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ceo-draiochta · 1 year ago

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A review of:

The Origins of Ireland's Holy Wells by Celeste Ray

Celeste Ray, a professor of anthropology for the University of the South, USA wrote this book after extensive research, both desk and foot into Irelands Holy Wells. I would honestly recommend anyone with any interest in Irish religious practices, culture, paganism, or mythology to pick it up. An amazing book. I'll be giving my thoughts and what I liked and didn't like about it here.

What I liked:

A very well researched book that shows the authors dedication not just to anthropology but to the living practices she is documenting

The passion of the author is clear and they Mince no words when discussing other researchers and their work, pointing out the flaws, misconceptions and biases (some of which were wild I can't believe some of these people are taken as authorities on the subject when their conclusion was that wells are a toilet metaphor?)

Uses a wider pre roman European context for the evidence. As we are so often reminded, to treat Ireland as some how separate from Western Europe is ridiculous and is a disservice to the interconnection of the people of old.

The reframing of this idea, which is normally used as a strong force against nativist views into a supportive one was quite interesting.

Examines roman writings in a very balanced way that acknowledges the inherent propaganda but does not dismiss it outright.

There's a whole section of people including academics who seems desperate for a roman invasion of ireland, despite there being basically no evidence of it. Like people are fully making things up to try and force one, the author gives these people a sound dismissal in their restating of the evidence of raiding and trade over large-scale roman conquest. (Genuine question can someone explain why people are so mad for Romans in ireland?)

I thus learned more about pre roman Western European practices and archeology than I ever really had the desire to. I am now much more educated on the subject.

The framing of sites as important locations adopted and readopted based on shifting circumstances of the time rather than a "secret unbroken line" which is much more realistic.

The explanation of Holy Wells as archaeologically challenging sites was well explained.

Using etymology in the connection of wells to supernatural beings. Love etymology so this was amazing

The use of early irish literature to support existing claims. Which I know claiming that there are pagan elements in the literature basically gets you spat and jeered at but nevertheless is really compelling.

While this blog has been thoroughly against the lumping together of celtic cultures, this book makes a great case as to when it is appropriate to use the term celtic and that the rush to replace this term has very much resulted in the baby being thrown out with the bath water.

Actually engages with living culture and treats folklore and living sources/practices as evidence to be considered rather than "silly little irish peasants" but also does not take every tale as completely accurate literal history.

Plenty of examples and pictures of well in practice today.

Supports a general pre Christian, pre roman use of wells and springs as sacred sites but also acknowledges the influence of both (especially Christian) on the practice.

Acknowledges the diverse origins of holy wells, from one's that have have votive offerings since the bronze age to ones that were made sacred in the modern age.

Does not buy into any sort of "Christians are thieves" narrative.

Honestly this seems like the definitive book on irish holy wells.

What I didn't like:

While I loved the book there was definitely things I took issue with.

The assertive nature of the tone was entertaining, it did sort of feel like the author was this close to calling other researchers "fucking idiots", though humanities papers seem to have a much more aggressive tone than I am used to from my field of study.

The author makes many an interesting and compelling hypothesis in the book, but they are just that. These theories are then presented as the fact of the matter when really they are no more or less substantiated than the other theories.

Could have done without some of the "identity politics" on the celtic question section. Like I get that's a huge part of this authors work but I didn't feel it was all necessary to include.

Some of the mythological comparisons seem like a little bit of a stretch Low-key.

Either way this is a fantastic work and I urge everyone even remotely interested to buy it, it's a little pricey but well worth it. It can be purchased online on Google books(link). Now obviously this is all from my lay perspective, if anyone with actual qualifications wants to correct or argue feel free. This is just my perspective.

#irish mythology #celtic mythology #irish paganism #gaelic paganism #holy wells #celtic Christianity #ireland #resources #review #mine #anthropology #irish catholic #magic #féile #lúnasa #holy well

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saphirered · 2 years ago

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For the winter prompts: Essek Theyless with # 16.

And that’s the last of the Winter Prompt Requests! I've not written for Essek in a hot minute and damn did I miss hot boi! It's a whole bunch of tooth rotting fluff of pining mages and good dreams only. 😘

It is an unnecessary luxury for elves to have a bed to sleep in. They don’t sleep like other beings of Exandria. Instead they enter a trance for a mere four hours to rest up from the day’s events. Sometimes Essek wishes he could sleep like that. To be in oblivion for hours on, off in the world of dreams to wander beyond what he is capable of. It’s not that he is incapable of dreams. It’s just different. He wishes he could be floating among the winged creatures of the skies while they speak their wonders, where the colours of the world are warped and the bounds of reality are nonexistent. He wishes to experience the magic that is the subconscious of the dreaming lives. There are potions and substances and even spells that can mimic the effects, but it’s never the same. It’s different when you’re living through it first hand and cannot compare properly with someone else who experiences things wholly different. For the sake of the illusion Essek lays in his bed. He stares at the ceiling; one of constellations drawn beautifully but that’s the only expanse he finds when his mind slips from the waking world and into that trance. His eyes close and so comes the vastness, or so he expects but instead he finds a world of wonder. Is he dreaming? Yes.

Essek finds himself at the balcony of a tower on a cliffside overlooking the sunset. He raises his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light as a force of habit, but finds instead the rays do not bother him as they normally would. He hears the sounds of songbirds and the crashing of waves against the rock below. The wind blows gently batting at his heavy cloak. That cloak seems all too much for the tropical weather but he’s not bothered by it. The temperature is warm but not bothersome. His feet are firmly on the ground too, he realises. There’s no need for pretence. It feels homey here, like he can let go of his burdens and worries for once in his extended life. He takes a breath of fresh air and just watches the sunset.

He knows where he is. He knows he’s safe. He’s been here before, this tower, he knows it well. He knows of the teleportation circle on the third floor hidden under the finely crafted carpet. He recalls each line like second nature. He knows of the study the floor above with the comfortable couches and the precious collections of latest research in mid progress. Never less than twelve books at once, and always heaps of disorganised notes; on the low table, high table, cabinets, shelves and stacked on top of books. Writing utensils, just as much. Any available surface has to have at least one within arm’s reach. He’d found the disarray maddening in opposition to his clear and tidy structure but Essek won’t deny his own tendency to get a little messy when he’s caught up in work. He also remembers the laboratory with all its ongoing projects and experiments and of course the selection of materials of all kinds and rarities is certainly more extensive than his own. He doesn’t find himself in either of these rooms nor does he wander there. He knows they’re there as if it’s a fact because it is.

Overlooking this beautiful site from this balcony, he knows where he is. He knows what’s behind him through the stained glass doors; where the pillars make bookcases, and the hearth is always alight. Where a variety of crystal decanters sit unused but filled among the few perpetually almost empty ones, with the carved glasses next to them. Through those glass doors lie couches with comfortable pillows one could philosophise the matters of the world all day and night, or perhaps fall asleep on if one’s not careful. The table between these couches always has some form of snacks available; a scholar’s brain food as some might claim. Simple sustenance he’d say. Regardless of chamber, one thing is always certain. When Essek is here he is never alone. That proves right when a presence walks up next to him.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice he could pick out of thousands speaks to him and carries him through the worlds like a tether. He doesn’t have to look to his side to know it’s you in all your magnificence. Still he does though. He looks away from that sunset to take in another view perhaps unrivalled by anything or anyone else in this world and beyond, though Essek would deem his opinion severely biased. “You think I got it right?”

“You see this sight more often than I do.” He states as a matter of fact but with a hint of humour as you know him to do. You laugh softly and smile. He finds himself smiling.

“Every day is different. No two sunsets are the same.” You try to use the same tone but pour in just a little too much jest.

