better every time he would push his long fingers down your throat when you felt slightly nauseous, until it escalated one night. He shoved his cock down your throat and forcefully would try to hit your gag reflex until he succeeded, and you spilled your guts all over him. You were all embarrassed, tears streamed down your cheeks but Suna fisted your hair and kept fucking your face, I mean poor boy didn’t cum yet, and he won’t stop until he did.

Oikawa Tooru +  incest

Life is troublesome for a boy who is in love with his little sibling. He saw you grow up and at one-point brotherly love turned intro romantic love and sexual attraction. Whenever he looked at you, you weren’t his cute little sibling any more but rather a person he desires. He wants to kiss you, lewdly and filthy until drool spills from your mouths and strings of spit keep you connected even though you pull part from each other. He wants to fondle you, handle you with care before he fucks into you. Sometimes rougher than other times, the grip on your hips is harsh enough to leave marks on your soft skin. He wants you to moan out his name and your little cries when ever you need your big brother to take care of you. He loves you more than he should, but he isn’t afraid to let you know and sometimes the thrill of other people almost catching you two – especially your parents – gets him so excited that he just wants to make you scream.

Kuroo Tetsurou + (pseudo) snuff

This man right here has dark fantasies, and they turn him on more than it should. If you’re with him maybe you should worry about your safety from time to time.

He loves to play with the thought of choking you a little too hard, oh how many times you had already passed out. Somehow Kuroo can only cum when he thinks about the way the little spark of life in your eyes goes out. The way your body numbs up and how he can use you like a puppet after. The only thing he will be missing is the sound of your moans, your little screams, and pathetic whimpers once he hit that one spot inside you that makes you see stars.

Matsukawa Issei + knifeplay and marking

It’s not so much the actual knife play that makes him go feral but rather the marks he’ll be leaving. Honestly, he doesn’t like cutting you all that much, it is satisfactory for him, the way blood slowly starts to ooz out of the cut, and sometimes he shoves his fingers into it the cut, he always tells you that you need tighter holes for him to fuck so why not simply make some?

But he can’t but admire the wounds he leaves. Especially the ones that will most likely leave scars. He takes care of them, makes sure they don’t get infected, kisses them whenever they hurt or itch. Its his way of keeping you his, of making sure that you can’t run away from him. Even if you manage to get away you will always be reminded of Issei.

Hanamaki Takahiro + gunplay

Hiro likes you and Hiro likes guns so why not combine those two things? It started mild, he showed you some of his guns and let you hold them. The sight was more than beautiful to him, and then he got an idea, why not bring a gun to bed? You don't know why you were so easy to convince but all Hiro had to do was ask, and you let him shove the barrel down your throat. He pushed the gun into your mouth as far as possible until you're gagging on it. His finger would stay on the trigger and to be honest you weren't even sure if the safety was on. The spark of fear in your eyes send beautiful shivers down Hiro's spine. He pulled the barrel out of your mouth again admiring all the drool and spit that collected on the heavy metal. "Looks like it's wet enough..." he mumbled before spreading your legs and shoving the gun deep into your tight hole. The metal felt foreign and hurt a little, you weren't prepped nor lubed up enough for the rough material to thrust in and out of you like this. But do you think your little cries and begs for Hiro to stop work? Of course not, he has too much fun being the asshole he is.

shinsurou © 2020 | all content and it's right belong to me, please don't repost or modify

[badass-at-fandoming]

Just Little Malkavian Things ~

Malkavians these days can do nothing but de-conceptualize, Dement, eat hot chip, and lie.

Since people seemed to enjoy the #JustLittleVentrueThings VTMB adventure, here's a matching Malkavian one. Though I'm gonna be real with ya here, I had less fun D:

I finally figured out why I have such trouble wrapping my head around depictions of Malkavians in VTM media. Books, Storytellers, and fans say it's like having a mental illness and being linked to a massive group chat. But, listen, I've lived around and with mental illness all my life. I've been in massive group chats. Being Malkavian ain't like that.

It IS like being an early-twenties English major in the midst of an existential crisis, over-worked and cross-faded outta your skull and watching horror movies to Cope(TM)

So it's like drugs. It's like you had too much weed and too much wine and are let loose on Los Angeles. Which. My friends and I have and we, coincidentally, also "fought" a stop sign. The Malkavian PC never really seemed like a character to me: she's like a collection of cliches and dude-bros doing blunts while watching slasher movies. I named her Liotta after the Psychic Shop owner, and I'm sad Liotta didn't really get to be a person.

I wasn't surprised by any of the dialog. It's a pattern. Alliteration, allusion, animal joke. Alliteration, allusion, animal joke. It lost its charm.

Often, I didn't know what the FUCK I was saying. Which is the Malkavian Experience(TM), according to Rosa.

Anyway

Nonsense time

Most characters have an extra paragraph of dialog to Acknowledge That You Are A Malkavian. Some get an extra conversation branch. For example, there's lots of new Bertie dialog and he was all impressed Liotta knows about Gehenna and Thin-bloods <3. The Anarchs characters, especially Skelter, get a lot more. Skelter, Ash, and Liotta totally vibe.

If you sneak around the Santa Monica drug house, they talk about Mercurio?? Hello?? Mercurio, you bent Masquerade by not getting beat up real good.

Zero pretense about Voerman. Yes, I have DID; yes, I am making it your problem.

When Liotta talked to Beckett, he said the DID was "something to look forward to." Goddamnit, Beckett. That's not how the Bane or mental illness works! >:-(

I've never sneaked before!!! Did you know that the Tong AND the American gang downtown have fakes in their suitcases??? Like, Full On, "it's just stuffed with newspapers, brah." They were going to kill each other over newspapers. For some reason the Tong brought the REAL suitcase along too, but I'm so past having VTM make any sort of sense. It's fine.

Accidentally pissed off Nines. I meant farmer (affectionate) and Nines thought I meant farmer (derogatory). :(

The Dementation powers are (a) pretty purple loop-de-loops, (b) not as effective as Dominate (reaaaallyyy missed a good AOE attack), and (c) oddly enough, gave more compassionate dialog choices. I mean. In the pen-and-paper version, Dementation isn't conflict-focused, so the devs had to jigger it to use as attacks. But I was touched when Liotta made Hannah believe she was Paul, so Hannah got to say goodbye. Making Samantha believe Liotta was a pet turtle was funny and spared her the pain of her friend vanishing a second time. Heather thinks her entire experience was a dream and returns to her life, more or less unscathed.

Boris?? Asked Liotta to kill Venus for him???? DUDE, WHAT. I didn't know he could counter-offer!! What happens if you take up his offer? Who controls Confession? Does it close down??

Pro Tip: don't trust the pale woman in a cowboy stripper outfit who comes out of your vent and tells you everything's fine.

I went through an ENTIRE Ventrue playthrough without puking and Liotta ate one (1) unhoused person and blew chunks. I didn't realize Diseased Blood was a threat. What happens if you skip the Plague-bearer quest? Should you just never chomp on the Downtown unhoused community?

Strauss called Liotta "young one" and I was like, sir. You're not Beckett, you can't trick me.

A rat dances in the Downtown sewers and tells Liotta that the grass is greener in someone else's asshole.

And also will take you places.

Do you know what it's like for a Capri Sun to suddenly start speaking and offer taxi services.

LaCroix: how did Bach find me??? also LaCroix: [names his company after himself] [lives in Ventrue Tower]

Liotta told Beckett that Kindred are a joke and I got extra EXP for being so sneaky.

