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denimbex1986 · 11 months ago

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'Fleabag’s hot priest is about to take on his most liberating role yet: a one-man show of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya in which he will play all nine roles, male and female. He loves taking risks, he says. It seems to be paying off…

I last saw Andrew Scott in the flesh eight years ago. I was sitting in the gloom at the top of what used to be St Martin’s School of Art in the Charing Cross Road – a tiny, temporary theatre had sprung up there – and he was three feet away from me, surrounded by great piles of stuff: newspapers, books, chairs, cupboards… a piano. The occasion was Richard Greenberg’s play The Dazzle, about two compulsive hoarders, the Collyer brothers, and his performance as one of them was mesmerising: in truth, almost too mesmerising. My mind went into overdrive. All that paper and mahogany. What if something toppled, and he was crushed – as the real Langley Collyer was – beneath a chest of drawers?

He wasn’t crushed, of course. But what’s striking and slightly odd is that today I’m seeing Scott in the flesh for the second time, and we’re again at the top of an old building – in this case, a public library – in rooms that feel a bit dilapidated, if not exactly derelict. People imagine the actor’s life to be a glamorous one, particularly if the actor in question has been in a Bond film – and of course it has its enchantments. But then there are the hours spent in spaces like this: long days of sandwiches, bottled water and elusive lines. When we came up in the ancient lift together, I couldn’t decide which of us was the more anxious. He was, I would guess. “MY TWELVE HOURS TRAPPED WITH FLEABAG STAR” ran the ticker tape in my mind as the mechanism creaked and groaned, and we each did our best not to meet the other’s eye.

Scott has spent the past three weeks here, deep in rehearsals for Vanya, a new version by Simon Stephens of Anton Chekhov’s great tragicomedy Uncle Vanya. But there’s new, and then there is… new. This adaptation gives the play, among other things, a contemporary setting. However, when the production opens in the West End, its chief novelty – and its chief draw, given Scott’s huge following – will be the fact that it is a one-man show. He will be playing all nine parts: male and female, young and old, beautiful and not-so-beautiful. It must be hard to learn so many lines, I say, once he’s (semi) comfortable on a battered leather sofa, his old, white T-shirt giving him a slight look of Marlon Brando. Doesn’t he feel like he’s going mad, with all these voices in his head? He laughs – a high-pitched, wicked laugh. “Yeah. I do, and it’s really hard [to learn]. Usually, when you can’t remember a line, another actor will say, ‘What time is it?’ or something, and then it comes to you. But now I’ve no one to cue me.” Alone on stage, he has had to change his mindset completely: “I’ve come to understand that I’m sort of looking after all these characters.”

The idea for a one-man production came about by accident. Scott, Stephens, and Sam Yates, who is directing the play, were workshopping it together (Scott has worked with Stephens twice before, most notably in Birdland at the Royal Court, in which he played a rock star who has made a Faustian pact with fame). “We miscalculated the parts, and I ended up having to act with myself, and it was kind of interesting. It gave birth to the idea that, as much as these characters say they’re different from each other, actually, some of them are very similar. I’m more interested now in those similarities than in, you know, doing a funny voice [for each one]. The production seems to me to be about what the act of creation is. I love the idea that you might be able to represent what a writer experiences on stage, all these characters in his head.”

But how on earth will the audience work out what’s going on? I understand about the funny voices, but won’t Scott have to change his a little bit when he’s acting the part of a woman? He smiles, teasingly. “I don’t think I should tell you that… But you don’t need to worry too much. I feel so liberated! I hope people will start to look at what’s within the performer so that something happens that can only really take place in a theatre – which is that you’re seeing one thing, but imagining something else.” This sounds like reading a novel, visualising scenes and characters for yourself, filling the gaps between words. He nods. “Look, I definitely don’t want to shy away from the ridiculousness of this project, and yeah, I’m nervous, but I’m loving the process. I think it’s a really sexy play. You know, Chekhov was a doctor, and he saw death so much, and I think he was able to understand human beings like no other writer.”

The argument that actors should only play who they are – that a gay character, for instance, may be played only by a gay actor – is made more and more often lately. But this production seems (to me, at least) subtly to resist the notion of identity politics in the theatre; to suggest that such rigidity may sometimes be a cul-de-sac. “It can be a cul-de-sac, certainly,” Scott says. “Of course those arguments have to be heard. The world isn’t a level playing field. But I think transformation is as important as representation. Our first understanding of storytelling happens when we’re young. Our mother or father is pretending to be a wolf. We know we’re safe, but we’re scared, too. Our parent can be a wolf! Human beings can create worlds within themselves. I don’t think we can just slice that out of ourselves.”

He knows some will heartily dislike this Vanya, but the thought seems, if anything, to excite him. “It could go wrong,” he says. “But we need a bit more of people not liking things.” He’s ambivalent, to put it mildly, about standing ovations, which seem to happen in the theatre most evenings nowadays. “My concern is that everything becomes meaningless. I think it’s unfortunate that if someone decides not to stand up, it’s perceived that they hated it. That’s not necessarily true. Maybe I thought it was very good, but I didn’t feel like rising to my feet. My producers are going to hate me for saying this, but I strongly believe that if people don’t feel like standing up, they shouldn’t. People feel lonely, having to stand when they don’t want to. Equally, it’s kind of moving when most people are not standing up, and three people are.”

Does he blame the internet for this? Is it just another form of “liking” something? “I do blame the internet, yes.” But perhaps, too, it has to do with cost. “I was recently on Broadway, and tickets there are astronomically expensive, and I thought: well, these people have to stand up because they’ve spent $390, so it’s got to have been one of the best nights of their lives.” Either way, he doesn’t understand it: the firmness and immediacy of people’s responses. “When you’ve just seen a play, it’s a really sensitive time. It’s weird when people start talking straight away about their new conservatory.” All this may explain why he feels there is more value for him in doing experimental work. “Some people will like it, some people won’t, and that’s great. I feel ferocious about wanting to take risks.”

In the coming months, Scott will be everywhere: a trick of scheduling, rather than by design. Vanya will be followed in January by the release of All of Us Strangers, a film in which he stars with Paul Mescal and Claire Foy (he plays a depressed screenwriter who goes to visit his childhood home, only to find that his parents, far from having died in a car crash when he was 12, are alive and well – though much of the coverage of the movie so far has focused on the fact that his character and Mescal’s are lovers). “It’s a beautiful film,” he says, dreamily. And then there’s Ripley, a Netflix series (its release is expected at the end of this year), based on Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Talented Mr Ripley, written and directed by Steven Zaillian, the screenwriter of Schindler’s List and Hannibal.

“It’s a big, big thing,” he says, of his role as Tom Ripley, grifter and serial killer. And yet, Scott said he wouldn’t be doing any more crazed sociopaths, having played Moriarty in Sherlock (he was also a baddie in the Bond film Spectre). “I know, but what I find interesting about him is not the psycho-ness; it’s the otherness. To me, it’s about what it’s like never to be invited to the party. We all know people who don’t make it easy for themselves, who are maybe a bit strange. But if you’re constantly ignored, or sidelined, or don’t fit in, what happens? Is it that something dark emerges? I don’t mind saying that playing him was challenging. It was very lonely. We filmed during Covid, and the five-day isolation requirements that were in place both here and in Italy meant people couldn’t come and visit, and I couldn’t come home. It’s eight hours of television, and he’s a solitary figure in this version, so I was on my own a lot.”

Scott is 46, though you wouldn’t know it; his enthusiasm, like his fidgetiness, belong to a younger man. He grew up in Dublin, with his two sisters – his father worked at an employment agency; his mother was an art teacher – where he was educated at private Jesuit school, attending drama classes on Saturdays. Art was his first plan – painting is still his great love; he can’t wait for the forthcoming Hockney show at the National Portrait Gallery – and he won a bursary to art school at 17. But then he was cast in a film, Korea, about an Irish boy emigrating to America in the 1950s who’s enlisted to fight in the Korean war, so he turned the place down, and once the movie was done, went to Trinity College to study drama instead. After six months, bored by the course, he left to join Dublin’s Abbey theatre.

He seems hardly ever to have been out of work, and his CV is such a mixture: Gethin the tense gay Welshman in Matthew Warchus’s film Pride; eccentric Lord Merlin in the BBC adaptation of The Pursuit of Love; an acclaimed Hamlet in 2017 at the Almeida theatre. By this point, his mantlepiece – he has two, one in London, and one in Dublin – must be quite frantic with statuettes (his most recent win, in 2020, was a Laurence Olivier award for best actor for his performance as Garry Essendine in Noël Coward’s Present Laughter). Does he feel blessed? “Yes, and that’s a really nice way of putting it. I’m grateful.” But perhaps this sounds too… humble: “I’ve never understood why there’s some sort of shame associated with being an artist. I feel able to call myself one.”