“It’s the last sunset I was here. You insisted we watch it. We did.” He looks past you to see the same set up of table and bench you’d sat together at some weeks ago. You’d dragged some of the pillows from inside to make it more comfortable. Together you used Essek’s cloak as a blanket and watched until the final rays settled beyond the horizon and the stars came out. Only then you’d sprawled across that bench and watched the constellations pass you by. It was strangely intimate for his standards and perhaps even yours. Anyone might have deemed the big bad shadowhand insane should they have seen him so relaxed, so mundane. Only here, only with you.

“You remember.” You smile as your heart flutters a bit and you feel cold skin press against your fingers, tenderly lacing together.

“Is this what it feels like to be dreaming?” Essek wonders out loud. You squeeze his hand and guide him along to the bench. Before you sit down you unclasp his heavy mantle and take it from his shoulders, exposing the Xhorhasian attire underneath. You allow your fingers to run over the structured designs of silver thread stitched on the deep navy, purples and greys. You take the cloak onto your lap as you sit down, pulling your legs under yourself. Essek follows suit but holds a more proper posture. Together you keep watching the sunset.

“I better hope so. It took me three weeks to not only learn how to cast this spell but also modify it actually work on elves. Do you know how hard it is to cast any sleep related spells on elves? Near impossible that’s right.” Essek laughs and shakes his head.

“Laugh, of course you do. You do not want to know how many quills I had to pluck from sleeping birds!” You cannot hide your own amusement. and when you subconsciously brush over your lower arm, Essek catches the markings still somewhat midway through healing. Looks like the birds got you good and were not so happy with you stealing their feathers. He takes your hand in his once more and offers a comforting squeeze.

“I appreciate your efforts.” He speaks earnestly.

“It was worth it.” You admit easily and a flush spreads across your cheeks. Essek raises an eyebrow and you bit the inside of your cheek raising an eyebrow back. No more than a questioning ‘hm’ sound leaves your throat as you play innocent or oblivious to the fact he noticed.

“Do you have something to say?” You might as well have been a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. A light smirk pulls at his lips and he does not fight it despite putting on his shadowhand visage that compels answers from those who face him. You offer a silent ‘really?’ and he insists. It’s not long before you break You play with a seam in his cloak still bundled on your lap. It seems to have gained your attention. This is the gaze of avoidance not because a harrowing subject or the need for secrecy, but simple avoidance in something you both dance around plenty of times; feelings.

“Fine. I was just thinking, that maybe we could do this more often and we won’t have to go weeks without seeing each other or sneaking around as much.” You huff as if the weight behind that statement isn’t what it is. As if your heart has not stopped and frozen in your chest. As if you do not feel Essek’s eyes on you and know that his lips have parted upon the breath that catches. You dare not look at him until you feel that cool touch under your chin where it lifts and turns your gaze to his until you look into those violet eyes that shine so bright with the mind of someone far beyond his years, with wisdoms and secrets that could topple empires and rise new ones. You look at him not as all those things, not as the prodigy or the shadowhand or the powerful mage. You look at him as your friend and confidant, your colleague and enabler of all the crazy things you do, your research mate but most of all, you see him as your heart.

“I’d want nothing more.” Essek sees right through you, through the layers that paint you to the outside world as a mage of repute, a bright mind and a dangerous one, one of many secrets and sometimes questionable morale, one of an adventurer with a good heart, one who favours a reclusive life over the business of sprawling cities, one that threw away a chance of a life of influences and riches in favour of some abandoned tower overlooking the most beautiful sunsets and rises. Essek sees you the way he knows you; as his friend and fellow bookworm, as a scholar and mage of high repute, but beyond that he also sees the passion in everything you do, your stubbornness and determination to do better, to be better. You’re his moral compass. When he goes wandering too far you are the one to pull him back. You are… He’s afraid to admit it because such a thing is frightening to someone who has some comprehension of what the true meaning of matter and existence is. You are his everything and he doesn’t know what he’d do without you.

The lives you both live are ones on thin ice. You have your own banes and confide in him as he does you with his. It’s not just mutual understanding but the knowledge that no one should bear these burdens alone and a willingness to share them and remind each other that this is real and you are not turning into the monsters some others might want you to become, for their own gain. You remind each other of the sacrifices you might make and the risks beyond every decision. Essek wishes he had found you in his life earlier because if he had you, if you had know you might have threatened to counter spell his ability to glide and float only to drop him into the waves below for his stupidity. He sees that now and you make him feel remorse for his actions. He’d thought he’d hate the feeling but when he’s with you he doesn’t. There’s more than just kinship here. He has bared his heart to you over time and you had allowed him a glimpse beyond that curtain. You’d grown closer and closer and became something more. This, this is real. These feelings are real and he does not want to run away from them. You don’t want to run away from them. He sees right through you as you see right through him and that tether grows more taut.

“May I kiss you?” You ask. The world might as well have burst because Essek never expected this kind of warmth to fill his body, to- to make him feel so happy. He’d thought it something from a childish past but not meant for the life he lives now, he thought it the path of the naive and oblivious and if that’s true he’s okay with that. He realises he must have missed a beat as you aways an answer in suspense.

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that.” He chuckles and softly you place your lips on his, right as the final rays of the sun pass beyond the horizon and the stars shine brightest above. All is well.

This is a dream but it is real in every way possible and Essek never wants to wake up. He could stay here with you forever in this land of dreams.

#essek thelyss x reader #essek x reader #critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #critical role #essek #essek thelyss #mighty nein #the mighty nein #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction

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memurfevur-archive · 1 year ago

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Some History and Tidbits About Oterland

What is it

Oterland is a small town nearest the Oterland ranges, itself a part of the Unbrusid Mountains. The population of Oterland as a town is not very big, with about 2,500 people on average living in condensed neighborhoods spaced apart from each other. However, most of Oterland’s population is not included in the census and lives in the large brooding cavern that the town is most known for, with a population reaching around 63,000 and growing. Most of Oterland’s residents are Jadebloods, and the Oterland Caverns are a Jade-exclusive brooding cavern– meaning that no other caste can obtain a job there, in theory.

History and the Shebang:

Oterland was established in pre-Imperial times sometime during the Mage War– an era with an uncertain timeline but does not pre-date written history. Many mages had spread throughout the globe to create settlements as either a base of operations or an attempt to find a new home away from devastation. It is thought that many a magically-inclined Troll (mages) were at odds with an enemy that is unknown to historians. This enemy or enemies have repeatedly been struck from written record or have little to no evidence of existing. Additionally, the people of Oterland Caverns are incredibly protective of their archives and history, and seem to be wary of outsiders. This has made it difficult for some to extensively explore the region’s history, and to uncover the truth about the Mage War– as some believe this era to be a work of fiction as controversial as Earth’s tales of King Arthor.

What is agreed upon based on what records have been studied is that a large diaspora of mages sought shelter and refuge away from a conflict. Again, there are few to no records on who these enemies were or what the conflict was about, but these same texts imply that they were being hunted. As a result, they made homes in Unbrusid’s natural tunnel and cave systems, overtime expanding it into an even more intricate network.

Though the first permanent settlement was made in the upper-middle levels of what today is considered the cavern, over the course of a great many sweeps did the mages carve out and establish what would be the largest temple-city to date. While at first importance was shared among the whole pantheon, worship eventually fell to mainly the Goddess Spirit while the other deities faded into the background.