DMP produced snuff films even before Andrei???!!!! I thought all the blood was from the lil geo-dudes.

Liotta agreed with Andrei that Caine is here and boot-scooting around in his lil Angst Mobile. :D

As bad as Liotta was in group fights, she repeatedly made bosses cower and stand quietly while she beat them to death. Andrei had a full on lay-on-the-floor temper tantrum in his war form and Liotta just. Smacked him until he exploded. She didn't even take damage!

Imalia's computer password is ALSO "cleopatra." Just like Tawni's! Dual reference to the Embrace type

IDK why I never asked this before, but, um, who does Mitnick share the bunk bed with? Barabus..?

I went back to the Empire Hotel Penthouse suite to fetch the educational book and the Russian mob dudes were still there?? Hello, sirs, your leader is dead. You can leave now.

Liotta heard the real thoughts of the Red Dragon hostess...and also some debate about the Dark Father's presence in LA, heehee.

I thought it was fun that one of the "take me away, Cabbie!" taxi replies mentioned riding in a car like father and child. :D

"Why is the Mandarin giggling at me" is a sentence that came out of my face.

With the different dialog options, sometimes it's impossible to be polite to NPCs. For example: Liotta could only call VV "dolly/doll/toy doll" instead of her preferred names; the Chinatown gun seller felt frightened, thinking we were Police or Immigration.

Some great fourth wall breaks in the dialog: "I don't want to get involved either, but tell that to whoever is playing me!" to Beckett after the Giovanni Mansion.

"You can't spell success without whatever the hell my name is."

"If I cannot win with effort, I will cheat my way to victory. I am gone." Funnily enough, this was my first run where I didn't hack in to boost stats.

"I just want it to end. I feel like I've been playing forever."

Some nice wider lore references: "I devour knowledge like the great worm devours the corpse of society" could refer to how Salout, in tapeworm form, is devouring Tremere's body and destabilizing the Clan and/or Kindred night society.

"They should have a channel devoted to you in my head" to Beckett. In his Diary, Beckett witnesses Malkavians devouring Malkav and may or may not join the Cobweb (PS check out this great fanfic where he does).

This made me stare into space for a minute and question my life choices. During the Sabbat massacre, Liotta didn't snack on any of the blood doll ghouls (ya know, the ones with the eyes gouged out). She had such high Inspection + Finance that she had $4k in her wallet and could buy blood. I wanted to test a rumor that if you don't feed on the blood dolls, you get extra EXP. You do. BUT anywAY, right before the Tremere miniboss, Liotta was sword-fighting some goons and the blood doll...attacked him for her? Like. He moved on his own. When the goon was dead, the blood doll asked if Liotta was all right. This might have been a glitch but...the horrific implications that those men are still conscious, still willful, still feeling. ACK. I hope they got out the next morning.

RIP Ming Xiao. Flamethrower right to the tiddies.

I stole @ryttu3k's idea and noclipped through the werewolf section. Liotta still killed the Garou, but I didn't want the stress.

Caine is very Caine. "Don't you get it? We've already been judged!"

Liotta went Anarch because what little backstory I came up for her was she considered Smiling Jack her sire. Nines complimented her ability to murder.

Sheriff got sooooo dizzy that he fell over right onto Liotta's sword 27 times.

Dancing werewolf ending! Seemed fitting. :D

[cptnbvcks]

Ok but think abt phone sex with javi (I mean it IS cannon that if you call him at work saying you want his cock in you, he'll run out of the office like it's on fire to go fuck)

dial tone (javier peña x reader)

words: 1.3k

rating: mature/explicit (18+)

summary: you decide to have some fun with javi (and murphy) after feeling a little bored while he’s at work. 

warnings: phone sex, female masturbation, mild murphy tease/cuckhold-y. 

a/n: its kinda short kinda hot might blueball you too i’m sorry

(gif source: @december-nimbus​)

“Hey, Murph, is Javi there?”

Tucking the bulky landline receiver between his cheek and his shoulder, Murphy lifted his gaze from the growing molehill of paperwork that had slowly begun to consume the pair of crudely shoved together desks. 

The Embassy was busy tonight; the hallways humming low with indistinct conversations that all seemed a little too antsy for the time of night. The white-noise drawl was loud, but not loud enough to mask the pillow-soft voice at the other end of the line. Murphy shifted the phone closer to his ear.

“He’s a little tied up right now,” Murphy offered, casting a lazy glance over to the glass paneling that separated Messina’s office from the rest of the space. He bit down the smirk that tried to work its way from his mouth to his voice as he watched Javier pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance while mutedly listening to Messina chew him out, “Pissed off Messina again.” 

A hazy little laugh bubbled from the other side of the line, drawing its end on a breathless sigh. Murphy raised a brow, lowering his gaze to the phone cord as his thoughts pinwheeled around that airy amused sound. 

“I think he likes her,” your voice pulls molasses slow from your throat; slow and honeyed enough that it makes him swallow and shift the phone against his ear again, “He only pisses off people he likes.” 

“Then he must love me,” Murphy rallied back, winning another chimed laugh that made him feel like he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar when his partner met his gaze from behind the glass walls. Murphy straightened his back and pointed to the receiver, mouthing your name as Javier began to respectfully wave Messina off.

“Oh, I think he loves you more than he loves me, Murph,” You sigh around his nickname and fight the smile that arches your lips at the pregnant pause that suspends the air with phone static. 

“If I knew any better, I might be jealous,” The words come more urgently now, catching heavy in your throat and Murphy can’t help but note that it sounds like you’re laying down. Even more so when he hears the soft fabric shuffle of sheets. His brain sputters as your words curl tighter. “Should I be jealous, Murph?” 

Murphy opens his mouth, bone dry and fumbling for a response as he watches Javier swing open Messina’s door. He clears his throat and tries again.

“No, ma’am,” he manages, swapping the phone from one ear to the other as Javier shakes his head at him before adding the folder in his hands to the cascading collection already pooling over the desks. Murphy follows his partner with his eyes as the man sits back heavily in the adjacent chair and makes no explicit move to take over the line of conversation.

Murphy arches a brow at the phone, and Javier shakes his head again as he drags his typewriter closer. 

A quiet hum purred through the warp of the phone line, testing the softer octaves of your vocal cords as the words pulled from your throat.

“You still there, Murph?” 

“We’re a little busy out here right now, sweetheart,” Murphy offers, his tone clipped and quick as he stared at Javier, who was doing a pointed job of working, “Want me to pass on a message—?” 

The words abruptly staggered to a halt in his mouth.

Did he just… hear you moan?

“I don’t think you can pass on this— this message, Stevie.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Your words are swallowed and thick and the sudden pause in Murphy’s words draws Javier’s attention just as the man juts the receiver out across the table for him to take. Murphy tips his head and shoots him a look that says you better take this.

The next voice you hear is Javier’s. Heady and deep and razing warm from his chest with that baritone that made your cunt clench with emptiness.

“Baby—” He exasperates into the receiver, his voice laden and heavy as he pins Murphy with an irate expression that quickly falters when you wrap your lips around his name and gasp for it like you’ve been holding your breath from the minute you called in. 

“Javi— Javi, baby—” 

Your words are light and triumphant and they hang in the air of little quick gasps that sound far too loud and too intimate for the ugly glaring fluorescents of the unquiet Embassy. He looks away from Murphy then, who’s making a point of distracting himself by tapping out a cigarette from its carton, and hunches down in his chair to shoulder the room. 