His fame is at a level that means he can move around London unnoticed, and he’d like to keep it that way. “I’m suspicious of it. I’ve no real interest in the value of it. The idea of being followed by a photographer seems hellish to me.” Does it affect his relationships? He doesn’t believe that it does, though there are “creepy, unsavoury people” out there who might not “have my best interests at heart”. Is he single? “Yes, I am.” Would he like to meet someone? He would. Surely it’s easy in his world? So many lovely new people entering his orbit all the time – and with his looks… He laughs. “That’s a lot of projection, there,” he says, sounding suddenly more Irish.

I read somewhere that some women in Ireland will always think of him as the guy who turned up to their demonstrations in the run-up to the abortion referendum in 2018, even when it was raining (the vote overturned the ban on abortion in the country, and followed one of 2015, which allowed same sex couples to marry). Isn’t it amazing how much Ireland has changed? When he was 16, it was still illegal to be gay, as he is. “Yes, it’s immense for people of my generation to have been emancipated from the shame of the Catholic church. But it’s interesting. Privacy matters to me, but then I remember Sinéad O’Connor being on The Late, Late Show, talking about human rights, and how important that was. Her kindness… We’re only just finding out about it. She didn’t announce it to the world. Again, it brings us back to social media. Does kindness happen if you don’t tell everybody about it?”

Scott is no longer a practising Catholic. But he can’t be certain this means he won’t call for the priest at the end (this conversation has taken a morbid turn, and it’s my fault). Perhaps it’s in the marrow. “It’s the organisation that’s the problem, not the principles behind it, which are very beautiful for the most part. I remember when Simon and I were doing [the play] Sea Wall. One of the lines in it is: show me God, where is he? And then the next line is: well, show me love, where is that? You can’t get evidence for either of them really. They’re just strong feelings. I believe in the power of love. I feel it’s stronger than anything, because you can’t do anything about it. I’ve so much of it in my life, and one of the things I’m most proud of is how much I’m able, not only to receive it, but to give it – and if somebody thinks that’s sentimental or mawkish, well, to me it’s the opposite.” He talks for a while in this vein. “I want to try to be a good person; not just a nice person, but a good person,” he says, his voice racing on – and it makes me think of him as the Hot Priest in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, the role for which he may now be best known. If every pulpit came with an Andrew Scott, our churches would be bulging at the seams.

Soon after this, there’s a knock on the door. It’s time to begin rehearsal (in the hall outside, his director stands at a lectern, looking quite priestly himself). He has, he says, another three weeks to go before Vanya opens, and when it does, he’ll be looking out for me; I’d better be sitting down at the curtain call, he jokes. Well, perhaps I’ll have good reason to be sitting down, I joke back. But he’s ever serious: “I always remember what my mum used to say. She’s an art teacher, and she used to tell us that a good drawer never rubs out. So, you draw a line, and then you get it wrong, and then you start a new line. The fact that people can see your old line doesn’t make them appreciate your new line any less. It may even make them appreciate it more.” What he means, I think, is that he believes it’ll be all right on the night.'

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freneticfloetry · 1 year ago

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hello courtney, incoming with a hyper-specific and random ask: do you have a signature scent/favourite perfume? if so, what is it <3 if alternatively/in addition, what is your favourite candle/home fragrance scent?

Lola my love, you could not possibly have known this about me, but this is one of my favorite topics ever.

I’ve been wearing the fine perfume oils of @blackphoenixalchemylab since 2004 (hilariously enough, the same year I started writing!). My stash is ridiculously huge, like hundreds of bottles, and indeed, I do have ones that are almost twenty years old — one of the fantastic things about oils is that they age, and change, and get better with time, like fine wine. Sometimes I think my oil chest is the thing I’d grab from a fire, second only to my cat.

The best thing about BPAL, though, is that it’s so dependent on skin chemistry. The exact same blend can smell wildly different on everyone. It does mean that I have death notes — honey, for instance, however lovely it may smell in the bottle, smells exactly like cat pee on me. There’s exactly one blend with a honey note that I can actually wear, Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife, and even then, there’s a solid ten minutes of drydown time when I smell like a walking litter box. But nothing demonstrates the power of skin chemistry better than this review of Jingo-Kogo v6. (Don’t drink anything while you read.)

I have a whole list of Holy Grail blends, but my biggest one is probably an old April Fools’ Day blend called Monster Bait: Underpants. It’s a slightly sweet gourmand with whiffs of saffron and a sandalwood base, and it smells delicious but not like food. It’s kind of a special occasion wear, though, since it was literally only available for one day and I only have so much. My everyday blend at the moment wavers between one of this year’s Yules, Lavender Earl Grey Cookies, one of the old Amanda Palmer collabs, Cupcake Splatter Pattern Analysis, and a long lost Pickman Gallery blend, Undine Comes Into the House of the Fishermen.

I highly recommend BPAL to pretty much any and everyone I meet (poor @hoko-onchi-writes can testify to this). Their catalog is massive. They partner with awesome people for awesome collabs inspired by their work, Mark Waid and Peter S. Beagle and probably most notably Neil Gaiman — there’s a licensed perfume line for all his greatest hits. There’s a healthy helping of nostalgia — childhood tales, the aforementioned Beagle line for “The Last Unicorn,” even a line for The Fraggles. And all of it is absolutely magical. Beth's ability to capture imagery and concepts and feelings in a bottle is simply mind-boggling and must be smelled to be believed. I mean, they were commissioned to do a blend for the Smurf movie premiere, and I swear the best way to describe Smurf Essence is that it smells blue. They also support worthy causes far and wide (and loudly and proudly), so be sure to check out their full and fabulous line of activism perfume.

Wow, that was a lot. Sorry. 🤣

(My candle answer is much shorter! In general, I love love love cashmere blends, but my favorite candle ever is Archipelago Botanicals’ Black Forest. Especially this time of year.)

#asked and answered

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idolswrestlingadventure · 7 months ago

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Royal Rumble (1998)

Here we are, brand new year and what will become a recurring set of events to play through the year. Until we get the one per month era of modern times. More wrestling, in your face! But first, historical context, what happened in 1988? Personally, I was 4 years old, so not a lot for me to recall aside from trains and mushy food.

The 1988 Winter Olympics were held in Alberta, Canada.

The 1988 Summer Olympics were held in Seoul, South Korea.

The Soviet Union begins to collapse with the Estonian, Latvian and Lithuanian movements.

First McDonalds opens up in Yugoslavia.

The space shuttle Discovery launches, the first after the challenger disaster.

Netherlands wins the Euro’s 88 hosted in Germany.

The first WORM virus is distributed by the internet.

George HW Bush is elected President of America.

Notable Births: Skrillex, Jessie J, Jesse Plemons, Haley Joel Osment, Vanessa Kirby, Lizzo, Ana de Armas, Adele, Awkwafina, Conor McGregor, Tyson Fury, Melissa Benoist, Alicia Vikander, ASAP Rocky, Emma Stone, Zoe Kravitz and current member of Damage Control, Dakota Kai

Notable Movies: Die Hard, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Coming To America, Rambo III, Rain Man, A Fish Called Wanda

Notable TV Shows Launched: Roseanne, Red Dwarf, The Wonder Years, Mystery Science Theatre 3000, Rab C. Nesbitt, Who’s Line Is It Anyway, Family Fued, Wheel Of Fortune, Stoppit and Tidyup, Home and Away

Well, we’ve got 5 PPVs for 1988 starting with this Royal Rumble, so let’s get going!

This episode of Magnum P.I. is a bit different than usual...

Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat V “Ravishing” Rick Rude - A comment given to me by a friend is that modern PPVs tend to be two contestants who swap between aggressor and victim every 5 minutes, and this match seemed to be some of this at the start. Ricky absolutely had the upper hand for the majority of the match and glad to see the tradition of cheating whilst the referee is knocked out never goes out of style. Good match, Ricky continuing to be one of my favourites from this era -Tier 3-

Friends, Romans, Countrymen...shut the fuck up

Now for some reason, we get a benchlift record attempt by Pino Bravo. Who, for some reason, and I can’t work out if this is a bit or not, constantly keeps shouting at the crowd to be quiet. His weirdly French manager also insists upon this, often going into fits of verbal dementia at what is happening whilst Jesse Ventura insists the record attempt is valid, almost too much. It’s weird how much screen time this is getting, but if it’s about macho steroid injected men doing manly things, then I suppose it fits the bill. Just very, very strange to watch.