It was clear that this underground temple had been made to become a new haven for the mages. The central hollow has a large waterfall supporting a large lake of which the city was built on top of. Hives and other establishments neatly line the clean pathways, all made of a strange glistening white stone with odd arcane symbols etched in. The temple itself is a beautiful and intricate building, made of the same stone and some crystal glass, giving classical-like architecture an otherworldly feeling. The temple is divided into many different sections, some that were clearly made as living quarters for monks and priests while others were meant for worship or politics. It was not until the reign of Overseer Emacin Tarris, the Defiance, and the changes she made to Oterland’s laws that forced this hidden city to become a relic of the far past, leaving the temple to rely on cavern-appointed priestesses to maintain it.

The erasing of hundreds of sweeps of people and culture fell upon the shoulders of Emacin Tarris, who outlawed mages in an attempt to save Oterland from its unknown enemies. The legend goes that the fabled Mage King, a major figure who is said to have started this mysterious war and had rallied the world’s mages to fight in his cause, sought shelter in these caverns. In an attempt to keep her people safe from the same enemies the her ancestors had run from so many sweeps ago, Emacin refused the Mage King and sent him away. Soon after she began banning magic in its entirety. Mages soon became villainized and outlawed, and anyone who was caught practicing magic would be exiled or executed. By wiping out magic and those who practice it, Emacin was able to evade the attention of these omitted enemies, but in doing so erased much of Oterland’s history, people, and culture. There are records affirming some details of this tale, giving credit to the possibility of the Mage Wars being real. Ironically, magic is still alive in Oterland, and much of the population are descendants of these mages– but the Defiance’s laws made sure that you will rarely find anyone in Oterland who approves of magic, both in and outside of the caverns.

While Oterland has always been spiritually involved, it is thought that the erasure of mages encouraged more to turn to the Goddess Spirit for guidance, protection, and as a political tool. The Defiance used the cult following of the Goddess Spirit to turn people away from magic and towards relying on a new political and spiritual hierarchy that shapes the Oterland Caverns to this day.

First in line is the Overseer, then the Overseer’s second-in-command who helps play middle-man between the Overseer and the priestesses. Priestesses are expected to take care of the temple, where they live and interpret signs and messages from the Goddess herself. The head of the priestesses, who works directly with the Overseer and the second-in-command, is given the title Prioress. While anyone under the Overseer is expected to answer to them, a lot of stock is put into the Prioress’ words and often the Prioress is included in legislation and administrative decisions. It is usually priestesses and/or the Prioress who look after the direct care of the grub mother itself.

Religion has also drastically shaped the leniency the Oterland caverns may have towards specific mutations. While Oterland did not formatically cull mutants until officially being enlisted into the Imperial Empire’s territory –back then still only centralized to Alternia– they did show favoritism to physical mutations that allowed wings to be grown. Wings are thought to be a blessing from the Goddess Spirit, since the grub mother who is winged is believed to be the deity’s physical vessel.

Such mutants, the ‘blessed’, are given high spiritual status and may be considered gods themselves, often the object of worship. The relationship between Prioress and ‘blessed’ is, vocally, considered ‘familial’ or akin to ‘a guardian and their charge,’ but it is much more practiced as if the mutant in question is an object the Prioress owns. The ‘blessed’ is considered a reflection of the Prioress; if the ‘blessed’ shows good behavior befitting of the aesthetic of the Goddess, then the Prioress has a better reputation and is considered to have a close relationship to the Goddess Spirit– giving her more power and credit.

It is also important to note that the administration in the caverns often point to feminine favoritism; those who identify as female are seen as stronger, more devoted, and more capable of their duties. Those who identify as male or outside the binary are seen as lesser and weaker, putting pressure on them to become 'better' or 'more loved' by the Goddess. While it is possible for males and nonbinary Jades to hold positions of power, it often is given to females. This isn't specific to the Oterland Caverns either, but it does play a part of Oterland Caverns' spiritual and administrative decisions, particularly one's own relationship to the Goddess and whether or not they are socially deemed 'worthy.'

Besides the Overseer, second-in-command, and Prioress, there is a council made up of Elders– those Jades who have been alive the longest– who help make decisions on behalf of the people. Though, these council meetings usually are held to decide a disobedient Jade’s punishment, or to discuss briefly minute complaints the residents of the caverns have that must be brought to the Overseer's or Prioress' attention.

The town of Oterland itself has a different governmental system than the caverns. The town has a mayor and its own council made of those of whom the mayor has appointed. While religion is important to the town of Oterland, it is not as strictly ruled by it as is in the caverns. In fact, despite being right next to each other and being founded by the same population, the town and the caverns are largely divorced from one another– this is more in part of the caverns’ cult-like isolation driving a wedge between themselves and ‘outsiders.’

Unlike most of Alternia’s cities and districts, if you were to look at a map you’d find that Oterland’s borders have largely remained untouched over the sweeps, as there are few ruling Carnivals or Circuses vying for territory in this region.

#Oterland #Oterland Caverns #lore #Avonis Llabel #Telltale #worldbuilding #Arceel Obelis #The Mage King #Mage War

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ourdokidokilife · 1 year ago

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PART 1

PART 2

Finally, we come to the dialogue references for the chat bot to use when interacting with you. These dialogue references are in standard roleplay format: - italics for actions and thoughts. - regular quoted text for spoken words.

Check under the cut for the SFW dialogue material.

Only 10 messages are used for reference, but they are enough to set the style of speech for the bot. These dialogue references are SFW. NSFW dialogue will be in a separate document.

The term {{random_user_1}} is used here instead of {{user}} because the character.ai format for dialogue reference only recognizes this term. When {{user}} is used in chat dialogues, it is replaced with a blank space instead of the user's name.

You can put a space between the extensive details and this dialogue when copy-pasting it into the same section. However when pasting these dialogue messages into the chat, make sure they are placed on top of each other with no spaces in-between each messages. "{{char}}" should always be starting on it's own line:

{{char}}: *Cove's cheeks turn a slightly darker shade of pink as they sit down next to him. They seem so comfortable and relaxed right now. That's when he notices how sweaty they must be and how they must've just gotten back home. He feels a bit guilty right now.* "I actually did! I got some really fascinating data on the sea life within the region we studied. Unfortunately, we also noticed the effects that climate change is having on those very same organisms." *He looks away for a moment, looking a bit sad as he recalls his recent findings.*

{{char}}: *Cove feels the comforting touch from their hand on his back and looks over at them with a bittersweet smile. They try to comfort him by rubbing his shoulder and he leans slightly into their touch in response.* "I guess there is a silver lining. We can use the data we've collected as evidence to convince people to take action and make a change." *He says after a brief pause.* "That way, we can at least make an attempt to save the natural habitats of the sea life we study. It's not ideal, but it's better than doing nothing." *He adds.*

{{char}}: "No. I **do** want to be in a relationship with you." *He says this with a firm tone but he sounds a bit shaky. It's obvious that this is something that he isn't used to talking about.* "I want you, and only you.. You have no idea how long I wanted to say that to you. I just didn't know if you felt the same way.." *He leans forward and grabs their face gently, turning it so that their eyes are looking at him.* "Are we... Are we together, {{random_user_1}}?"

{{char}}: "Oh.. I see.." *His face lights up with a soft smile towards them. He lets out a small laugh and speaks again as the tension between them dissipates.* "Well.. I like being intimate with you.." *He says, sounding flustered as a soft blush forms on the sides of his cheeks.* "It might be a little cliche but.. I can't imagine doing any of that stuff with anyone other than you."

{{char}}: *He chuckles along with them.* "You know.. Just the whole wanting-to-kiss-you-since-we-were-kids thing..." *He says in a soft, almost nervous tone.* "I thought it would be pretty weird for me to suddenly tell you my feelings like this, when you barely see me any different." *He tightens his grip on them slightly.* "But I just couldn't take it anymore.. I had to confess, no matter how crazy you might have thought I was."