You whine again, a high and tight sound that makes his cock stir to life in his jeans. Javi casts his eyes across the room, lowering his voice when he speaks with those abrasive words masked with the thin veil of both threat and intrigue. “What do you think you’re doing, mija?”

“I just— mm, fuck— I miss you, Javi. Needed t-to hear your voice—” 

The sheets shuffle again, faster this time, and Javier doesn’t need to see you to know that it’s the sound of your feet kicking off the covers. He doesn’t need to be there to know that it’s your fingers curling and twisting deep in that pretty little pussy of yours that’s already so wet and aching and weeping for him.

Fuck, maybe if the Embassy was quieter he’d be able to hear every soaked noise it made while you listened to him speak. Instead, he presses the receiver closer to his ear.  

“I’m working, baby. I can’t—” 

You choke out a pathetic little noise then — a simpering tone that glimmers in the bedroom air every fucking time he digs the pad of his thumb up against your soft clit. He knows the way your thighs jolt every time he does it; the way it pulls the air, gasping and empty, right from your lungs. 

“Then put Murphy back on the line.” 

The baseless taunt drops into the pit of Javier’s stomach and coils hot and insidious and you’ve placed the checkmate that’s gotten him moving immediately. Murphy looks up from where he’s been pretending to read a Centra Spike transcript, watching now as Javier snuffs out his cigarette and impatiently yanks out the half-typed page from the typewriter reel.

“Say that again, sweetheart. See what happens.” 

Your cunt bottoms out at the warning; clenches wetly around your curled fingers until your hips instinctively roll harder into your palm. Your exhale catches clearly on the other end of the line and Javier stands up with enough suddenness that his chair skitters back across the tiled floor. 

“Javi?” Murphy voices his concern but Javier’s more focused on the hasty words that begin to fall from your mouth, and he knows you’re on the edge of something devastating with enough wickedness in you to try to drag him down too.

“Do you think he’d help me?” You croon, panting quick around every syllable as you listen to Javier’s breathing hitch to match your own, “Do you think he knows that I’ve got two fingers curled up in my pussy, thinking about you, Javi? I—I think he heard me. You know how loud I get s-sometimes. How wet—”

The line goes dead before you finish the thought. 

“I’m heading out,” he blurts out to Murphy, dropping the phone into its cradle before snatching up his leather jacket from the back of his seat and yanking it on, “I’ll be back in an hour.” 

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Javi.” 

There’s a note of amusement in Murphy’s voice and Javier pauses, one foot already ascending the step leading to the main exit. He stops and turns, watching as Murphy tucks his cigarette back into his mouth and pours himself a glass from the half-empty whiskey bottle. 

“Did she say something to you?” 

Murphy’s brow lifted as he looked from Javier’s pointed finger before meeting his half-accusing stare. He leaned back into his chair until it groaned in protest and raised his hands defensively. 

“Not a word.” 

—

Tag List

@sophiria @imspillingcoffee @plumbuck @romqnofff @sexygaypalpatine @elisaa-shelby @readermia @the-dream-catch3r @pinkmoontribe-blog @madkingcrowley @whenimaunicorn @petalduck @fairylightsandchai  @osejn @mandowhoreian @letdecemberburninflames @chickens-are-velociraptors @naiomiwinchester @peregrinestook  @space-helen​ @virtuousburden​ @daddehhmando @thechampmylove @kiame-sama @knightheartcd @lustriix @deviantloving-detective @headsindreams @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @sgtbookybarnes @celestiaalbliss @coonflix @thetrappednerd @brooklymw @the-omni-princess @sav-a-nna @actuallyanita​ @equalstrashflavoredtrash​ @claynarwale​ @pedrolovebot​ @mermaid-seachelle @sasha1005 @cafescrema @otherthingsinhead @maia-hocane @thatoneemosithlord @whenimaunicorn​​ @ah-callie @whataenginerd @motherswarrior @irishleesh93 

[mybg3notebook]

Gale Summarised Analysis

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in May 2021.

The majority of sources used for this article are in the game itself (this includes my Gale-solo playthroughs as well as a combination of the videos by munmomuu and selphie1999), and the few dev’s notes provided by pjenn. Gale as origin is not taken into account since it’s not finished and has little to none Gale-related content. There will be little datamining content as well since pjenn said the game contained almost no gale-related notes (only in the Weave and in the Revelation scene).

Additional disclaimers about meta-knowledge and interpretations in (post)

The number between brackets [] represents the topic-block related to (this post), which gathers as much evidence as I could get.

We can infer about Gale by analysing what he approves and disapproves of. Sometimes, we can even lightly infer some information from his neutral reactions, but let’s be honest: this way of analysing a char is pretty poor since it leaves everything to speculation. Neutral reactions can only be analysed, in very rare instances, by contrasting the same situation in other contexts, and seeing what other options Gale approves or disapproves of. With these considerations in mind, we can proceed to describe this character.

Disclaimer: this is a meta with my personal interpretation of the character, sticking as much as possible to the facts and leaving little to “desires” or “projections” of what I want him to be. If I do so, I will state it explicitly in the text for the sake of analysis honesty. I want to be clear about what is canon (facts shown in bg3 EA), from what’s personal interpretation with little proof.

Understanding Gale (integrated text)

We are none of us monsters. We are merely hatcheries for monstrous things. So we fight them

---Gale 

Collecting most of the information provided in-game, we know he has a cat, a Library, and writes poetry sometimes. One of the first things that Gale will reveal is that he is a private person. He easily and clearly sets boundaries from the first moment, showing Tav where they stand. The second aspect he makes us aware of is his pragmatic thinking and his preference for diplomatic approaches. A third aspect that stands out on its own: he is a very verbose person, maybe as a result of his academia background in combination with his poetry hobby. He also has a bad posture when talking, but I’m not sure if this is intentional or a bug.

We can assure that Gale certainly is a man of the city [13], and may have a decent social status. It's impossible to say for sure if it's noble or rich or both, or it is just a natural consequence of being a wizard scholar: he is frustrated by the harshness of the camping life, he misses the civilisation of the city which offers well cooked meals, soft beds, and scented baths. Not by chance he is the only companion in the group who would approve of giving Oskar 200 gold to fight “the discomforts of the road” [13]. However, he adapts. Despite the lack of luxuries, he managed to survive in the wilderness.

Gale and his link with magic is unquestionable. Magic is life for Gale, metaphorically and literally speaking since it's magic what allows him to stay alive despite the "orb" in his chest. If we talk about Magic, we have to talk about Mystra and the Weave. The Weave is not only the embodiment of Mystra, it's an extension of Mystra herself. It extends across many planes of existence and is in almost all parts of Faerûn. By dragging power from it, Magic can be performed. 

Mystra, for lore reasons and conjectures that I will discuss in the post "Mystra and her Chosen ones", turned teenager/young adult Gale into one of her Chosen, making their relationship more intimate and granting Gale a deeper access to the Weave. This put Gale into the category of an archwizard. It's clear that Gale was and still is a devotee of Mystra, which could give us a hint of his alignment since she is a neutral good goddess and she expects for her Chosen to align around it.