Somewhere the creator of the Human Centipede is looking on...

The Jumping Bomb Angels V The Glamour Girls - Jimmy Hart is back, I kinda am tired of seeing him everywhere. His only gimmick is being incredibly annoying and giving the crowd something to cheer for when he’s knocked out. Luckily however this match is actually pretty good. The Bomb Angels showing some amazing agility and bringing a lot of energy that The Glamour Girls seem to miss. The Bomb Angels grab the win in a surprisingly good womens match for the era! -Tier 2-

The look the couple across the bar give you...

Side note: Jesse and Vince McMahon are being weird commentating on this match, they argue all the time and it doesn’t sound like a bit, either that or I’m getting worked somehow. Just sounds like Vince is being petty with Jesse’s usual bullshit. Bring back Gorilla Monsoon…

"One million dollars or I'll host Deal Or No Deal"

Storyline Update: The Million Dollar Man offers…a million dollars for Hogan’s belt. When Hogan refuses to surrender it, he decides to offer it to Andre The Giant to take the belt from Hogan. We don’t see the match on this occasion, but we do see the contract signing. Where a nervous Hogan gets a table thrown at him by a weirdly irate Andre. Seeing as Hogan stays the champion for a billion years, I don’t think anything gets resolved here.

Turns out squeezing the turnbuckle meant something else here...

The Royal Rumble 1988 - So at first I thought, hey Royal Rumble sounds fun. No holds barred ensemble of the greatest wrestlers in WWF at the time, all in the ring with fun knockouts. But sadly it’s just a cluster-fuck of men pretending to struggle with a set of ropes. A few fun moments and appearances from notable faces, but overall a middling event with “Hacksaw” Jim Duggan taking the win -Tier 7-

Another side note: Jesse Ventura still being the strangest commentators ever, talking about how Vince is a pussy and would rather be reading Poetry and drinking Wine than watching wrestling…

Putting their heads together literally...

The Islanders V The Young Stallions - Never mind the Stallions, check out the Islanders! There’s some WWF history right there. Father of Tonga Loa and Tama Tonga, Sam Fatu being Rikishi’s brother and Jacob Fatu’s father. The Samoan heritage runs strong in wrestling! The Stallions showing their supreme art of steroid use and I’m pretty sure neither of them can lower their arms to their sides. This was a pretty standard match, nothing exciting sadly, even the crowd seemed somewhat checked out. -Tier 6-

Notable Dialogue:

Vince: "Did you his [a samoan] toes, looks like he could hang upside down on the ropes"

Jesse: "That's a bit racist Vince"

Verdict: 5 Samoan Forefathers Out Of 10

#wwf #wwe #wrestling #royal rumble #hulk hogan #andre the giant

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doseofdillz · 9 months ago

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You're Replaceable.

Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimized by your boss. I’m currently raising my hand.

I’ve had some terrible bosses in my professional life and all three of them had something in common– they love to stretch a bitch out and put as much work on you as possible to get their money's worth out of that sad little salary they so graciously gave you.

My first toxic boss was a real wake up call. He was the president of a major modeling agency, about 5’2, gay, and was “sober” from a wild past life in the fashion industry of the 90’s. He loved making comments as he walked by in his sheer scarf and whatever flamboyant fedora he found laying around his home that morning to cover the balding that was consuming the top of his sun-kissed-shiny-little head. His favorite line to say to me was during lunchtime on his way to his office. “Wow, that’s a lot of food”. You could almost guarantee that he’d bring his frantic energy to every meeting and leave still not knowing what was going on.

When disputes broke out in the small workspace my co-workers and I shared, his remedy was bringing us all in for a “team meeting” then revealing that this was actually a meeting to discuss our issues with each other. I always thought it was his way of pretending to be Andy Cohen refereeing a Real Housewives reunion as a means to get some type of entertainment in his new sober life. Surprise! It never resolved anything, only made our tiny, shared-space more tense and awkward than we left it.

I silent quit after 6 months and remained employed for another 2.5 years babysitting models and going to fabulous parties only so I could sneak a few hor dourves because I could barely afford groceries.

My next toxic boss came right after that. The universe was testing me, surely. She referred to herself as a “billionairess” and lived on her daddy’s estate. She walked on a crutch due to being thrown off a Zebra on her honeymoon that her parents paid for, of course. My office was the nursery her and her brother were raised in above the garage that held her father’s eccentric car collection and various pieces of fine art.

She was an artist herself who graduated from Pepperdine in Malibu and got bored one day so she started her own talent agency. Not only did she expect me to represent all her semi-famous friends but she also expected me to represent her as a talent. Her most notable “claim to fame”? She installed art pieces for a very famous family whose last name started with a K. When I couldn’t book her on jobs (because no one cared who she was), she would pout like a 5 year old princess who got told “no” by daddy… as if that was supposed to make me say “you know what, let me call and see if they can change their mind just for YOU”.

I loathed that woman. Hearing her complain made my jaw clench constantly– she had no clue what the real world consisted of and had no clue I was waking up at the ass crack of dawn to catch the bus to Beverly Hills and walk 40 minutes up her long winding canyon road only to walk for the longest 15 minutes of my life, up her gated, inclined, very chic driveway. I do miss walking past the lemon trees when they were blossoming. To this day, lemon blossoms are still my favorite smell. 2020 came like an answer to my prayers. She had to lay me off and I was finally at peace for the first time in my adult life for the next six months.

My peace came to a screeching halt as I realized this pandemic thing wasn’t going to last the rest of my life, unfortunately. I met my final toxic boss. She lived in Brooklyn, was a lesbian, scorpio, and had major coke rage. I’ve never had someone call, text, email, and slack more frequently and erratically as her. From 8a-11p she wouldn’t stop… she would take adderall in the morning, drink during the day, and cap her nights with lots of cocaine at some fabulous party her PR firm was running. On many occasions she would disappear for a few days at a time, reassuring us upon return that she had only been in jail for a domestic public dispute with her just-as-psycho girlfriend but that everything was “fine”.

The smallest things would set her off. Not adding certain punctuation throughout our meeting notes that was only shared internally. Not responding to her almost immediately after she blasted off texts, emails, and slacks and wondering why we couldn’t get all our day's work finished by 6p on the dot. Requesting time off. The list could go on and on, it really just depended on if she needed to use you as a punching bag that day or not. I never knew which version of her I’d get on the other end.

After 6 months of torture, I woke up one morning, saw her slew of messages awaiting my reply, closed my laptop, blocked her number, and never heard from or spoke to her again. I went back to school, switched careers and am now much happier with a less-cool job in tech. The entertainment industry had chewed me up and spat me out.

What I learned from these three traumatic experiences is that all we have in life is our time and if you’re miserable at the job you’re at every day you wake up, just fucking quit. You’re very replaceable…. And so are they.

#toxic boss #fashion industry #public relations #talent agency #los angeles #beverly hills

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erabundus · 1 year ago

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@ruinlost &&. said... So about the markings on ren! ,how do they work?,what do they do/stem from?,

I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED, VELVET! i've touched on this in little bits and pieces, and i know even ren has spoken about them on occasion — but i've never had the chance to organize everything in one post before. ( a shame! because they're a really neat part of his anatomy i think. )

before i actually elaborate on what they are, it's probably important for the sake of clarity to explain what to call them. markings or tattoos are perfectly acceptable terminology — visually, that's what they look and feel like. however, the (un)official name for them are his ley lines. i personally subscribe to the theory that the aforementioned white wood ren was "carved" from was irminsul — which is another matter entirely that leads to all kinds of brainrot / headcanons i could go on about, but for the sake of this post, the only thing you really need to know is the ley lines running throughout teyvat are irminsul's roots. the purpose of a tree's roots is to transport minerals and water to the rest of the plant — and in ren's case, that's more or less what they're doing; simply replace nutrients with raw elemental energy because that's what his body runs on.

notably, the ley lines aren't supposed to be exposed like they are! and you can actually see it in the three betryals cutscene; kabukimono doesn't have markings in places where wanderer does. it's also mentioned that when he was first created, he had special joint lines that were intended to fade slowly over time — and if you look at the location of wanderer's tattoos, they suspiciously line up with the points of articulation on a ball jointed doll or puppet. my personal headcanon is that the kabukimono's joint lines did indeed disappear over the years — and for a while he was ( outwardly ) completely indistinguishable from an ordinary human. however, when the fatui got their hands on him, they made alterations to his body — both to unseal the power laying dormant within him, and amplify that divine strength. the electro scaramouche draws from is the same electro that fuels him like a battery — the same electro running through his markings. as part of those modifications, there was work done on the ley lines to allow them to ( safely ) draw out even greater levels of elemental energy. this made him considerably stronger, but had the added side effect of making them visible.