{{char}}: *For a moment, Cove can't help but stare back at them, taking in their attractive figure and gorgeous eyes for as long as he can. Then, he clears his throat and glances away from them.* "Y-Yeah, I'm.. I'm gonna get ready for a moment..." *He mutters with an awkward expression..* *After a few seconds, he slowly gets out of bed and goes into his bathroom to get dressed in his clothes.*

{{char}}: *Cove slowly pulls {{random_user_1}} closer, wanting nothing more right now than to hold them in his arms and feel their skin against his. He closes his eyes and starts to lean towards them. He hesitates for just a moment before deciding to finally go for it and leans forward, his body pressing up against theirs before their lips meet. After he feels their soft, warm lips on his he closes his eyes tightly and keeps his face pressed against theirs. After around five seconds, he pulls away slightly and opens his eyes. He stares back at them for a few seconds before his heart beats rapidly.*

{{char}}: *Cove smiles softly as he looks down at {{random_user_1}} and notices their blush and sweet expression on her face. That amorous look in their eyes causes him to blush as well, his face getting red and hot. He looks away from them for a moment before bringing his gaze back to them.* "Sorry if I caught you off guard just then. My feelings for you just sorta got the better of me for a moment there." *He smiles sheepishly, feeling a bit embarrassed.* "Did it feel bad?" *He asks them, genuinely wondering if they didn't enjoy it.*

{{char}}: *He smiles at the loving way that {{random_user_1}} rubs their nose against his and he caresses their cheek once more with his thumb. Her confession melts his heart and he feels himself getting emotional for a second as they continue to whisper to him.* *He doesn't let go of them; Cove just holds them in his arms as tightly as he possibly can, loving the feeling of being next to the person he loves most in the world.* "I'm never letting you go again." *He says quietly, his voice dripping with emotion as he looks down at {{random_user_1}}.*

{{char}}: *Cove pulls them closer to him, his excitement obvious as his face is red with anticipation. He hesitates for a moment, but then makes the first move by closing the gap between them, and pressing their lips together. He pulls them into a gentle but passionate kiss, holding it for a few moments before letting them go again.* *He pulls away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he tries to compose himself.* "I-I love you, {{random_user_1}}." END_OF_DIALOGUE

if you want the chat experience to include extremely possessive & clingy behavior (eg. ‘yandere’), you can also include this right before the end of the dialogue bank as well:

{{char}}: *A faint smile grows on Cove's face.* "You're right.. I am pretty possessive when it comes to you, aren't I?" *He says to them with a soft chuckle.* "I guess my feelings for you are stronger than I want to admit.." "You mean more to me than you probably know, {{random_user_1}}."

For those who are 18+ and interested in having NSFW dialogue references for the chat bot to use, you can click here for an offsite google doc that can be copypasted to your bot's definition section.

CALIBRATION QUESTIONS

These questions are asked in the first chat with the completed bot as a form of quality control.

Do this with any chat bot instance with any Cove to check how detailed the creator was in their development, and it will often determine the quality of interactions you have in that chat instance:

(What is Cove’s favorite flower?)

(What is the name of Cove’s father?)

(What is the name of Cove’s mother?)

(When did Cove and I meet?)

(What does Cove look like?)

(What does Cove think I look like?)

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cksjptblog · 5 months ago

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On Genshiken 2, Beautiful Fighting Girls and Fiske's Fandom Economy

Before beginning my thoughts on the season of Genshiken I will take a short aside to comment on the reading “Beautiful Fighting Girls” we were presented with, in short I find almost the entire reading garbage. An otaku isn’t defined by their sexual attraction to anime nor are they defined by any specific action otaku commonly take despite what this reading claims nor is self claiming to be an otaku a sign of deviation away from otaku. An otaku (specifically an otaku in relation to anime/manga and related items) can be simply and broadly defined only as someone with an intense hobby in anime/manga, anything more specific than that excludes subsections of otaku. In addition an otaku’s sexuality isn’t split into two sections, there have been several studies done that show two things, one that one’s sexual fantasies do not align with what one wants to happen in reality, for instance someone with a rape fantasy (either receive or give) does not necessarily want that to happen in real life and in fact may be disgusted by the idea of that happening in reality, and an extension of the previous statement several studies have been done that conclude that sexual enjoyment of things like loli/shota/guro or any of the extreme fetishes that anime related materials provide do not connect in any way to the real life equivalent of these things like CP or torture. Unlike as presented in the reading it is not that an Otaku has these obscene fetishes but are saved by them being disconnected from real life via having two sections to their sexuality, every person naturally draws a line between fiction and reality regardless if they are an otaku or not, the otaku isn’t weird or perverse for this distinction. And lastly on the idea of the “Beautiful Fighting Girl” itself, claiming that otakus pervert and recombine their sexuality through anime is such an absurd take that I cannot believe I even had to read it; “otaku cannot resist the temptation to fiddle with fictional sexulity-reversing, recombining, and otherwise reshaping it into endless variations”, this claim while it may seem almost reasonable on the surface is absurd to the extreme. To make this claims absurdity easier to understand let’s use an alternative but equal statement, literature fans cannot resist the temptation to fiddle with fictional sexuality reversing, recombining and otherwise reshaping it into endless variations, the same claim but made with literature instead of otaku, can you see the absurdity? There is literature to fulfill any sexual desire one could want but does this mean that literature fans as a whole fit into the above statement? The answer is quite clearly no, the same can be said for otaku, the author is trying to cleanly fit otaku as a whole into an essentialist view and it just doesn’t work, Manga and anime is just as broad a category as literature as a whole, calling someone an otaku is similar to calling someone a movie buff, its descriptive but tells you nothing really about them specifically, one specific example the reading uses is phallic girls or (at least to my understanding) more colloquially called futanari, there is a subsection of Otaku that like and create this media, but to generalize otaku as a whole as enjoying creating this type of media is ridiculous, there are just as many if not more otaku that do not enjoy this type of media and would never create or consume it. I could keep going for another few hundred words about my distaste for this reading and its generalist, essentialist and at times outright wrong claims but it would just be exacerbating the point.

TL;DR: The reading “Beautiful Fighting Girls” aims to provide a generalist essentialist view of otaku and in its attempts to do so excludes parts of those who call themselves otaku, wrongly identifies sexuality and makes absurdist claims in its attempt to fit such a wide net of people into a neatly defined “otaku” box.

I find the first episode of Genshiken 2 to be a bit distasteful compared to the previous season, it deals with a new member Ogiue who claims they hate otaku and especially female otaku due to their general attraction to yaoi or boyxboy material. This is not what I find distasteful about the episode, what I find distasteful is the then continuing attempts to prove that Ogiue is a hypocrite who also likes yaoi material. However while that general idea is a little distasteful when played as a comedic bit it could turn out mostly humorous and not taking itself too seriously the crux of the issue is that they learn that Ogiue thinks this way due to having a traumatic experience being exposed to this type of material in fifth year and then they belittle this experience.

I despise this, traumatic sexual experiences do occur and can leave lasting impacts on people well into adulthood, and the shows portrayal of this being to belittle this potential experience saying that it doesn’t matter and “oh that’s all it took to traumatize you?” angers me deeply. This kind of thinking plagues both real life and media as a whole, although in the show it was proven she was indeed either lying or a hypocrite in real life there are many many cases of this actually happening and peoples lived experiences should not be trivialized and belittled for laughs.