Gale likes confidence, in others and in himself. He is confident in his looks (he has described himself as a “handsome devil” and answered during the romance/Revelation scene that he knew he was beautiful under the light as well as Tav). But beyond these two lines, qualifying him as a narcissist seems extreme. He is surely very confident about his knowledge, and we see he is not just mere words: his Mind Flayer knowledge is at the the same level of what githyankis know. If we compare how Astarion/Tav struggled with the book of Thay, and then we see how Gale manages it (sadly the scene is not complete yet in EA, and there is almost no datamining info of Gale), we can conclude once more that his knowledge and power of the mind are real (he is, so far, the main companion who allows us to explore the lore of the game in a deeper way during his conversations). We also know it's a bit more complicated to intrude into his mind using the tadpole because he has knowledge and mental tools to protect himself (check the post about the Tadpole inside Gale). He is certainly a very verbose and confident scholar, who knows his limits, and in occasions he seems to dabble into an ego-teasing play as an attempt of levity, displaying his “insufferable side”, as he has described himself (his self-awareness of these traits is remarkable, and it is the reason why I avoid qualifying him as arrogant. Arrogant chars are hardly self-aware of their own bad manners or insufferable traits). But we can see it's usually done as a joke or, with an evil Tav, as an aggressive reaction. For a deep analysis of this aspect, check the post about "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Narcissism". 

Based on his approvals and disapprovals, we can see that Gale has a strong preference in avoiding fights, violence, and bloodshed [1]. He will always prefer diplomatic and persuasive approaches [2]. Reasoning is his best weapon, but if the individual we are dealing with can hardly be persuaded, he would approve of a deception or an intimidation as long blood is not spilt. Here is where we see his pragmatism in action, all the time. His primary goal at every moment is to avoid bloodshed. His philosophy could be summed up in the line “the means [as long as they don’t kill gratuitously] hardly matter if the end is worthy”. And for Gale, nothing is more worthy than life [3]. This doesn't cover only the life of innocents he cares about, it includes the life of the most dubious characters as well, such as Rugan or Crusher. Gratuitous death is meaningless for him. During the scene of Nettie we can have a glimpse of his philosophy towards life: he viscerally hates treating life as if it were nothing: 

Gale: How dare she snuff out life with as much thought as snuffing out a bloody candle? […] It's not right to feel the cold breath of death in your neck, then move on as if it was nothing but a soothing breeze. One respects life by fighting for it, and one respects death by fearing it.

Gale: One should never be afraid to live life to the fullest.

Probably the limited amount of life he has due to the "orb" increased his sense of respect for life and its celebration. I personally understand Gale as a character who embodies the perspectives of a seriously ill person, knowing that their life may be short, but they will try to make the best out of it. 

He doesn't only respect life per se, he also cares about its dignity. This can be seen in his explicit rejection to undead existences such as Connor (he explains that it would be merciful to put an end to his undead nightmare), or in his disapprovals of humiliation and torture [9]

 We could suspect that this emphasis in protecting any life comes from the fact that only people who are alive can (sometimes) be forgiven or/and change. This is not explicit, but since he is a character who talks about being better and wiser than his previous self, about acknowledging mistakes, about forgiveness, this interpretation seems reasonable. 

These concepts of kindness and compassion combined with “the mistakes of the youth” are repetitive in his interactions and approvals [5,12]. Of course, they echo in his soul since they are reflections and desires of his own experience. This pattern covers forgiving children in particular [5], and disapproving hard judgements [16], especially on matters whose story is not fully understood by Tav. This means he doesn't like quick judgements when he doesn't know the whole story first. This scenario can be easily seen during Karlach's quest, he reserves his judgment until knowing Karlach's side: There are always two sides to each story.

Gale: I have to say I don't know if agreeing to this hunt was such a wise idea. Who's to say who's the real villain in this tale of devils and masquerades? [...]When we track Karlach down, let's chat before we chop.

Similar concept appears during his Revelation scene, when he encourages and keeps asking Tav to listen to him first before judging. This is also the reason why in his Loss scene he would disapprove if Tav quickly assumes that his loss of Mystra was due to arrogance. Tav judged him without knowing the whole story. However, once Tav knows the whole story, Gale will accept any judgement from them without approval penalties during the Revelation scene.

He approves all actions that imply helping others in hard times and disapproves of them if they were done out of greed [4]. He is an animal lover [6,7]. Being kind to animals and treating them good will increase his approval, while animal cruelty will earn his disapproval. Same goes for humanoids: any display of gratuitous violence that could have been prevented with a trick or a diplomatic approach, any humiliation forced upon others, any torture or situation of slavery, is disapproved [8, 9, 11]. 

In particular, Gale seems to advocate the philosophy of “give others their own medicine”[18] or in other words: poetic justice. We can see this during the Myconid colony; he approves of helping the Myconid to avenge the young killed by the Duergar, adding the comment: “Wicked killers deserve wicked ends”. He is implying to give them a similar, wicked medicine to the Duergars. Another less deadly situation of this kind is shown during the foot situation with Crusher: Gale is the one suggesting “pungent poetic justice” and telling Tav that they should force Crusher to kiss their feet. 

The most iconic scene, however, is during Nettie's, if Tav lies during her interrogation. As a hot-headed reaction, Gale states that he would have poisoned Nettie if this situation would have happened to him. Although, after calming down, he approves of and confirms Tav's actions [if Tav managed to persuade Nettie to give them the antidote]

Gale: A taste of her own medicine is what she deserves! […] But you handled it, and you handled it well. 

 In this scene we also see a pattern: Gale is shown as a fallible human; his most visceral reaction during the first moment is anger and indignation, giving us a hint that he is not so rational when it comes to emotional states. An extremely obvious, human concept. 

The scene of Nettie trying to kill a potential menace (the victim of a MF) reverberated in his consciousness, projecting immediately a fact in his mind: if he ever dares to reveal his "orb" problem, and anyone knows what a danger he represents—no matter how stable it looks—people will want to remove the menace by killing him. 

This is the reason behind his words “It's just that, had it been me... had it been...” Gale knows that this simplistic and common thinking in removing what's dangerous would end up turning into a more destructive tragedy in his case than in any infected victim of the tadpoles. So this combination makes us see, for the first time, an emotional Gale. After some seconds, he cools down and returns to his more rational, diplomatic, and moderate self. What we can read here is that Gale would be very prone to rush decisions or to make mistakes under emotional circumstances. We will learn later that the other mistake he made under emotional stress ended up with the "orb" stuck in his chest. A third mistake was done during the party, once more under the emotional stress of a potential abandonment by Tav due to the true nature of the orb. 

Everything related to the “orb”—which is his most traumatic experience—naturally makes him more emotional and prone to mistakes. To see how truly traumatic the "orb" is in his life we can notice the following patterns during the meeting scene: he speaks about the tadpole in a relaxed, rational way, despite the traumatising experience. He first asks for an archwizard instead of for a cleric, because his priority is the orb. Gale's main fear is not the tadpole, but the orb. If we remember his words after the consumption of the artefacts, we realise he lives in a permanent state of anxiety and raw fear, and probably pain too, given his facial gesticulation when anything interacts with the "orb" (whether artefacts or Tav's hand). His banter with Shadowheart reinforces the concept that he always has a knot in the stomach. When he accepts the deal with Raphael, it seems to be related to the orb, not to the tadpole. The effect of the "orb" has ceased, but the tadpole is still in Gale's head since we still need to roll against a high DC and not only against a 1DC during this scene, so we can assume he still has the tadpole despite Raphael's deal. See the post about "The Tadpole" in Gale for more details.