basically ... the ley lines are his puppet joints, which are actually his tree roots / power system and the reason why they're able to be seen is a very predictable "the fatui did it" — but wait! there's more!

the ley lines aren't limited to only glowing blue. they ( along with his eyes ) light up the color of whatever element he happens to be channeling at the time. it's obvious for ren, because he dresses in such a way that his markings are visible through the sheer parts of his clothing — but it also held true for scaramouche as well. ( his attire was simply more opaque. ) if he ever used electro again, he would glow purple — kuni's eyes are glowing CONSTANTLY during his boss fight because he's absolutely flooded with power. that also means when shouki no kami utilizes other elements, he's basically shifting through a veritable rainbow in the cockpit. there is a rave in the robot head, which i hope tempers the pain of that entire fight a little.

i know i've brought it up before ... but i feel like this is also probably a good place to mention when ren is infused with a surplus of elemental energy for an extended period of time, he gets the equivalent of a caffeine buzz. the zoomies.

yet for as important a role as they play in his anatomy, the ley lines are also a massive weakness as well. ren is exceedingly durable, of course — however, it's actually easier ( for a given value of easy ) to take him apart if you specifically target his markings. granted, he still isn't flimsy by any means — but the entire reason why the infamous ruin serpent was able to do so much damage to him is because it hit that point in the center of his chest ... and there's another point during his (mis)adventures in the abyss where he was bisected at the waist / hips because a lucky blow ended up cleaving right through his ley lines. basically, if ren's entire body is made of steel, those tattoos are very thin, very precise spots where he happens to be iron. still incredibly tough, but less so than the rest of him.

he also isn't too fond of letting random people touch them — both because they're more fragile, but also because they're constantly flowing with varying amounts of elemental energy ( because even outside of combat, his body needs to be powered by his electro core ) and having that disrupted feels pretty strange.

one final thing to mention — it's happened in threads before, but he can light them up at will to serve as a living flashlight in a pinch. his eyes also faintly glow at all times, and while visually it looks a bit like tapetum lucidum, it's actually a side effect of ren's body perpetually channeling those trace amounts of electro. he's always a little bit glowy; sometimes he's just a bit more glowy than other times. i'd imagine his ley lines are also always faintly luminescent, but to an even more minute degree — so much so that it's practically unnoticeable.

#ruinlost #𝟎𝟎𝟒 : 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥. ◟ hc .◝#( SHJF GOD I HOPE THIS MADE SENSE )

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ninjakittenarmy · 7 months ago

Text

Gonna do my Grey Warden:

ESSENTIALS

Name: Alexei Amell

Age: 24

Only significance of the name is that they’re related to Hawkes family.

Race and Class: Human Mage. Naturally, they were trained in the circle and learned their basic skills there. Passed their harrowing with flying colors, killed two demons. The first of two trial by fire initiation rituals they undertook.

They don’t have any particular ill will towards the other races. They’re not particularly comfortable with the alienage system for elves, and have something of a grudge against Dwarven isolationism due to that priest they aided in founding a chantry being lynched.

Alignment: Good, though pragmatic. It’s more about results than general principles. You’ll see what I mean shortly.

Specialties: They dabble in a fair few but their preference is for Arcane Warrior and Blood Mage (told ya).

Preferred Weapons: Staves. Not necessarily any one in particular, though they have a fondness for the irony of using Darkspawn ones against them. It’s in the blood, they figure.

Dress: Typically mage robes of different varieties. They’ve grown accustomed to the specific feeling of the loosely fitting cloth clothing they wore in the circle and it makes spell casting easier. Plus, they come in different varieties for all occasions in case one needs to be ready to cast at a moment’s notice (which is far from rare in his line of work).

Notable Markings: Not really. Benefit of being a distance fighter means most of the scars are mental.

LIFE

Birth Place: Alexei was born in the Frostback Mountains region of Ferelden and spent a considerable amount of his childhood either there or in Denerim. Unfortunately, he was taken from his home after his mage powers were discovered and was raised there for his teen and early adult years. He has only distant memories of his old home and family. He was however very close to several apprentices in the tower, such as his roommate, Jowan. He WAS rather curious when he heard Skyhold, his family’s old castle, became the headquarters of the new Inquisition however, and that apparently, Anders had met his cousin before staging his revolution. He’d never met Hawke before but his role in Kirkwall politics is one he followed closely.

Social Class: He was born noble but being a mage has had far more impact on his life.

Languages: His main language is the human tongue spoken in Thedas, but he’s been trying to learn Dwarven, Elvish, and at least a bit of the Qun language for diplomatic reasons.

Family: As mentioned, the most prominent relatives he has at the moment are his cousins, the Hawkes. He considers it unfortunate that he never actually met the Hawkes during his brief stay in Lothering. If he ever meets Anders again, maybe they’ll talk about them. He can’t help but find it funny that after Wynn persuaded him to help prevent the Libertarians from staging an uprising, his cousins and his old comrade literally blew the whole thing up a few years later anyway. Perhaps it was for the best.

Religion: He’s Andrastean, like most of Ferelden. Definitely a heretic considering his disdain for the circle but a very devout heretic. The Inquisitor and Leliana would see his views vindicated.

Party Members they’re close to: Most of them actually. Closest would probably be Leliana due to their shared opinions on religious matters, Alistair due to them being comrades in arms and the sole survivors of Ostigar, and Morrigan, whom he has a kid with. He grew closer with Oghren after the latter joined the Wardens as well. Also the dog but that’s a given.

Significant cultural aspects: Despite being isolated from society for so long, he inherited many aspects of Ferelden culture, such as his opposition to slavery (pretty normal most places) and his affinity with dogs. He was eager to look into acquiring a proper Mabari war hound at Ostigar and thanks to his help with a sick hound, said dog would survive and manage to reunite with him after the disaster there. His fellowship may have split but that dog is still with him.

Day Job: Being an apprentice, his day job was mostly studying, and doing whatever the enchanters needed doing. He was pretty much destined for the military from the beginning, as he was mostly focusing on combat magic.

Education: They were educated in the circle. That means that in addition to magic, they’re extremely well versed in academic matters like math and science. Very well read by medieval standards too. However their knowledge of the political landscape is more limited, hence why so much needed to be explained to them after joining the Wardens.

Free Time and Vices: They enjoy a good celebration or night on the town as much as anyone, stopping into local taverns, restaurants, or any local gather places to unwind with the others. Their favorite hobby is probably reading however. Especially reading stuff that wasn’t permitted in the circle. The only hobby that real counts as a vice for them is, funnily (and perhaps disturbingly) enough, fighting. Going on side quests to eliminate the local bandits, monsters, and other such threats is what he considers unwinding. Drugs, alcohol, and brothel visits just don’t compare to boiling a Darkspawn inside out.

Serious Injuries: Quite often. Broken ribs, torn arteries, concussions, being a mage doesn’t make you very durable.

3&4: See above. Their relationships with their companions are quite good, aside from that time Sten challenged him for leadership. Zevran and Oghren are his go to party mates naturally, while Alister and Leliana are his main confidants. Alistair is also his de facto Adjutant.

PARTY

Preferred Team: Depends Greatly on context. In general he tried to rotate his party out so everyone could build a rapport with each other and gain combat experience. Cultural expertise can be a factor too. Alistair is the go to expert on nobility, which Alexei has little experience with due to growing up in the circle, Zevran has expertise with city elven populations, though less so with the Dalish elves. Oghren and Shale were his go to companions for Orzimar diplomacy and the exploration of the Deep Roads and Dwarven Ruins. Leliana was his go to for Chantry diplomacy and he naturally brought her to seek the Ashes of Andraste.

The only companion he didn’t particularly get along with was Velanna due to her intense prejudice towards humans and many resulting murders. He mostly recruited her out of necessity. It’s telling that he and Nathaniel Howe had a more cordial relationship, though it helps that Alexei’s opposition to Howe’s father was strictly professional.

He also had a great deal of camaraderie with Anders and Justice. He and Anders are of like minded views on the circle and they even bonded over their mutual interest in blood magic. He’s certain Anders will go on to do great things. Justice meanwhile was a rather kind-hearted and valiant spirit, which was refreshing given all the demons Alexei has had to deal with. They became fast friends when staging an uprising against the Baroness in the fade, and continued to bond over their mutual passion for safeguarding the common folk and battling evil. Sigrun and Alexei had a similar relationship. The Legion of the Dead and the Wardens already share a bond in battling the Darkspawn, and he was glad to have such an eager recruit. Ironically, she became less eager to seek a valiant death after their journey together.