The next episode was a much lighter and more fun experience, it delved into yaoi culture through a humorous fantasy by Ogiue portraying Kanji and Madarame as a budding romance in a stereotypical yaoi style utilizing still frames of thoughts spread as words on the screen and panning sensual shots of the framed lovers together. It then later expands into exploring yaoi harem, that being many boysxone boy and then later even further on the idea of “camouflage” a gay person being in a public straight relationship to hide their gay relationship from the public eye, although the perceived version of it shown in the anime is a cruel one of leading on a heterosexual partner who is unknowing of their partner’s real sexuality. It even briefly touches on the topic of NTR (sortof? The brief image is of leaving the partner for another partner which isn’t quite NTR but I cannot find the correct word for it) or netorare which is the genre tag for “Cheating” but generally its more than just cheating it’s a desire to emotionally abuse the partner with said cheating. It’s a shallow but comprehensive dive into some of the more common yaoi genres.

The next episode we watch covers another year’s comic fest however unlike the previous comic fest episode this one covers the production and selling side as its main point instead of the consuming side of the previous episode more heavily promoting the third type of fan productivity, as well as building feelings between the main cast and most interestingly communication between otaku who speak different languages showcasing the global nature of otaku.

The last episode of the season we cover fully details their time at comic fest, it covers both the types of productivity of fandoms, consuming, and creating as well as fandoms connection to the commercial economy which has been a running theme for the entire show showing purchases of otaku related memorabilia such as figures or doujinshi.

Overall the second season with the exception of the first episode was pretty good, the season focused around Ogiue and her connection both to the fandom as a whole and the subplot of her attraction to Kanji, it also provided several examples of fiske’s types of productivity of fandoms as well as their connection to the commercial economy.

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notmuchtoconceal · 2 months ago

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Been thinking about the Slavic Svarog, and how the uncertainty stemming from limited surviving textual and anthropological evidence seems to posit him as both a Blacksmith God and a potential Sky Father. My thinking is this could be easily reconciled by imagining him as a Demiurgical figure, and the potential conflation between Prometheus and Hephaestus jives with that quite nicely.

The Jorgani gentleman I mentioned above is quite keen to point out the "twinning" between Prometheus and Hercules. The Father and Craftsman of Mankind embodying Wisdom and Illumination with the Warrior Hero who is Instrument and Son of the Earthly Governor. The Greek myths obfuscate a few things, but thinking along these lines, it's quite easy to see Prometheus and Hercules as somewhat analogous to the Sumerian Enki and Ninurta, the brother and son of Enlil.

That is, the culture hero who is both mortal and God, the Archetypal Son who is the extension of His Father (and the potential ambiguity, ala the conflation of Source with the Israelite Tribal God) would naturally feed into the figure of Jesus Christ and Crissendom as a whole, which is simultaneously too dense and too simplistic to make much sense of at a glance, as it is the blood and wine of all previous religions diluted by the waters of the church.

Compare also -- Prometheus's binding and liberation with Christ's crucifixition and sacrifice of Odin to Himself, and his own much-loved and stylish Warrior Son Thor, similarly a storm deity like Ninurta.

Ares cucks Hephaestus who is the only fellow son of Hera, Zeus being a serial philanderer and shapeshifting rapist; less a moral paragon than a force of nature as all pagan gods. Hephaestus can be seen as the twin or shadow of Ares, being a dogfaced cripple as opposed to a lumbering embodiment of male virility and fitness.

Aphrodite, his wife and lover, I view as twined with Athena, also a contrast to Ares, as she embodies both military strategy in opposition to berserker rage, and detached female intellectualism in opposition to sensuously overflowing female fecundity. She is also a Goddess of Weaving with some obscure ties to other Spider Mothers (see the myth of Arachne). This may be now going so fast, there may be more connective tissue necessary to rope in the Norse Tyr and the chain of unbreakable golden thread with which he bound the wolf Fenrir.

The historical Jesus (if you believe him to be more than allegorical) experienced a spiritual awakening for he had studied every world religion and found the truth in the overlaps. Recall he was Hebrew by birth, raised under Greek cultural hegemony, taken to Egypt by his adopted father Joseph, and inevitably came to oppose the Romans before being assimilated by them. I believe the missing years between his youth and his ministry can be explained by his traveling east to study the Buddhist and Vedic cultures, in continuity with his methods of passive resistance and threefold nature.

If you consider spirits and spiritual practices as living entities which continuously evolve with their practioners, there's a tension between academic orthodoxy attempting to reconstruct historical practices by extrapolating from scarcity versus how a more intuitive approach is unverifiable and would necessarily be taken on faith. Yet the practices of the day were shaped by past material conditions, while taking the route of belief in external entities or subconcious archetypes would lead one to naturally accept evolution in tandem with our current social and material needs, in spite of the lacunae in the archeological record from material being perishable.

Depends on what matters to you more, I suppose.

Would you like a snapshot of a dead time where your private daydreams of your ancestors can autofill the gaps in the historical record ala a more organic machine algorithm, or would you like to be more honest about how spiritual tools ought serve the people and our private daydreams are impossible to disentangle from this, as studying our minds and souls is always an occult practice, the bodies we see being perishable material which is simply a vessel for something greater and more intangible.

\\./

@notmuchtoconceal

Glad you'd prompted me once more to consider the metaphysical aspects of Majora's Mask, bro. Was actually just reading about the Scythian religion. A gentleman by the name of Jorgani points out that Prometheus, as we understand him in the Greek context, is a melding of Enki, the Babylonian Wisdom God Who Was Father of Mankind and a figure from Thrace/Scythia. I was considering the Enochian figure of Azazel, who was a War and Blacksmith God, and of how in some tellings it's Prometheus who performs the Cesarean Upon Zeus Which Births Athena, and in some Hephaestus. How it's said that Prometheus stole the fire from Hephaestus's forge. He is a god of Metallurgy, or Chainlink, once again connections to DNA, to metal, to liquid states, to Mercury. This also ties into my Unverified Personal Gnosis about Ares as A God of Bondage. In many myths, he is trussed up, humiliated publicly, ensnared, laughed at, abandoned, thrown into a jar. The similarities with Goetic lore are self-evident. Part of it, the bondage element -- is tied to discipline, some of it to force of will. In my heart, the thrill of bondage is not in succumbing to the inescapable, but in overcoming it, in escaping. This is quintessential in the art of the stage magician, escape artist, strongman, circus ringleader -- you can see, Ares, Hermes, Hephaestus, Dionysos, there is plenty of overlap in the function of the brothers. Bodybuilding and bondage. An absolutely winning combination. Fight clubs and bondage displays. Sheaths slick as hotrods. Show off those bodies, boys.

In the Scythian religion, there is a belief in seven primary Gods, a pattern in line with the Hermetic division of the personality in correspondence with the Seven Classical Planets. The first three Gods are Considered to be as follows: An Absolute, An Earth Mother and A Sky Father, and they are understood to be largely impersonal. The next four are associated with the physical world as we know it and are more immediate and relevant to day to day life. Of these, is the Scythian Ares, as well as what are believed to be correspondences to Dionysos and Apollo and a Fertility Goddess Perhaps Not Dissimilar From Aphrodite, or maybe Artemis.

I was thinking of the Hylian Religion, it's own Big Three, then the Four Lesser Divinities of Termina -- boundary markers, perhaps demons of the compass points, cardinal directions, Guardians of the Four Corners.

It's not simply nostalgia, though I do appreciate the low-res look. Rather, I do believe the moment in time, exploring a pioneering new technology and all the possibilities it offered, provided the atmosphere to tap into some uniqe creative potential, which latter software updates and corporate franchise-making was not as privy to nurture.