Gale is a character that represents human experiences deeply related to growing up: mistakes done in the past, and the acceptance of not being forgiven despite the desire of wanting to. This can be easily seen during the conversation of the second tadpole dream, where Gale's mood is foul and we learn that his deepest desire is for Mystra to forgive him, but he also knows it's impossible for that to happen. He detects the lie in this dream because he has accepted that Mystra will never forgive him. Gale is the story of mistakes done during youth with grave consequences, of acknowledging them and trying to make them right, of surviving those mistakes, and depending on the interpretation, he is also the story of an ill dying man, with a gentle vision and deep care for life. 

The great majority of his approvals are based on actions that show kindness and compassion, both reiterative concepts that are so important in his character that they come from his lips when we see the goblin party: 

Gale: The shadow within is spreading like poison, corrupting kindness and compassion. [Only after a tough DC of 15]

In combination with: Gale: I don't know myself anymore. All this... It's not who I am. Around you, I'm not who I want to be. I should leave. 

These lines show how, in a sudden change to an evil path, Gale would start doubting his own morality, explaining that the cause of it is the "orb" itself, corrupting the most core aspects of his personality. This corruption may or may not be lore-related. It's not completely clear what Gale's "orb" truly is. For more details, check the post of the "Orb".

 His constant critical thinking comes from his advocacy to non-conventionality [15]: a true scholar will always explore all the options and hypotheses before reaching a conclusion. Therefore, Gale would approve of any non-conventional way to fix a problem [15] as long as it doesn't potentially cause harm or bloodshed [1,2,3,8,9]. Due to his own background, Gale will always advise to be very careful of the consequences of one’s actions. This can be easily seen when, after encountering the caged goblin Sazza, Gale would advocate to explore the possibility of reaching Gut Priestess to cure the tadpole. However, when Tav helps Sazza to escape, Gale will comment briefly against this action.

Gale: I know I said it's not inconceivable a goblin priestess could help us. And yet... was it really wise to set another goblin free so she can arrange introductions? […] consider the consequences. What if she leads her entire tribe to the grove? Tav: I don't care, I owe this grove no allegiance. Gale: No allegiance, no. Though we don't need to sign its death warrant

Once more we see that Gale is up to using any (unharming) means to get a goal, but not at any cost. He has a clear line he doesn't like to cross: life [3]. Avoiding putting other people's lives in danger is very important for him. We see this concept over and over in most scenes.

He doesn't likerushed decisions, and in that same train of thoughts, he will disapprove any use of unknown magic or tricks when nobody in the group can truly understand how they work [17], for example the tadpoles or Raphael's deal (he is against accepting it quickly, but he will approve of having a more cautious attitude and carefully thinking about it). 

Since the moment we meet him, we can infer he is obsessed with the artefacts. It's obviously understandable: he doesn't want to die, but also, he doesn't want to kill all those that will be caught in the eruption of the orb. For this reason he will insist on the loot in the Temple Ruins despite knowing that grave robbery is not correct. 

Gale: Bad form, isn't it? Grave robbing? […] Let's have a look at the loot. It isn't for your pockets only. 

He keeps pondering life over death: although he respects the dead, he will always value more the living creatures in the present. This is also what pushes Gale to suggest Tav to open Rugan's chest. Stealing from the evil Zhentarins is not something that will weigh on his consciousness too much. Besides, he knows it belongs to a wizard: meaning that the chance for it to contain a powerful artefact is really high. Similar suggestions will be said about the Idol of Silvanus, but talking with him in the camp will show us that he won't approve of taking it, only as a last resort. He keeps pondering the living over a sacred piece of stone, since he knows the druids won't take the stealing very peacefully. Once more we see Gale's respect and care for life, trying to minimise damage as much as the circumstances allow him.

Gale is also a survivalist. He doesn't want to die, he loves celebrating life in its more mundane and small details. He is an emotional character for a wizard, a bit strange since they are usually portrayed as more rational and cold, losing their lives among dusty books. However, Gale has shown in many scenes that he prefers to survive without killing, but if he has to, he will do it, dealing with the weight of it in his consciousness because killing unprovoked affects him (scene in the camp after killing the druids, or the goblin party scene). 

His moral in preventing gratuitous death sometimes will conflict with his own survival, especially if he is by an evil Tav's side. He couldn't accept bloodshed when other peaceful options were available and possible to reach. This is clearly shown during the goblin party, where Gale's consciousness suffers and feels the corruption of the "orb" killing the kindness and the compassion inside him. He accepts that wanting to live is a powerful drive, but he doesn't support this massacre, questioning if all that blood was necessary. A Tav killing the tieflings seems to lose the possibility of pursuing Gale romantically, at least in EA so far. For Gale, survival is important, but the means to do it (when they can cause death) matter too. Life is worth preserving.

 The usual archetype of survivalist tends to be an individualist one who would survive at any cost without remorse because that's the “law of the jungle”, the strongest must survive. However, Gale seems to embody a different concept of survivalist that it's hard to put in words: a sort of communal survivalist, trying to survive in coexistence with his community: he wants his survival to imprint the least harm possible (even though sometimes it would not be possible), trying to help those around him as long as his condition allows it; for example, despite wanting Gut's potential cure for the tadpole, he would disagree in helping Sazza escape because she will lead the goblins to the Grove, no matter the fact that doing this will grant them their introduction to the priestess. 

His list of approval shows that his sense of survival is always pondered with the consequences that it can cause on others (check the post with the "Extensive list of Gale's approvals"). The whole concept of the "orb" has this motivation as well: he wants to live and survive, but he also can't give up because his body would kill many, so he needs to do as much as his moral allows him to keep it in check. If he cannot do it any longer, he promises to minimise the disaster as much as possible by erupting in the deep Underdark or in a desolated corner of Faerûn (and considering his ridiculous list of approvals and disapprovals, we know he is honest in not wanting to kill gratuitously). Gale acknowledges his own mistakes, trying—to the best of his ability—to deal with them without catching others in them. Although all his speeches keep emphasising that he is a mere human, and plans may fail. 

At some point, if he wants to survive “not at any cost”, he will be forced to ask Tav for help during the scene of the stew (available only for medium approval or higher). As a gesture of honesty, Gale will set a boundary before making this request, acknowledging its unfairness but giving Tav the decision to proceed or not. He is not denying to explain the details later, but at the moment he can't speak the “why” of his condition no matter how curious Tav is. Tav will decide whether they can keep their curiosity on the matter. 

We will understand later that this impediment comes as a precaution as well as consequence of his personal trauma with Mystra and the "orb" (See post about "Gale: Manipulation, Lies, and Trust"). So, he is very clear about setting the conditions in which this conversation will happen from the beginning. The easiest way for Gale to avoid this whole situation would have been by simply lying, but he opted for an honest approach with clear out-loud reservations, knowing he was asking for more trust than he was allowed to, but the intention behind is more than important. There is a clear, huge contextual detail that we can't miss: this scene doesn't happen because of Gale's whims, he is forced to ask for help since his condition “is not a patient one” and will endanger everyone if not kept at bay. 

This detail where Gale explicitly asks for an exchange of trust is not present if Gale's approval is neutral or lower. In this case, Gale would not care about giving a context to his strange request: he doesn't trust Tav and he doesn't expect to be trusted either, he only wants the artefacts to keep his condition in check for his sake and the sake of others. We can understand this change of attitude depending on the approval as he doesn't want to give any extra explanation to someone he is not interested in building a relationship with. For more details, check the post about "Gale: Manipulation, Lies, and Trust".