Companion Quests: They were extremely diligent with resolving their party’s personal matters. He helped Leliana eliminate her old paramour who betrayed her, acquired Sten’s sword, allowing him to return to his homeland with honor and become Arishok, managed to buy Wynn considerable time by seeking out Aneirin, helped Oghren win over his crush (which somehow ended up with him becoming a general in Ferelden’s armies, the first Dwarf to do so), and even fought Flemeth for Morrigan. She better be grateful for that last one because that was very difficult.

The only quests that ended less than ideally were Alistair’s and Shakes. Alistair’s sister was a resentful, rather cruel person and there was little Alexei could do about that. Shale meanwhile ended up confronting him over his actions in the deep roads. This was ultimately resolved amicably however.

This trend continued after he became the Commander of the Grey. Some would argue that the his greater responsibilities should have made him prioritize these matters less. He would argue that a full on blight was plenty of responsibility too thank you very much, and just like then, it was best to resolve any of these personal matters so everyone could focus on the mission at hand. Helping Howe reunite with his family and accept the truth of his father, helping Justice rectify the issue he caused by possessing a dead man, getting Sigrun to make amends with the friend she betrayed long ago, and even aiding Velanna in helping her clan (hey, hate her or not, innocent people needed help). Anders’s issue kinda found them anyway. Ser Rylock really ought to have learned to butt out.

Romance: They didn’t have much time for a proper romance all things considered. They did however become rather close with Morrigan, though the circumstances behind their having a child together were unusual. He’s not really sure what to make of their relationship but he’s been a part of the child’s upbringing whenever possible.

CODEX

Magical Matters: Abominations are ah, unpleasant to deal with. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about becoming one, and that’s like, the one saving grace the circle system has. Or it would be if they didn’t mess up anyway.

Circle and Templars: He really does not like the circle system. He believes it’s an oppressive, unjustifiable system and is less than convinced of its necessity. After all, it got overrun by abominations despite being created to stop it and his merry gang was able to solve the problem anyway. And honestly, dealing with Loghain and his nobles were harder to beat and caused far more destruction than the abominations anyway.

As for the Templars themselves, they were never overly cruel to him in the circle despite their trepidation and prejudice towards mages. He got the impression most were at least well intentioned. If they were trained to be more dedicated to demon hunting and less to jailing mages, there may be hope for them.

Grey Wardens: He’s naturally pretty grateful that they saved him from being executed. It wasn’t the best circumstances to be recruited but hey, when is it ever with them? And they gave him a chance to have far more freedom than he’d ever have otherwise. He was enraged at Loghain’s betrayal, naturally, and made it his life’s mission to rebuild the order and hopefully, stop the calling too. Whatever it takes.

Fade: They’re not particularly fond of going into the Fade (aside from the regular dreaming). It’s dangerous and difficult to navigate and obeys no consistent laws of reality. Spirits are fairly amicable, if alien beings. The main experience he has with them is in the aforementioned Fade trips where they were pretty helpful, and with Justice, who served with him against the Darkspawn. All in all, positive experience. His opinions on Demons are expectedly negative. Despite using blood magic, he considers them about as much of a threat as the Darkspawn. He’s especially not fond of desire demons since they’re a pain to deal with and keep enthralling or possessing innocent people by tricking them. He also finds their seductive manner of speaking and constant erm, eroticized gestures to be more uncomfortable to be around than actually seductive. “I desire you to go away, madam.”

Darkspawn: His opinion is less than positive on the Darkspawn. Once you’ve faced a blight, it’s hard not to constantly think about the millions of them down there, digging their way towards their sleeping gods, constantly building their way towards the next blight. He’d almost sympathize with the other wardens’ efforts to build an army of demons to power through them and slaughter the remaining gods if that wasn’t also the single stupidest idea he’d ever heard.

Dragons: Encountering a cult that believed a dragon was Andraste reborn was a bizarre experience after seeing the Arch-Demon. Combined with Flemeth and he has to wonder why so many non-dragons take dragon forms. Only two were legit, but that more than you’d expect. Flemeth was (as far as he knows) a witch, so she could just choose, but that doesn’t explain the Tevinter gods. Has to wonder if the dragons themselves are connected somehow to them. If there’s one thing he’s glad he learned, it’s that drinking dragon blood gives you superpowers. Goes great with the drake scale armor he commissioned (for Sten).

Other Religions: The Qun sounds interesting if hard to understand, especially the part where their race doesn’t have a separate name from the faith but anyone can join said faith. Their treatment of mages is horrific however. The Dwarven faith is hard for him to understand since it apparently has no god, but the Stone SOUNDS like a god, yet isn’t.

There’s also the aforementioned priest lynching. As for the elven faith, he’s more than a bit skeptical that they used to be immortal. Considering the guy he met who claimed to have rediscovered it was actually using blood magic, which a human mage (Avernus) has done before too, he ALSO has to question whether this immortality was entirely natural. That bit about it going away because they’re near other races is DEFINITELY bullshit though. Still, he has a healthy respect for their culture and traditions and hey, he’s a blood mage too, maybe it’s not as evil as we thought. Zathrian’s just a dick.

Only other faith he’s familiar with is the old Tevinter gods. All things considered, less than stellar experience with them. His faith in the Maker is stronger now. This religion is much better.

Deep Roads: Dark, hard to navigate, and full of Darkspawn. Not a place he wants to spend his final days, hence the quest to stop the calling. Nonetheless, his expeditions down there were among what he considers the most fascinating as they delved into the ancient and forgotten realms of the Dwarves. He hopes Bhelen’s efforts to reclaim parts of it make things safer down there. The less ground for the Darkspawn to claim, the better.

Foreign Countries: He’s been to Orlais on his quest to rebuild the order and find a solution to this calling nonsense. The nobility are even worse than Ferelden’s but his comrades in the Wardens have both proven fine company, and there’s much to enjoy about Orlesian culture in general. Given that he saw what anti-Orlesian prejudice did to Loghain, he’s done his best to overcome any bad blood between their countries and its effects on his attitudes. After all, if we HAD gotten reinforcements at Ostigar, like they offered, a lot fewer people would have died. All in all, a fine nation with fine people with a dire need for a change in leadership.

He’s likely to visit Tevinter as well in his quest. His experience with Tevinter has been less than stellar, though he figures the people there are in a similar situation. It IS the one place where mages aren’t treated like crap, but something needs to be done about the slavery. He dissuaded Andre’s from romanticizing it too much.

Animals they like or hate: As mentioned, he shares his culture’s affection for dogs, and also like cats a fair bit. Not too fond of giant spiders though. Seen enough of them to last ten lifetimes.

Folk Songs: He finds them pretty interesting. There’s a fair few books on them in the libraries at the circle but it was rare to actually hear them. Can be odd if he imagined a completely different tune than what it actually sounds like.

PROTAGONIST SPECIFIC

Origin: Alexei was a circle mage who passed his final trial with flying colors, slaying not one but two demons. This ultimately put him on Duncan’s radar, and would save his life after his little heist. When Jowan told him he was going to be made tranquil, he offered to help immediately. He believed his friend when he proclaimed his innocence, and saw little reason not to help him escape. He’d always had serious reservations about the circle anyway. He strongly considered destroying his own philactery as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t present.

Of course, when Jowan turned out to actually be a Blood Mage, this left him in a tight spot. He considered begging forgiveness, but he realized that the circle, being what it was, would kill him regardless. He decided to be defiant to the end, proclaiming he regretted nothing. Fortunately, this was not the end for him.

Feelings on Recruitment: Alexei pretty eagerly accepted his recruitment into the Wardens. He’d already been interested in the prospect before, and a life free from the circle battling against Darkspawn instead of whatever squabble the circle would have him fight in sounded appealing. It would be dangerous but so was being a mage. Safety had always been a fantasy to him.

The Wilds were his first experience with the Darkspawn. They weren’t particularly powerful ones, but the sight of violent, bestial creatures in the form of sentient races unsettled him. Drinking their blood did not seem a desirable option. On the plus side, he found the necessary herbs to aid a Mabarri at camp.

Ostigar was a time of trepidation for him. The calm before the storm. He never could have predicted just how badly things were about to go however.

Opinions on Caelan and Duncan: He admired Duncan at first, especially after he saved his life. He seemed to be a proud and noble warrior. His opinion however, greatly soured after Duncan killed Ser Jorey. He found the justification of him having drawn his blade flimsy at best, as he’d made no move to attack him. He saw little harm in allowing him to quit, secrets or no. He would vow not to do this as Commander of the Grey. Respect him though he did, he did not agree with his actions.