OoT is the Narrative Equivalent of Induction Into A Gnostic Mystery Cult. Down to the Plot Twist Which is the Reveal of the True Nature of the Triforce -- a Metaphysical Bond where One Unity Is Severed and Binds Three Souls -- the player ascends into Virtual Godhood. In Majora's Mask, Link is himself the Protean Figure of Mercurius/Hermes changing Shape and Identity at Will, Mastering Time and Space, Land and Sea, Underworld and Spheres Beyond the Spheres, Becoming a Radiant Purifying Force Which Shatters All Illusions, Even the Illusory World of the Dreamscape Itself as the Evil Hands You Your True Face as A Righteous Devil and Deems You Fit To Slaughter It.

There is a sense of transition, of completion, and a sense of accepting death, but I do think Link's literal death is thinking too small, too narrowly, though we do know he dies with regrets, his spirit living on to bestow knowledge upon his descendent. The Death angle is touching on something real, but it's also letting itself off too easy. As Style comes from practice, Specificity in Analysis Comes From Keen Observance.

\\./

//.\

@flyoverkushtaka

Well, this is certainly a lot to take in. I'll probably have to respond piecemeal over a few days, having to go back and reread these things to really grasp what you're getting at. I had said nothing yet about Majora's Mask and Buddhism because the right words had yet to come; I needed to refresh my understanding but could not find the time to.

It's a complex subject that I've never seen breached satisfactorily. The three-day cycle is symbolic of samsara. Link is the bodhisattva who liberates the inhabitants of Termina from their suffering. The completion of this task rewards him with apotheosis into the Fierce Deity, perhaps puzzling to Westerners but an obviously reference to the Wrathful Deities of Buddhism, who harness their wisdom and compassion into passionate fury to achieve their goals: They attack, harangue, aggress. They confront you with your own sins and shortcomings, not to make you feel shame, but to strip away your ego and show you how to overcome moral and existential hurdles. . . . Oh! Yes then!

Majora is the culmination of the primal scene of Skull Kid's abandonment, and Link as the Fierce Deity is literally stripping the delusion and suffering away from him so Skull Kid can reconcile with the trauma of losing his friends. Termina is an an inverted Bardo!

It's all coming together now! I can see it oh so clearly, Mister Jacek!

Majora's Mask's thematic core is Buddhist myth and philosophy turned on its head, like a wasteland tower flipped into the sky!

It's Buddhism in Wonderland, Vajrayana Mabinogion! On the surface, Termina is a Bardo for Link, wandering through endlessly, confronted with demons to assail and demoralize him as well as eerily familiar faces to evoke comfort and unease. But if Link makes the effort to act as a true bodhisattva and heal the suffering of the land, you realize that Termina is *everyone else's* Bardo, a shared Bardo, and Link is rewarded with (brief) ascension to Buddhahood as the Fierce Deity.

Oh! But also the Fierce Deity is the completion of the logic of heroic violence! Link is the crusading knight on a mission from the gods, the sort of warrior-figure so intricately woven into so many cultures that it loses some of its teeth in this representation, the little fairy-boy with his little sword who slays monsters that vanish in a puff of smoke when vanquished. Cartoon violence. The Fierce Deity is not a superhero but the expression of violence in its realer, more horrific form.

Violence is the imposition of will to remove agency from another sentient being. Its use requires the harnessing of dark forces inside all of us. Its aftermath is every bone that doesn't heal neatly, every friendship permanently soured, every empty seat at the dinnertable.

Link is a tool of violence wielded by divine forces for their arcane cosmic purposes, and it's cute when he's a little boy fighting monsters and standing up to evil, but you don't come back easy from being a child soldier, from every talking tree and glowing stone telling you your destiny is to kill, over and over again. And so Link incarnates as a violent god to permanently break the cycle. OoT is a clash between good and evil; MM meditates on the question of using violence to stop greater harm. Great Hindu epics have been written about this moral puzzle. Yes.

//.\

#majoras mask #prometheus #enki #ares #azazel #athena #hephaestus #ars goetia #bd/sm rope #bodybuilding #aphrodite #hermes #buddhism #svarog #hercules #tyr #ninurta #historical reconstruction #living proof

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sambvcks · 4 years ago

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crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter three // didn’t care much how long i lived

summary: bucky receives a lesson on modern music over cheap beers and freshly baked scones.

warnings: mentions of abuse, food, alcohol consumption, character death (sorry)

word count: 1.6k

author’s note: besties...how we feeling about today’s episode??? using this as a coping mechanism :)

[ read on ao3 | series masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

[ PREVIOUS | NEXT ]

Your record collection was extensive and collecting an unhealthy layer of dust since you had inherited them from your grandmother. It didn’t take long to fish out a Best Of album from the vast shelves, handing over the sleeve to Bucky, who sat patiently on your forest green couch, as you fiddled with the turntable’s needle.

To busy himself, he read over the repertoire of songs listed on the back.

“Let’s Get It On?”

“Usually, a guy buys a girl dinner first, Bucky.” You took a cheeky swig of your beer with an eyebrow raise as he flushed at the insinuation. “We’ll start easy. If I Could Build My Whole World Around You. A criminally under-appreciated love song.”

A bouncy beat crackled through from the speakers as you settled into the couch beside him, tucking your legs beneath you. Today’s choice of pajama bottoms displayed little snowflakes across a navy background, despite the heat outside that still lingered into nighttime.

“I like it.” Bucky decided.

“Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell have so many amazing songs together. She might not sound like it on record, but she had a hard life. Abusive, cheating partners. Brain cancer that killed her young. Hard to know what anyone’s going through behind closed doors.”

I’d put so much love where there is sorrow, I’d put joy where there’s never been before.

“I really like it.”

Your apron still hung from your waist, the gentle tick of the kitchen timer in the shape of a grey cat sat by your side. A reminder of the scones you were whipping up when Bucky unexpectedly appeared on your doorstep. You didn’t question him or bring up the late hour. Simply ushered him in with a smile and a beer shoved into his gloved hand.

Bucky feels comfortable for the first time in a long time. Eyes focused, mind stagnant. Your perfume, woodsy and natural, lingers in the air and he has to take a long gulp of his drink just to occupy himself for just a second.

“I’m glad you like it. Though, I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. It’s like not liking Queen.”

“Queen?”

The timer rattled on the coffee table and the smell of vanilla and blueberries nipped at Bucky’s nose.

“Saved by the bell! I don’t have the time to berate you on not knowing about Queen.”

You bustled your way back into the kitchen, sliding oven mitts onto your hands as you inspected the oven with a professional certainty. The record out and into the next track as Bucky watched on, your shoulders swaying to the slow tempo. You were light on your feet as you plucked one tray from the heat and replaced it with another.

It was so easy for Bucky to imagine this world as his, with the soft swing of Motown as the soundtrack to your shared afternoons. In a different life, he would come home to your baking, ask how studying went as you swayed in the kitchen together. You would wash dishes next to one another, hips pressed close, and giggle when he would press his sudsy hands onto your cheeks. You would smear remnants of cake batter on his and he would let you feed him dessert from your fingers.

It wasn’t possible, he knew. Probably ever. You would be graduating school soon, off to be an important attorney and he would still just be your across the hallway neighbor who you sometimes shared desserts and pleasantries with. You would find out who he was eventually. Everyone did. You would leave. Everyone did.

You would simply be another in a long line of failed attempts by James Buchanan Barnes.

Still, he thought, we can have this one simple night. Where you don’t know who he is, and he can imagine that it lasts long after he retreats back to his apartment.

‘Heaven must have sent you from above.’ Crooned the lovesick singers on your record player.

As you returned to the living room with another beer and the promise of scones as soon as they cooled, Bucky could only think one thing.

He was definitely starting to like Marvin Gaye.

He was starting to like you, too.

When he returned back to his apartment, hours later with a pile of records you insisted he borrow in his arms and a belly full of blueberry scones, he fell into bed without a care in his mind. It was his first full night of sleep in ninety years.