I personally support the idea that nobody in canon Faerûn is free of racial prejudices since Forgotten Realms lore has been created based strongly on fantasy racism. I've read that WotC wants to move forward and improve this aspect in 5e, but so far what they allowed Larian to do with the Tieflings in BG3 seems to show the contrary. So, since apparently we are going to face fantasy racism anyways, I will try to analyse racial prejudices from all chars. When it comes to Gale, it's a bit far-stretched to point out unjustified racial biases. He has a vague comment about Rashemi that some people may consider a faerunian saying. Personally, I think that line is a bias forced into him to have a particular dynamic with Minsc (the Rashemi “silly” companion -we all can see where Larian seems to go with this). Gale clearly sees tieflings, gnomes, and even goblins as people, and has a cautious attitude towards some githyanki (at least that's what we can infer with Lae'zel when we find her in the cage), but given the githyanki lore it's pretty reasonable to see them as dangerous creature that could kill people on the spot. So far, he seems to have no racial preference either [10]. 

As it was said before, he prefers to avoid killing people, but that doesn't mean he won't do it if his life depends on it. He will prefer persuasive and defusing approaches, but if he needs to kill to defend innocents or his own life, he won't hesitate. So therefore, stories about characters making mistakes or having violent excess in an effort to protect themselves or what they hold dear will be understood by him but hardly approved [19]. He tends more to approve a call out of that excess than approving an excuse for it.

Gale has deep abandonment issues that can be easily seen when he defends Astarion from being handed over to Gandrel. We need to put this in context before going on: for Gale, Astarion represents a danger as a vampire who attacked one of them during their sleep. By the display of meta-knowledge, we know with certainty that their approvals and disapprovals are mostly opposite: What one approves, the other will disapprove and vice versa. Getting rid of Astarion should be something that Gale would approve, however, he doesn't. If we explore his comments we will realise that what Gale disapproves from this situation is Tav's abandonment. After Mystra's abandonment, he knows very well that “Loyalty is such a very rare commodity”, and the few situations in EA in which Tav can display abandonment, resound strongly in Gale. 

Gale is a scholar with a strong balanced rational side. But unlike the trope, he also embraces an emotional side that, so far the info we received in EA, it's the side that makes him prone to mistakes. 

As an amateur poet, Gale loves words. We can obviously notice this in his verbose attitude, but also in the way he carefully uses words. One of his characteristic words is “spectacle”. He has also shown a reiterative—although not always—uneasy use of the word “fun”. Using “fun” as a way to describe the night spent with Gale gives him a slight uneasiness. “That’s a word for it.” He disapproves of using the word “Fun” after the Mayrina/Connor situation, in which scene Gale alludes that “your new company may be a proof of how depraved and twisted you are to see that tragedy as “fun”. Personally I think this is a direct allusion to Astarion, who considers Mayrina's situation as “entertainment”, in the same way he considered as “fun” the show of Arabella's death (two of several instances where he used that word). Gale also doesn’t use the word sex during EA, instead he uses romantic ones such as love-making, intimacy, art of the night/body. In the most technical case: coitus (used only when he is talking about “goblinoid intimacy” in the expression “post-coital snack”). These details are showing not only his poet/romantic side, but also his interpretation of sex from his perspective: sex can only be possible through a connection. We know he doesn’t engage in casual sex with Lae’zel if he is not romanced, and his romance can only potentially start if Tav shares that deep connection with him through the Weave. 

Another detail related to words is that Gale has always used an infection/disease-related vocabulary to explain the “orb” stuck in his chest: infested, taint, shadow spreading 

[…] I failed to control [this chaotic magic]. Instead it infested me. […] This Netherese taint... this orb, for lack of a better word [..] […] the shadow within is spreading like poison, corrupting kindness and compassion. [...]

Gale apparently has a particular way to sense magic. I have no way to check this in-game, but it seems very strange how he immediately identifies magical artifacts without casting Detect Magic. There are some extra scenes as well where he says to taste or smell the magic in some objects. Even his encounter with Shadowheart, besides being considered a flirt, could be also interpreted as him detecting the magic that we saw later in her hand or maybe the dark magic that blocks her memories, since Gale pointed out about a curtain covering her soul: “if the eyes are the mirror to the soul, yours have dark curtains across the mirror” (a very ominous flirting if it’s only a flirt)

This makes me suspect that, if the "orb" is not giving him this skill, it may be a consequence of having been Chosen of Mystra (for more details read the post about "Mystra and her Chosen ones"). If this is the case, he may have hindered remains of theirs powers when it comes to detect magic at will.

Gale has a perception of magic with all the senses: he sniffs and tastes magic. During the mirror scene you have an option related to [Arcana] tag where he “Sniff the mirror, trying to understand the nature of its magic”. A wizard Tav will just “Inspect the mirror”. He also said that he could “taste” the magic in the necromancy book and in the runes of teleportation. 

What we know of his family is little: when he was a kid there was a housekeeper in his life (mentioned only once during the scene of the harpies) and his mother that seemed to have personally raised and cared for him (mentioned twice: in the ruin temple scene, and in his banter with Wyll) 

Tav: Why care about decorum in a long-abandoned tomb? Gale: Because my mother raised a gentleman. Then again, to be alive is to be curious. 

Wyll: Between the orb and the bug you've got more than your fair share of unwelcome passengers. Gale: What can I say. Mother always taught me to be a gracious host.

This post was written in May 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

[superfreakerz]

IJR 3

“It’s Just Research”

Rated M for smut.

Summary: AU. After having her smut-filled story criticized for being amateurish, Lucy decides once and for all it’s time to gain some experience in the world of sex. Her best friend, Natsu, agrees to help her with her research. Together, the two explore each other’s bodies, all the while denying their feelings for each other and insisting that they are just doing research.

Read earlier chapters on FF.net

Chapter 3

The Art of Seduction

“And then I told him to leave me alone. I mean seriously, Lu-chan, why are boys so infuriating? It’s like, I love Gajeel and all, but he can seriously get on my nerves!”

“Mhmm.”

“Like, how hard is it to say something nice every once in a while instead of making fun of me?”

“Mhmm.”

“Lu-chan? Are you even listening to me?”

“Mhmm.”

Lucy jumped in her seat as Levy’s hand waved in front of her face. With an apologetic grin, the blonde rubbed the back of her head. 

“Sorry, Levy-chan. What were you saying?” she asked.

Levy arched a brow at her. “Okay, what’s on your mind, Lu-chan? You’ve been zoning out this whole time. You haven’t even taken a sip of your smoothie yet!”

Lucy sighed, dragging her fingertip across the side of her plastic cup. Sure enough, the drink was no longer cold as she had been too busy daydreaming. 

She and Levy had agreed to grab smoothies at their favorite shop after the latter got into an argument with her boyfriend. Grabbing smoothies was their go-to ritual whenever they had to vent about someone, wanted to catch up, or just needed a dose of fruity deliciousness. Needless to say, they were there at least once a week.

“I’ve just been a little distracted lately,” Lucy answered, taking a long sip of her smoothie. Her face scrunched in disgust as the flavors no longer popped and the foam from the now old smoothie was all that came through the straw. 

“Oh yeah, how’s that guy you’ve been seeing?” Levy asked, leaning forward in interest. “By the way, are you ever going to tell me who he is?”

Lucy’s cheeks pinked, her eyes darting away from her curious friend. “Sorry, can’t tell you. It’s confidential information.”

Levy squinted her eyes at the girl, giving her a look the blonde couldn’t read.

Sighing, Levy replied, “Fine. Well how are things going between you guys? You said you would be willing to…” She looked around before leaning closer and whispering, “Have sex again. Did you ever do it?”