As for Caelan, he was rather honored to meet the king himself. The man seemed a tad naive, but at the very least he showed the Wardens their due respect, unlike his detestable general Loghain. Truth be told, he saw his unfailing optimism and glory-seeking ways to be the lesser evil to Loghain’s complete contempt for the order. He found Loghain’s insistence that he made a more competent ruler rather hilarious given he apparently believed the Archdemon could be easily killed or that Orlais was the greater threat. He may not have known exactly WHY a Warden was necessary to defeat it for good, but the man still seemed astoundingly ignorant of basic history in regards to blights, which have always come close to annihilating all life on the surface.

He ultimately vowed to avenge them, by any means necessary.

Nightmares: His nightmares of the Archdemon plagued him frequently, growing ever louder as the Blight progressed. He didn’t know what it was asking of him. To join it? To throw himself into the hordes and be devoured? He didn’t know and he didn’t WANT to know. There are few things more terrifying than hearing a malevolent god-thing call to you directly.

He was naturally not happy to hear about the Calling. He’d already been lied to about the joining’s potential lethality, but this was, debatably, even worse. He blamed Duncan more than Alistair. It was hard to fault his friend for having trouble telling him something like that.

Still, that didn’t mean he was going to take this lying down. There had to be a cure. A way to stave off the calling. The strange mage, Avernus seemed to have resisted it for a considerable amount of time, all the while prolonging his natural lifespan. Perhaps this research could lead him to a more permanent solution.

Broken Circle Nightmare: The real nightmare was navigating that place.

Flemith: She seemed to be a somewhat charming if deeply unsettling person at first. Given that she saved him and Alistair, he couldn’t find much reason to dislike her, especially with his indifference to apostasy. After Morrigan revealed her method of immortality however, his opinion did a 180. Perhaps the Witch of the Wilds was a serious threat after all. He elected to deal with her. He shudders at the thought of the reports that she may not be entirely dead.

Dog Name: Spinx, after my family’s old dog.

Lothering: He did whatever he could for the people in Lothering. Aiding the Chantry’s relief efforts, searching for missing persons, clearing out hostile wildlife, and other small gestures. Aside from Sten and Leliana, he wouldn’t hear if any of the townspeople survived until much later when he heard he’d actually had distant cousins in the village, and most of the family had fled to Kirkwall. He was surprised to have missed them.

He regretted leaving the town like he did. A part of him wanted to stand and fight. Unfortunately, he knew their small party couldn’t take on an army of that size. Hopefully, other refugees had gotten out in time. Several had announced their intentions to do so.

Loghain Propaganda Reaction: As mentioned before, he has a low regard for Loghain as a leader, and this was probably the biggest reason why. He could hardly believe someone would be so self-sabotaging. It was as if he was TRYING to ensure the deaths of everyone.

Circle: He elected to forgo the Right of Annulment. While the demonic incursion was a formidable threat, he felt they had to at least try to rescue the remaining mages. Both out of camaraderie and out of necessity. Ferelden would need their aid soon enough.

Haven: As mentioned before, he had to wonder exactly what had caused the cult to believe a high dragon was Andraste reborn. They seemed to be a truly deranged group of people. He balked at the idea of aiding them in destroying the ashes, but pretended to go along with it regardless, due to their offering of their secret of the art of the reaver. He had to admit though that their ability to communicate with and seemingly tame it was impressive. Nonetheless, he had to slay it to make the passage safe for future pilgrims.

He didn’t get the opportunity to keep any ashes after healing the Arl. He didn’t want to risk angering the Maker himself by getting into a fight with the guardian for more.

Loved One at Temple: Seeing Jowan again was surreal, especially since he was already in the dungeon back at Redcliffe. He still maintained that he regretted nothing and would still have helped him escape.

Defense of Redcliff: He and his party held the line at Redcliff, slaughtering many of the undead that besieged the village. Villagers there would later describe them as being like a four man army rather than a simple adventurer’s party. It was impossible to prevent all casualties that night but most of the faces he saw during his daytime preparations still greeted him at dawn.

Truth be told, he wasn’t particularly reluctant to defend the town. He was, after all, a Grey Warden. Being a bystander was rather contrary to his oath, and he did not take that oath reluctantly. Normally, he’d be more specialized in handling Darkspawn but the actual specifics of who he defended people from were never that important to him. Truth be told, the undead and demons at Redcliff seemed eerily similar to the Darkspawn as a threat. At the very least, he was qualified to handle it.

In addition, abandoning it would have been foolish from a practical standpoint. The town was a huge part of why Arl Eamon could help them in the first place. Eamon would be crippled without his people or his soldiers. It would be foolish to write them off as a secondary concern.

Connor and Jowan: He didn’t feel they had enough time to journey all the way to the circle to get aid from the mages there. Waiting meant more undead incursions, and the Arl was on borrowed time himself. Jowan’s blood magic was the only option they had at the time. Regrettable as Isolde’s sacrifice was, it ultimately allowed him to journey into the Fade and slay the desire demon controlling Conor. Even managed to trick it into offering him the secrets of Blood Magic before reneging on the deal. Forbidden or no, he needed every tool he could get against the Darkspawn.

Jowan was ultimately returned to the circle. It was the most lenient sentence the Warden could broker. He’d use his pull as Warden Commander and savior of the circle to delay his execution as long as possible. When the joining could be performed once more, he’d look into recruitment.

Isolde’s death was regrettable, and he understood Alistair’s rage at his decision. He managed to console his friend on the loss and explain his reasoning. It was the only way to save Connor. Admittedly, privately, he wasn’t as torn up by her death as he let on. She’d been an abusive, cruel, and reckless woman concerned with her reputation at least as much as her son, and what she’d actually done to Alistair made Alexei feel she was unworthy of his sympathy.

Elves and Werewolves: Ultimately, he managed to convince Zathrian to release his curse on the werewolves, at the cost of his and the Lady of the Forest’s lives. This transformed the werewolves back into humans, and secured an alliance with the Dalish Elves.

Orzimar Crisis: Alexei never thought he’d find himself backing Bhelen. The man was a ruthless, untrustworthy bastard who murdered a man in public. However, he was won over by his plans for granting rights to the casteless and reforming the Dwarven government, as well as by his ambitions to reclaim the Deep Roads. The way things were going, even if the Blight were thwarted, Dwarven civilization could fall within a generation if something weren’t done and Harrowmont made it clear he wouldn’t be the one to do it.

His plans would pay off. Not only did Bhelen deliver on his promises of aid, but his rule would allow the Dwarven society to bounce back from the brink, ending a centuries long era of stagnation and clinging to life in a single city. He did still regret the death of Harrowmont’s clan.

Anvil Conflict: Despite her atrocities, Alexei ultimately sided with Branka. Deranged as she was, he felt she was right that Caradin was a fool to destroy the Anvil. The abuses of the technology in the past didn’t change the fact that the Golems could be indispensable to the war effort, and give the dwarves a major edge in reclaiming the Deep Roads from the Darkspawn. And the less ground the Darkspawn had, the better.

Anora: His opinion of Anora was decidedly mixed. He was glad to have her support, but was rather uncomfortable with her apologism toward her father and his actions. Ironically, the betrayal meant a bit less to him, since it was a no-win scenario, and she DID tell his comrades so they could save him and his team. Still, their differences would prove irreconcilable at the landsmeet, where she would turn on him for seeking justice. She is now in the dungeons, and likely will be for the rest of her life.

Landsmeet result: As you may have guessed by that last bit, Alexei supported Alistair alone. While Anora would have been a good ally to strengthen his claim, her position on justice for his comrades at Ostigar made this a non-starter.

Alexei took to Ferelden politics like a fish to water despite his isolated upbringing, and when it came time to advocate for dethroning Loghain, you couldn’t have asked for a better orator.

It helps that Ferelden politics is very adventurer friendly.

His efforts to save Anora weren’t as pointless as he thought. He was able to expose the horrific torture of political dissidents at the hands of the now deceased Howe. The rescue of several prisoners won over numerous important families, and earned a condemnation from the grand cleric, further ensuring support.

Exposing the slave trafficking ring with Tevinter was similarly beneficial. While many nations sold slaves to Tevinter despite outlawing it domestically, Ferelden proudly stood stalwart as an opponent to this practice. Even with the immense prejudice against the elves of Thedas, there were some things the people simply wouldn’t tolerate. A part of him wished he’d kept the magister heading the operation alive for testimony. Alas, he reduced the man to a red stain on the wall after the man had the audacity to offer up the lives of his slaves in a blood ritual to barter for his life.