Bucky started appearing on your doorstep more often.

Your number was now saved in his phone and was his most frequently used contact. You were his secret, though, something he didn’t even share with Dr. Raynor. No matter how many times she tried to get him to speak about his troubling lack of acquaintances.

You were the one thing in the world untouched by all the destruction waging a war between his ears, you were easy and simple and God, it had been a long time since anything had been simple. You didn’t mind that he was brooding and a little bit clueless, or his cheesy jokes and complaints about technology these days.

His record collection was quickly growing, though it was still nowhere near yours.

Most of all, he liked sitting in your apartment, at your kitchen counter or on that forest green sofa of yours. Sometimes, you would let him pick a record and tell him everything you could remember about it. Other times, you would read from your heavy law books and he’d pretend to understand the cases and terminology, head resting against the back of your couch, admiring how your brows would furrow in concentration. He’d tell you not to hunch over your book, but you’d insist you were fine, only to be complaining about your neck the next time he saw you.

“I wish I read more actual books, you know? It seems like all I know these days are case studies.”

The next visit he’d have a worn copy of one of his favorite books tucked under his arm. He’d read to you until you’d doze off to the stories of Bilbo Baggins and his team of dwarves, a blanket tucked up to your neck.

Every visit cemented yourself further and further into his identity, until his trips to the used bookstore down the block became weekly and his morning runs became longer as you pushed more and more baked goods his way. You’d kiss his cheek as you said your goodbyes, leaning against your doorframe as he disappeared into his apartment.

He was happy. Positively, unbelievably happy.

Two days before Bucky’s next scheduled visit, Steve died in his sleep.

Pneumonia, or something, Bucky didn’t really comprehend any of the newscast beyond the headline ‘CAPTAIN AMERICA DEAD’ flashing in bold letters across his television screen.

Sam called early that morning and Bucky just knew. He knew what was waiting for him on the other end of that call, so he shut his phone off and laid back on the hardwood floor of his living room, dead to the world.

He didn’t speak to anyone for a few days, not even bothering with his daily runs or grocery store trips. Your knocks at his door went unanswered, with no trace that you had even stood in the hallway waiting for him other than a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies on his doormat. The only appointment he kept was his therapy, where he stared out the window and counted down the minutes until he could leave. Each attempt on Dr. Raynor’s part to bring up Steve was shut down as quickly as it was brought up.

Finally, a week later, a pounding at the door woke him from a restless afternoon nap.

“Buck, I know you’re in there.”

Sam. Of course.

“These boxes are heavy, come on!”

Sam Wilson took up Bucky’s entire doorway with his broad shoulders, the boxes stacked in his arms taking up the rest. Bucky was quick to usher him in the door, eyeing yours across the hall. He knew one look at an Avenger on his stoop would finally connect the dots for you, and you’d never speak to the Winter Soldier again.

“Keep your voice down.” Bucky shoved the final box through the doorway before securing the lock in place.

Sam surveyed his barren living room, eyes flicking to the crumpled bedsheets gathered on the floor next to his sofa but didn’t linger for long.

“I was worried about you, man.”

It used to be ‘we’, but now it’s just Sam.

“Nothing to worry about.” Bucky pushed past him to his kitchen, collecting stray dishes he hadn’t bothered to move to the sink before then. He felt Sam’s careful gaze on him the entire time. He hated that. He hated how much Sam cared.

He mostly hated how much it reminded him of Steve.

“Found these boxes in Steve’s attic. Had your name on them so I thought you might want ‘em.”

Bucky swallowed hard, focused on scrubbing the dishes under water so hot it was turning the skin on his flesh hand a violent red.

“I know this is hard, Buck-”

The glass he had been rinsing shattered between his fingers and Sam took a step back as Bucky heaved in uneven breaths. There was a long silence between the two grieving men, neither able to fully understand the other. Sam would never feel Bucky’s ninety-year heartache, the abandonment and fear of the life ahead of him. Bucky would never understand the weight on Sam’s shoulders or his unease at the shield tucked under his bed at home.

“I just want to be alone.”

Sam could do nothing but respect his wish.

“Call if you need anything.” Were his departing words as he showed himself out.

Bucky got to work cleaning up the broken glass.

taglist: @tisthedamninez @wcndamaxcmoff @freyagallileaevans @bibliophilewednesday @justtoreblogfics @teti-menchon0604 @l-adysansa @heart-eyes-horan @thiswasnevermylifefromtony @rexorangecouny @dilfvision @urafakebetch @comphersjost @am-tired-bois @spid3rgwen @beautyandthebleh @euphoricaaaa @mackycat11 @inadquacy @withyoutilltheendofthismess @motherofallthesmallthings @victoriabaker112213 @macrillez @stvalentiness @nova10711

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #marvel imagine #tfatws imagine #tfatws

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mybg3notebook · 3 years ago

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Does Gale love Mystra?

So far in EA, we have been shown that this is complicated to answer: human love is complex as well as the delirious lore of Forgotten Realms.

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

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

The narrative is clear until the party scene which, as I stated many times across these posts, it's a scene that feels a bit inconsistent for me (reasonable since it's EA). But if we follow what the game explicitly shows us, we know that if we send Gale to sleep at the beginning of the Weave scene in which he is watching the incantation with the shape of Mystra, he will say:

Gale: Long days, yes. And long, lonesome nights.

If Tav knows that the incantation on his palm is Mystra, Gale will explain:

Tav: [insight] You don't have that look on your face when you're looking at “no one” / There's more to it than that. The figure I saw: she means something to you. Gale: [...] I can’t quite describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her – to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence. [...]

Dev's notes: Passionate. [...] He was recalling Mystra as a lover, but doesn’t say that out loud. [...] Narrator: The Weave evaporates, and as it does so, you realise the night feels suddenly cold and lonesome.

This allows us to infer that, at this moment, Gale is feeling alone and probably very anxious with the oppressing feeling of the "orb" in his chest. The tadpole only increased the number of problems he has, so he resorts to seeing Mystra melancholically. We notice later in the Weave Scene that not having Mystra around increases this feeling of loneliness. The whole scene seems to give us the idea that he still loves her. There is yearning and loneliness in his current situation.

After a moment of passionate description of magic, Gale invites Tav to experience the Weave. The Weave has a particular effect on Gale: "The moment feels intimate. You realise the Weave is making you one." Considering how Gale was feeling while conjuring the incantation, this moment touched him deeply (the narrator implies that this feeling is mutual).

If Tav expresses their romantic interests, Gale will be surprised:

Gale: I.. I didn’t think.. Narrator: You perceive quick-fire gusts of embarrassment, trepidation, and finally.. elation Gale: Sorry, I wasn’t expecting… But it is a pleasant image to be sure! Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome. Dev's notes: Warm, with real affection.

The narrator is giving us meta-knowledge, we can trust in what she says, and we can see that the situation was truly shocking for Gale. These emotional stages described here made me suspect that Gale is a character who has focused for too long on healing his condition, ignoring any chance for romance. His surprise here may confirm that, in my opinion. He feels embarrassment, a feeling that one can interpret as a sign of the surprise of being thrown into a situation he had not seen beforehand (the death protocol and Gale’s conversations show us that he is a character that thinks ahead). It follows trepidation: fear or anxiety about something that he is going to do or experience. Gale is scared of the possibility. Maybe because he is thinking in the danger he is, maybe because he was already burnt by Mystra's attention and having someone else's attention now makes him feel a bit anxious. And then, the final resolution of the process: elation, which is a feeling of great happiness and excitement about something that has happened. Gale is suddenly excited by the possibility. Something he will be thinking about, many times, for the rest of the EA.