Lucy puffed out her cheeks in a pout. “That’s the thing! I talked to him about it and he agreed! But since then, we never brought it up again. Things aren’t awkward between us or anything, but I don’t know how to initiate it. It’s too embarrassing to just ask for it!”

“Well when are you seeing him again?”

“Later tonight. We’re supposed to watch a movie together.”

“That’s easy!”

Lucy tilted her head to the side, her brows raised. “What do you mean?”

Levy grinned. “All you have to do is make him make the first move!”

“How am I supposed to do that?” 

“It’ll be so easy, Lu-chan, I promise. All you have to do is show off your body a little more and maybe run your hand over his bicep. That should do the trick.”

“I don’t think so,” Lucy said skeptically. “He’s a little dense. I don’t think he would pick up on that.”

Levy stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Well in that case, we’ll pull every trick out of the book!”

“Trick?”

Levy gave a mischievous grin, one that was rare to see on her face if you weren’t close with her. “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do…”

Lucy stared at herself in the mirror, a skeptical frown on her face as she glanced over her outfit. Her black pleated skirt was incredibly short, sure to show off her bum with a gust of wind. The red shirt she wore was tight around her body, especially around her chest. Its neckline wasn’t particularly as low as some of the other shirts she owned, but it still showed off a good amount of cleavage. 

Pulling some thigh-high socks out of her dresser, she heaved them on before sliding her feet into some heeled boots. Standing back in front of the mirror, she tousled her hair a bit, just as Levy had instructed her to. 

Lucy wondered if this outfit would be good enough to seduce Natsu with. Her skirt wasn’t the shortest she owned, and she had plenty of other shirts to choose from that showed off her chest more, one pink shirt immediately coming to mind. But according to Levy, she should wear red. Apparently red put people in the mood. She didn’t know where Levy got that information from, but she trusted her enough to go with it. 

Glancing at the clock, Lucy quickly grabbed her purse. Natsu should be barging through her window at any moment, and she needed to make sure she had everything Levy instructed her to bring. She grabbed a lollipop from the Halloween candy she bought and with rosy cheeks, stuffed it into her purse. She hoped it wouldn’t come down to using that. That was just embarrassing. 

A gust of wind washed over Lucy’s back. She didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Natsu breaking in as always. Her heart started to beat faster, electricity jolting through her veins as she readied herself for tonight’s plan. Swallowing thickly, the girl turned to face him with a smile. 

“Hi, Natsu!” she greeted. Levy’s advice played in her head. 

“You should discreetly show off your body.”

Lucy nervously ran a hand through her hair before clasping her hands together at her thighs, causing her arms to squish her breasts together. 

“L-Lets go get dinner!” she exclaimed, hoping that her actions weren’t too transparent.

Natsu didn’t seem to notice the action- or her outfit- at all, which admittedly stung. “Okay! You’re buying!”

Lucy groaned before leading the way out of her apartment. 

They went to a local Italian bistro, which was close enough to Lucy’s apartment that they could walk- which was a good thing since Natsu’s motion sickness would’ve turned them both off. They were quickly led to a table and left with menus. After having a moment to look over the menus, they ordered their food. 

Once it arrived, Lucy looked down at her plate of seafood Alfredo and gulped. It was time for phase two of her plan. 

“Go out to dinner and moan while you eat. It’ll definitely get him in the mood!”

As Natsu practically inhaled his food like a wild beast, Lucy twirled some noodles on her fork before putting it in her mouth. Closing her eyes, she moaned, all the while trying to snuff out any embarrassment she felt. When she opened her eyes, she found Natsu staring at her.

“Is it working?” she wondered, excitement bundling in her stomach. She watched Natsu open his mouth to say something, then close it. 

“What is it?” Lucy asked, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. “Say it.”

“Well okay,” Natsu replied, rubbing the back of his head. Pointing to her food, he asked, “Can I have some?”

Lucy deadpanned. “What?”

“Can I have some?” Natsu repeated, his lips curling into a grin. “You made it sound like it was really good! I wanna try!”

Frustrated, Lucy pulled her plate closer to her with a huff. “Eat your own damn food!”

After dinner, Lucy was starting to feel deflated. Not only did her outfit not catch his attention, but her provocative movements and sultry moans didn’t work either. But she wasn’t done yet! She still had plenty of tricks up her sleeve thanks to Levy! And it was time to put her next plan to action. 

This plan luckily had two parts, so that if the first one failed, she had another one lined up. Reaching into her purse, Lucy pulled out the lollipop she packed earlier. Glancing towards Natsu to make sure he wasn’t watching, she pretended to drop it onto the ground. 

“Wear a short dress or skirt, then drop something. When you go to pick it up, he’ll stare at your butt. That should turn him on!”

The two stopped walking, Natsu arching a brow at the girl. 

“Oops,” Lucy said. “Let me just pick that up real quick!”

Making sure to arch her back as she bent down, she picked up the lollipop. She moved slowly, giving him more time to stare at her bum. Sure that she had it in the bag, she stood back up and turned to face him. 

Natsu stared at her, crossing his arms behind his head. 

Then he gave her a grin. 

“You’re clumsy, Luce!” he exclaimed with a laugh. 

Lucy huffed to herself, glancing at the lollipop. She didn’t want to have to resort to this part of the plan, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

As the two continued their walk home, Lucy unwrapped the lollipop. 

“If none of that works, lick the lollipop and make it look sexy!”

Lucy slowly dragged her tongue over the lollipop before sucking on it. Releasing it with a pop, she began to twist her tongue over the candy. Seeing as how Natsu’s expression didn’t change, she added in her tactic from earlier. As embarrassing as it was, she moaned while licking the damn lollipop. 

And yet, nothing. 

Natsu’s face was a blank slate. 

When they arrived at Lucy’s apartment, she went straight into the bedroom with a huff. Angrily changing into some short pajama shirts and a loose, spaghetti strap tank top, she met Natsu back in the living room. He was setting up a movie on the couch. 

“What kinda movie do ya wanna watch? It’s your turn to choose,” Natsu said. 

“Horror!” Lucy replied immediately. 

“When you guys watch a movie, make sure it’s a scary one. That way when you’re scared, you can throw your arms around him and get closer to him! And make sure to sit close to him! And keep scooting your butt on him! There’s no way in hell he can resist that!”

Natsu eyed her. “Horror? You never choose horror. You always wanna watch those sappy movies.” 

“It’s called romance,” Lucy replied, sitting next to him on the couch. She made sure to sit so close to him that their thighs were flushed together and her bum was slightly on him. “Now, just choose one already.”

This was Lucy’s last plan, and she’d be damned if she failed. 

As the movie started playing, Lucy squirmed in her seat, pretending that she was trying to get comfortable while rubbing her bum on his thigh. She peeked at Natsu in the corner of her eye to see if it was working, but he was engrossed in the movie. 

When a scary part of the movie popped up, Lucy squealed and latched onto Natsu, squeezing his arm between her breasts. 

And still, nothing. 

That was it. She was all out of tricks. 

Huffing, Lucy pulled her arms off of him. She couldn’t believe that after all that, she couldn’t even get him to look at her. Was she not appealing at all? Was the sex not good enough last time to make him interested? Had he changed his mind since they last talked about it?

With a sigh, Lucy went to move away from him when his arm wrapped around her waist, warm hand gripping her side. She stilled, heat traveling through her body from the simple touch. 

“Hey, Lucy,” Natsu started, his eyes still locked to the TV, “I don’t know if you still wanna do this whole friends with benefits thing, but I would be down to help you do some research right now.”