He was rather expecting the nobility to refuse to acknowledge the Blight as the true threat. After all, they were already ignoring it under their new king. However, one could not simply ignore this threat without consequence it seemed. Arl Wulff of West Hills had seen his lands devastated and two of his sons killed by the Blight Loghain was so keen to ignore, and rallied likeminded nobles to back the man who was finally acknowledging the threat.

His silver tongue was even able to permit them access to the Landsmeet itself, managing to talk down Ser Cauthrien before bloodshed ensued. They’d need all of Ferelden’s finest warriors alive to face the Blight. The two would ultimately serve together in the final battle.

Ultimately it would come down to a tie. Alister and Loghain would battle personally for the title of king. Alas, few had the confidence Alexei did in his prized Mabari to serve as champion.

Loghain’s Fate: Tempting as the joining was, Alexei would not deny his comrades, nor the innocents harmed by Loghain’s crimes justice. Alistair would execute Loghain himself, avenging those he betrayed.

Fate of The Warden: Alexei was loathe to admit it, but after all he’d been through, the idea of death still terrified him. He was willing to die, but far from eager. When Morrigan offered her… ritual, he accepted the offer. Not exactly the ideal way to have children but he’d hoped to do so someday regardless, and he had the inexplicable feeling that having Urthemiel’s spirit carry on in an unblighted form would be a good thing for the world.

Boon from the King: He asked Alister to grant independence to the Circle of Magi. This way, the Templars would have greater accountability on their treatment of them, more limited authority, and less cruelty in their containment.

Warden’s Keep: Alexei ultimately agreed with Avernus on his assessment of Sophia’s rebellion. It was a necessary revolt against a tyrant king which gave the Wardens purpose in a world between blights.

While the Wardens were not meant to intervene in matters of politics, serving as a neutral order that worked to stop the Blights for the sake of all nations, and gaining unconditional support so long as they did only this, but Arland had already been delegitimizing the Wardens, who were increasingly seen as a useless relic long after the last Blight. Dryden’s actions, though unsuccessful, propelled the Wardens back to their prior prestige. He endorsed her actions fully, even if no proof could be found to back it up.

He concluded that despite the solid rationale of Warden neutrality, it was doing more harm than good. After all, he could not remain neutral when yet another Tyrant brought them down, nor did he remain neutral when he encountered countless hardships as the result of the blight that were technically politically charged, nor in the countless issues he needed to resolve to put his allies in a position to honor their treaties. He felt it was high time that the Wardens took a more proactive stance as protectors of the weak and opponents of evil. At the very least, they could ensure the world was in a position to face the next Blight without a repeat of Ostigar.

Levi would take over Soldier’s Peak, restoring it into a major base of operations for the rebuilding order.

Avernus himself would continue his research under greater ethical constraints. His new form of blood magic could grant serious advantages to the Wardens by tapping into the power of their tainted blood. Expanding on its original purpose and making the order even more formidable.

Golems of Amgarrak: The expedition to the lost Thaig yielded more horrors than knowledge unfortunately. He would have to hedge his bets on Branka and Bhelen resolving their conflict over Golem usage. Nonetheless with their abominable experiments cleared, an expedition for resettlement could begin.

Stone Prisoner: Shale would be recruited at the end of course. Her fate is detailed above. Fortunately, Alexei was also able to dispose of the local desire demon without her possessing the daughter of Shale’s owner.

Witch Hunt: Alexei would ultimately convince Morrigan to allow him to accompany her through the Eluvian to see their son. He deserved that much after everything.

Amaranthane and Vigil’s Keep: Alexei chose to stay and defend Amaranthane. He could hardly abandon his people in their time of need, and they couldn’t afford to lose such an important city.

He’d invested countless resources into fortifying the keep, strengthening it, training its troops and equipping them with the finest weapons and equipment. Its walls of Dwarven stone would hold. It had to hold.

And hold it did. The Darkspawn would fail to breach its walls, and be handily repelled by its garrison. Its troops would become a great order of warriors in their own right, defending the realm for centuries to come.

The Architect: Alexei, upon hearing of his motivations, decided to spare the Architect. While Sigrun and Justice took some persuading, they reluctantly agreed. The Architect’s experiments had caused great hardship for the world, but also great results. If he truly could free the Darkspawn of the Archdemon’s calling and allow them to coexist with the rest of the world, it could solve the Blights for good. He had to take the chance. The world may not survive two more Blights.

Will do my other characters soon.

Dragon Age Character Questions

by myself and @vitosscaletta

ESSENTIALS

What is their name, and how old are they? Does their name or birthday hold any significance?

What class do they belong to? How did they initially train and learn their skills?

What race do they belong to? What are their opinions on the other races of Thedas?

What is their moral alignment?

What do they specialize in within their class?

Do they have a preferred weapon they always use?

How do they dress in their downtime, while fighting, in formal settings, etc.?

Do they have any notable scars, markings, tattoos, etc.?

LIFE

What region in Thedas were they born in? What was their hometown (and their home itself) like?

What social class were they born into? How did it affect their upbringing?

How many languages do they speak? Do they have any sort of accent?

Describe their family. Who were they close to? Were there any particular childhood friends?

What religion were they born into? Do they still follow it?

Which aspects of the culture they were born into holds the most significance for them?

Did they ever work a normal, everyday job?

What sort of education did they receive?

What do they do with their free time? Do they have any vices?

Have they ever been seriously injured? What was the outcome?

Do they prefer being stealthy or charging head-on?

How efficient are they with things like crafting potions or repairing their own armor?

PARTY

Who does their preferred party consist of?

Which companions (or advisors) are they closest friends with? Who do they respect?

Which companions (or advisors) do they like to spend time with when they’re not travelling?

Are there any companions (or advisors) they don’t get along with? Have any of them ever left the party?

Did they do companion quests? What were the outcomes of those?

Do they have a love interest? How did their relationship start?

How did their relationship progress? If they’re a canon romance option, is their story different from the way the game presents it?

CODEX

How do they feel about Mages and magic, including things like abominations?

How do they feel about Templars and the Circle?

How do they feel about the Grey Wardens?

How do they feel about the Fade, spirits, and demons?

How do they feel about darkspawn?

How do they feel about dragons?

How do they feel about religions that are not their own, like the Chantry or the Qun?

How do they feel about the Deep Roads?

What places in Thedas have they been to? What do they think about places other than their homeland?

Are there any animals they have a particular love or hatred for?

Do they have any interest in folk tales or folk songs?

PROTAGONIST-SPECIFIC QUESTIONS UNDER THE CUT

Keep reading

#dragon age

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weirdlandtv · 3 years ago

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Vintage Brigitte Bardot film posters. Mostly French, some international ones.

I’m rather paralyzed by the many things I could say about BB and her films. I’ve seen all of them of course. She made her debut in Le Trou normand (CRAZY FOR LOVE) (1952), as a rather precocious schemer who tries to scam her cousin out of his money. She hated the experience—she was bullied on set—and nearly quit acting to return to ballet training at the Conservatoire National de Paris.

Next came Manina, la fille sans voiles (MANINA, THE GIRL IN THE BIKINI), a film about a lost treasure, where BB portrays a little sea elf in a bikini. The film looks like it was shot in a day, in secret, but I have to say: it does sort of fascinate me. I find myself rewatching it. It has the strange, stifling atmosphere of a dream. You look at it and you wonder when it’s supposed to take place, 1952 or 1752.

Naturally lazy and indifferent, BB didn’t work hard at her film career, and for the next few years she played mostly bit parts here and there, in France, and in Italy. Her big breakthrough came in 1956, with the groundbreaking Et Dieu… créa la femme (AND GOD CREATED WOMAN), a film that more or less heralded the Sixties: it was shot on location, by a small crew, and didn’t feature any big names apart from Curd Jürgens (who was solely cast to attract investors). Though the film, despite its reputation, doesn’t contain any nudity, it probably has more sex in it than many other films that do. A lush and gorgeous sexploitation film is what it is, with BB as a sensual, warm-blooded creature looking for love in idyllic Saint-Tropez. (She’s sweaty, bronze, barefoot, all flesh and passionate lust.) As in her other films, BB wore her own clothes. Her loose clothing style, in complete contrast with women’s fashion at the time, was actually something of a revolution (and this too heralded the Sixties). Throughout her films she’s dressed in sheets, unbuttoned work overalls, pyjama tops, men's shirts, etc. Her hair is messy, lionesque. If we in the 21st century can’t recall a time when women wore different outfits for different occasions and times of the day (afternoon, dinner, evening), it’s because BB broke all those rules. Not even deliberately, she was too lazy to rebel, but she just couldn’t be contained. It was that, freedom, or suicide.