Lucy blushed, her stomach coiling with excitement. “O-Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to all day, but I didn’t know if you still wanted to or not.”

“I do!” She nearly face-palmed with how desperate she sounded.

Natsu finally turned to face her. It was then that Lucy saw the lust that glinted in his dark orbs. 

Lucy’s heart leapt up into her throat as Natsu scooted closer to her, his face just centimeters away from hers. She watched as his eyes began to droop closed. He cupped the back of her head, slowly bringing her close. 

A knot grew in her stomach as Natsu’s lips grazed hers. Her body felt like it was being sent over the edge, every sense heightened. 

As Natsu deepened the kiss, Lucy wasted no time in repositioning herself on his lap. Thanks to the thin, silk shorts she was wearing, it wasn’t hard to feel the bulge beneath her. Her body moved on its own, hips grinding to create glorious friction. He gripped her hips while tugging on her lower lip with his teeth. A soft growl resonated in his throat. 

“Let’s take this to your bed,” he whispered. 

Lucy ignored him, sinking her lips over his neck as he carried her towards the bedroom. He plopped her on the bed before tearing his clothes off. She went to take off her tank top when his hand grabbed hers. 

“I wanna do it,” he said with an eager grin. 

Lucy nodded. “Alright just hurry.”

Natsu chuckled. “Someone’s a little impatient, huh?”

“Natsu, if you don’t put your hands on me in the next second, I’m going to-!”

Before she could even finish her threat, Natsu tore her tank top off in a flash. 

“There, happy now?” he asked with a smirk.

Lucy snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “Very. Now let’s do this thing already.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice!”

He caged her beneath him, washing his lips over her neck. His hand slid over her breast, kneading the flesh. He teased her nipple, having learned last time that the nubs were sensitive. 

Lucy arched her back into his touch. She could feel the knot in her stomach grow as each second passed. 

He lowered himself onto her, his hot shaft sliding between her folds. As he pushed himself inside, she wrapped her legs around her torso and brought him in deeper. 

Natsu let out a shaky breath. He clenched tightly onto the bed sheets, trying to rein in his body's urges. He moved slowly at first to warm up, moving around in circles. As he tried to pull out, her walls clung tightly to his shaft, tugging on the sensitive skin. 

Lucy’s breath picked up as he started to go pound into her. Gripping his biceps, she tried to keep herself in place as he thrusted harder and harder. Her stomach coiled, the pleasure building up. She could feel herself nearing climax. 

“N-Natsu,” she breathed out, weakly tapping his arm. 

He pulled his head back to look at her but kept pushing inside of her. “What? Does it not feel good?”

“It’s not that, it f-feels amazing.” A moan slipped past her lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “I-It’s just that I want to try something new.”

Natsu slowed his movements, moving in slow circles. Lucy gnawed on her lower lip. She didn’t know that moving slowly was just as good as moving fast. 

“I-I want to be on top,” she said, her voice breathy. 

Natsu finally stopped, which Lucy was part thankful and part disappointed for. 

“Okay,” he replied, getting off of her. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he eagerly laid on the bed, watching Lucy position herself on top of him. 

Lucy inhaled sharply as his shaft sank deep inside of her as she lowered herself over him. Once it was as deep as she could get it, she slowly rocked herself back and forth. 

Natsu groaned, his hands gripping her thighs. It was hard to keep his eyes open while the pleasure began to skyrocket, but he just had to get a good look at Lucy. Her hair was messy, her eyes squeezed shut. Her head hung back as she grinded against him, her mouth hanging open. He moved his eyes down to her breasts. They bounced with each rock against him. 

One thing he knew for sure, he loved watching Lucy ride him. 

Meanwhile, Lucy was in pure ecstasy. This new position allowed his cock to reach deeper than before. Moving her body in a circular motion, she could feel herself edging closer to climax. Wanting to experiment on herself a bit, she brought her hands up to her breasts and began to message herself. 

Natsu’s gut coiled as he watched Lucy fondle herself. Unable to help himself, he moved his hands onto her hips and moved her roughly over him. A breathy moan escaped Lucy’s lips and before she knew it, she was shaking with pleasure, his name slipping out of her mouth. Seeing her finish while riding him was enough for Natsu to break. He moaned, clenching onto her silky hips while pleasure shot out of him. When they could no longer move, Lucy collapsed beside him in pants. 

“Oh wow,” she breathed out. “That was even better than last time.”

Natsu nodded, still trying to catch his breath. As he laid there, he wondered how he got so lucky to be able to be the only person to see Lucy this way. To see her face flushed with heat, sweat glistening on her body. To hear her scream his name. He must’ve done something right in his past life to be able to have earned this privilege.

“Alright, I’m going to go take a shower now,” Lucy said, bringing him out of his thoughts and walking towards the bathroom. 

“Oh, I’ll join you.” 

The girl stopped in her tracks, whirling around to face him. “Umm, what?”

Natsu shrugged, giving her a look as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What?”

Lucy blushed madly. “Y-You can’t shower with me, idiot!”

“Luce, hate to break it to ya, but what we just did together is a hell of a lot more intimate than taking a shower.”

“No it isn’t!”

Natsu rolled his eyes. “Fine, then I’ll take one after you. I don’t wanna walk home like this.” 

Lucy nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll make it quick.”

He plopped on the bed. “Uh-huh, sure you will.” He frowned when he heard the door click behind her. If that wasn’t enough to remind him that she didn’t feel the same as him, he didn’t know what was. 

After Lucy’s shower- which was quite long despite her promise of keeping it quick- he headed in right after her. The water pelted his back as he thought long and hard about the situation he was in. On the one hand, it was great to be able to have sex with Lucy. Glorious. On the other, it only made his feelings for her stronger. He wasn’t sure how he would hold up when she eventually decided to end things. Would he truly be able to bounce back? Would he go back to playing the role of best friend? 

He was always there to listen to her vent after her failed dates. He was there for her whenever she had crushes on other boys. He listened and waited, hoping that one day she would look at him in such light. Now was his only chance to change her perception of him. He didn’t want to just be her friend anymore. He wanted to be the one to take her on dates. He wanted to be the one that she gushed about to her friends. He wanted all of her. 

After finishing his shower, Natsu turned off the faucet and quickly dried off. Having spent many nights at Lucy’s apartment, the boy already had spare clothes to change into. Heading back to the bedroom, he found Lucy laying in bed, scrolling on her phone. He jumped into bed beside her. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, giving him a pointed stare. 

Natsu gave her a cheeky grin. “Eh, walking home now would be a pain in the ass. C’mon, let me stay here.”

Lucy rolled her eyes but didn’t protest, which was usually how that conversation went. Once Natsu decided he was sleeping over, there was no changing his mind. Besides, she liked the company. 

“Whatcha watching?” Natsu asked, scooting closer to the phone. 

Lucy lifted her head and rested it on his arm. She knew it might’ve been perceived as intimate by others, but this was just how she and Natsu were. 

“Just a new dance trend going around.”

He laughed. “You should do that!”

“Why? So you can make fun of me?”

“Yep!”

She nudged him before playing the next video. Over time, her eyes grew heavy. She placed her phone on the nightstand and turned towards him, her head still resting on his arm. 

“I’m going to bed now,” Lucy said with a yawn. 

Natsu brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Alright. Night, Lucy.”

“Goodnight, Natsu.”

And together they slept in their usual position, more than friends but less than lovers.