More successful films followed, most notably the comedy Une Parisienne (LA PARISIENNE) and gritty drama En cas de malheur (LOVE IS MY PROFESSION). Yet BB wasn’t taken seriously as an actress until the much-lauded La vérité (THE TRUTH) (1960), probably her best film. (She herself has said, with typical recklessness, that La vérité is her only good film, but that’s not true.) About her acting, she once said: “I just showed up, said my lines, and hoped I didn’t embarrass myself.” She was pretty good at acting however for someone so disinterested in the art of it. What she lacks in technical proficiency she more than makes up for in spirit. (Said director and first husband Vadim: “BB doesn’t act, she exists.”)

Having proved herself to her critics with La vérité, BB gradually lost interest in filmmaking in the 1960s. Jean-Luc Godard’s Le mépris (CONTEMPT) (1963), highly regarded today, was an unusual marriage between France’s most popular star and arty New Wave; but BB disliked the result, and it didn’t perform well. (Her main memory of the film is being bored. You can see it in the photos that were taken during production: she’s always lounging in a corner, staring out a window, sleepy, bleak.) VIVA MARIA! (1965), co-starring Jeanne Moreau, was a big international success and it’s many people’s favorite BB film, but it’s a farce, a comedy of screw-ups, no matter how elaborate the costumes or how big the action set pieces. Whimsical romantic comedies and mundane westerns make up the latter half of the 1960s and early 1970s. (The westerns were shot in Almería, Spain, so BB didn’t need to travel very far: at that point, she preferred to stay home in Saint-Tropez with her growing entourage of cats and dogs.)

BB’s last film is a rather curious one. In THE EDIFYING AND JOYOUS STORY OF COLINOT (1973) she appears only towards the end, in a kind of glorified cameo. She rides a horse, she rubs the main character’s thigh, she gets spanked. The film always reminds me of those medieval fairs where people dress up in period costumes in the woods and pretend that it’s the Middle Ages. But since it’s the 1970s, and not the Middle Ages, the costumes come off of course, resulting in some rather unappealing love scenes, and that’s about all the film has to offer. BB decided she had had enough, and made the decision to quit acting right then and there, a decision she never revoked. In her last scene, rather touchingly, she kisses a bird; and then she fades away.

#brigitte bardot #movies #films #film #vintage #art #posters #movie posters #film posters #1950s #1960s #1970s #bardot #illustration

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leam1983 · 2 years ago

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The Whale - Thoughts

This is a long one, and it touches on topics some might find sensitive. See the appended tags for content warnings.

One of the leading lines of thoughts on here is that Charlie's character has tinges of fatphobia. As someone whose boyfriend is a self-admitted chonker, I'm used to hearing derogatory comments aimed at him, and I know how - in-context - it can feel demeaning or crippling.

That said, this is a movie. It's a movie, yes, but also a movie rooted in a play, which itself has some lived experience scaffolding its structure. It might be uncomfortable to see a big guy wracked with guilt as he caves in and snarfs a bucket of KFC on his own, but it doesn't mean that morbidly obese people can't be subject to bulemia or to other eating disorders. Fat acceptance goes a long way, sure, but the human body is like any assembly of struts bolted to a foundation: it has a certain stress tolerance that varies from person to person, and some of us shouldn't allow themselves to gather too much body habitus.

Let's dial things back down, for perspective. My BF is verging on three hundred pounds. He's five feet six, so he feels quite obviously rotund, at that weight. He dresses it well, having a yen for Business Casual that doesn't drop, ever - not after hours and not on weekends. Walter feels naked without a vest and necktie, he loves flashing his fob watch, and honestly asks me which cufflinks he should wear for this or that meeting at the office. He doesn't have an ounce of shame in regards to his weight, and even has surprising levels of cardio, being known for short straight-backed sprints down his floor's main hallway whenever he forgets to bring a document or two over to the meeting room. He, in his own words, knows he's obese, and he's never let that slow him down.

The main issue is that since we've officially started living together, his increased happiness more or less translated into an increase in appetite. He was about 260 when we first took drinks together and redid his entire wardrobe last year. That's a little over five years since, with three of them marking a notable slackening of his dietary habits.

He still doesn't mind it, or so he tells me. He's still the same cheerful and chipper guy I fell for, the same faux snob who's actually really glad to speak of his more highbrow interests to whoever'll care to listen, from high-end audio to unique pieces painted by local artists that he wants to acquire.

The problem is that he gets drowsy at an increasingly rapid pace. He keeps himself alert at work with a little radio piping Big Band standards practically every day, but the occasional serious traffic jam can sometimes result in my needing to nudge him awake once the coast clears. He also hasn't managed to be active during evenings in about a year, now. We settle in for some after-hours TV or rounds of light discussion, and there's always a point where Walt's chin dips, his breath deepens and then transitions to soft snores. If I let it go, he'll eventually rip-roar himself half-awake with a bonafide Cartoon Snore. He's been given the CPAP talk by his GP, but refuses to consider it. I've always known he had a bit of a napping fetish, but what involved charming little kips before meal prep now sees him sink quite deeply.

I've made it clear on multiple occasions that while I wanted to respect his choices, I didn't feel like losing a loved one on the cusp of their sixties. I'm lucky, in that he understands I'm not interested in Walter George the Suited Six-Pack-Packer; I just want the same old warm, kind and decent man I've fallen for to last for at least a decade or two.

His response is almost always the same. He smiles, pulls me in closer, and kisses me; pulling at my lips a few times.

"It'll be okay," he then tells me. "The moment I feel like I'm losing control, I'll take the necessary steps."

He tells me that, and falls asleep mid-sentence a few hours later, at barely a few minutes past 7 PM.

I'm not blind, I know what Sleep Apnea is. Dad has it, and he, at least, sticks to his CPAP regimen. He's also cut back on salt, reduced his red meat intake, and used the dog as a handy excuse to get out more.

Walter just sits there and pulls the William Taft card. "It's just how I am," he says, his smile radiating warmth and love even while I can recognize the telltale signs of sleep pulling at his mind: the slow eye-squints, the malapropisms, the occasional sentence that goes nowhere, the marred recipes with one or two ingredients missing when a foodie like him would not have allowed himself to omit details; the now-frequent nights where I feel like I'm lying next to a beached whale gasping for air even while he swears that he's really, seriously, super comfortable...

That, in essence, is what The Whale is referring to. Fatphobia would involve heckling someone who, despite their weight, has a clean bill of health or easily manageable quirks. Telling your morbidly obese boyfriend to be a bit more careful is not fatphobic. Brendan Fraser's character has it even worse: he's bulemic! Food is his single coping mechanism for a gaggle of real and imaginary personal flaws, and he's entirely aware that he's digging his own grave! How can it be fatphobic to have such a character realize that he needs to move forward and make amends in order to find enough courage to save himself?

If anything, Charlie's progress is slow, hard - and indubitably noble. His own white whale is a return to the life he destroyed in shutting everyone out and finding solace in food, in his working past his own self-loathing. It's not my place to keep badgering Walter on his own flaws, but there's a point where you have to admit that in the absence of a divulged weight gain fetish and in his added weight being a constant product of dietary negligence - as opposed to concerted efforts to gain weight - "how he is" is a really pithy excuse for something else. Depression, avoidant behavior or some weird form of call for help - whatever it is, something's clearly at play.

The problem is I'm not Walter. Because I love him, I can't force him to act. I can try to get him to open up, sure, but I haven't made much progress in that regard. Because I love him, I owe him to at least make it clear that I'm trying. If he wants to go down in a stroke after gaining so much weight his suits become impossible to afford, I'll be right there alongside him.

#the whale #darren aronofsky #brendan fraser #sadie sink #on obesity #on fatphobia #on bulemia

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

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long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want?

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic.

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days.

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours.

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much.

��W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment.

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

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Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk.

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog.

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them.

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway.

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine.

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care.

You were comfortable and content.

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered.

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too.

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes.

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion.

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by.

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse.

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance.

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows.

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures.

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly.

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger.

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished.

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego.

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office.

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood.

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk.

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods.

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up.

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way.

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control.

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath.

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on.

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.”

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants.

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you.

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you.

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you.

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state.

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold.

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe.

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body.

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?”

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment.

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you.

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you.

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut.

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically.

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back.

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed.

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him.

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides.

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty.

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?”

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock.

“Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best.

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him.

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded.

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way.

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily.

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit.

“You’re my good girl.”

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his.

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably.

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god.

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.”

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw.

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been.

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness.

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips.

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted.

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech.

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue.

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right.

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back.

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet.

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them.

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained.

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat.

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full.

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in.

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer.

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest.

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it.

++++++++++++

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