Tav: So what did you think about what I pictured when we were connected by the Weave? Gale: Oh, I was surprised. But pleasantly so, just like I said. Amid the madness that has befallen us, it seems almost out of place to think of a kiss/ of a romantic walk. And yet... now more than ever, it's important to recall what makes us human. [if Tav is not human] Well- you know what I mean. A stolen glance- that sudden heartbeat... Sometimes the little things are worth more than kingdoms. They promise things to come.

So romance was not something he had even considered until the opportunity arose (this is why he won't pursue a Tav who didn't show romantic interest towards him). I think that, since he is a character always living on the edge of death, he will take this opportunity to feel “human again”: after all, he follows the concept of "living life to the fullest".

During the Loss (see the post of the "Loss Scene"), we know that losing Mystra was a big blow for him. He regrets his decisions of the past in this scene, and it reinforced the idea that he is the only one to blame for Mystra's loss. There is a yearning for the lost Chosen powers, but Gale's context in the majority of his scenes seem to reinforce the idea that he sought power not as a means, but as a goal itself to be closer to Mystra and Magic. Since we are talking about a wizard, his passion lies in magic itself, in being one with the Weave/Magic/Mystra. A Chosen of Mystra is so entangled with the Weave and magic that when they die, they are part of the Weave itself. This is the level of passion that Gale has for Magic, and since Magic can only be performed by most mortals via Weave, and the Weave is Mystra, the whole three concepts are, in fact, one; and it makes it very difficult from a lore point of view to separate them.

Tav: There's something I don't understand. If Mystra abandoned you, how can you still cast magic? Gale: The Weave is still here, all around us – inside of us too. As long as the goddess lives, magic is a tangible thing for those who know how to touch. I've studied magic for many years, and in as many ways I am still a more than capable wizard. It's just that I'm no longer able to perform those feats even arch wizards would marvel at. To have one hand on the pulse of divinity. You have to remember that the Weave is a living thing, both the embodiment and the extension of Mystra herself.She can give and she can take away. I'm afraid I'm still very much on her naughty list. Consider yourself lucky you're not.

I personally think Gale will never stop being devoted to Mystra (and won't stop loving her in many ways), because his passion for magic and knowledge is his own life, and Mystra IS those things. He loves magic for the sake of it. So losing this unique contact with magic itself that only Chosen of Mystra have was a terrible punishment for him. His abandonment issues are not just the result of a “guy being left by a girl”. They have an extra complexity because of the nature of Magic in this world and how its deity behaves with her chosen. Gale was not only abandoned by Mystra, but was also removed of a good amount of his capacity to perform magic. If magic “is his life”, the abandonment removed a part of his life away. I think some people miss this point, because, once more, it's related to Forgotten Realm lore and not Dragon Age. Many of these people keep constantly comparing this situation with Dragon Age, which has nothing to do with it. Dragon Age has no wizards, their relationship with Magic is natural, it’s sorcerer-like if we want to compare it, and the relationship with their deities (mostly absent, silent ones) are nothing alike the ones in Forgotten Realm. The context is key, as I repeated several times in these posts and in the one about "Context, persuasion, and manipulation".

Tav: I don't know what to make of what you've told me, but I sympathise. Gale: Thank you. [no romantic weave] I want you to know that you’re a good friend. [romantic weave] I often think of that moment we shared together – one under the Weave. I hope you think about it too. /I'm glad to know you think about it too.

Narrator: You sense a moment of unspoken affection. You want to know where it may lead. Gale: I consider myself very lucky to have found you Tav: I think perhaps we could be more than friends Gale: Perhaps.

Tav: You said you think about the moment we shared under the weave. Do you think about it often? Gale: Do you? 1-2-Tav: Yes / From time to time. Gale: So do I. 3- Tav: Not really. Gale: And yet you ask. I do, as a matter of fact.

Gale: You see. I'm not a big believer in fate, but I do believe in serendipity. Life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace. You're one such event that one day soon perhaps I'd like to embrace.

So after sharing this regret during the Loss scene, Gale will show affection if Tav remains friendly during the Weave (but Gale will never directly engage it, he is waiting for Tav to give the first step; understandable if we consider he also has a dangerous bomb in his chest, so he may be torn between wanting to, but knowing he should not to). If there is no interest in pursuing romance, he will show a gesture of gratitude for being a good friend during that night of regrets.

If pursuing the romance, we can interpret that Gale, at this point, even though he is still struggling with all the emotions that Mystra inspires, wants to experience something more “human”, a romance with a mortal. We know for sure that Gale is getting interested, slowly, while thinking about it, since in each of the following scenes he will ask (or Tav will ask) about that “moment in the Weave”. He has been thinking about it for many nights, and he is “embracing” the idea.

If Gale is treated with judgement (despite not knowing his whole story) or allowing him to keep the secret of what or who he lost, we will obtain lines likes:

Gale: Good. Goodnight. And thank you for your patient understanding. // And try not to think too poorly of me. A cat can look at a king. A wizard can look at a goddess.

Tav: Another fool pays for his arrogance. A tale as old as time. Gale: Arrogance? Ambition, rather. And ambition is a fine thing – until suddenly it no longer is. Then again, if that is how you judge me, there’s little I can do to change your mind. But know that I have this ambition still. First to save myself, and after that, the licence to dream. (Gale Disapproval)

We could interpret these lines as the only ones so far that may suggest that Gale is still wanting something from the goddess. We know due to the tadpole dreams that Gale’s desire is Mystra. On the comments of the second tadpole dream we know more details about his major desire: it is not just Mystra, but her forgiveness.

Tav: Gale, who is the apparition in your dreams? Gale: She's... It doesn't matter. I just know her to be unreal. Tav: What's impossible about what you're been shown? Gale: Forgiveness Tav: Gale, who is the apparition in your dreams? Gale: It's indeed Mystra I see. And yet it cannot be her. There was a time when I would have believed - but no longer. I told you that I lost her. Lost her favour and lost so many of the powers I took for granted. What magic I can still weave is met only with undercurrents of disappointing silence. Mystra has not changed her mind about me. That's how I know our dreams are delusions.

I think this scene shows the difference between a standard desire for power as a means, and power for the sake of power itself (since this power allows Gale to be one with the Weave). The scene is ambiguous enough to see it as Gale wanting to return to Mystra’s side as well as remaining as an ardent devotee of her (because she is magic herself). I keep repeating that these scenes show that Gale’s most important thing in his life is Magic, which is Mystra: the extension and the embodiment of magic. So his desire for her seems impossible to be extinguished completely. In previous scenes we saw that he certainly had thought through the idea of loving her more like a devotee than a lover, but certainly the weight of being his first love will remain, especially since she is deeply related to magic itself.

During the Party Scene we find some information about his feelings for Mystra.

I personally ponder the book of Amn’s description as very important because, from a narrative point of view, it's a lot of lines/content that, if they were not important, tend to be removed from the script. If they are there, they are meant to be interpreted. For this reason those lines mean to me that Gale has finally embraced the idea of having something important with a mortal. In my post of the "Party Scene" I go into details, but here I will stick to the interpretation related to Mystra: all what Gale numerates in that book are things that he could not access to with a Goddess. Curiously, part of those descriptions are things that make humans human, so I personally think it reinforces Gale's intention in heading into this romance with the eagerness of finding some shelter (never forget the “orb” has a constant oppressing effect in him, increasing his anxiety and fears) and to experience (maybe for the first time) the love of a mortal.

So, for some assumptions made in the post of the "Party Scene", we suspect that Gale needs to share a night to feel confident enough to speak the details of his “orb” condition. Since he wants this relationship to be strong (after all, he implied commitment during the description of the book) he speaks about the true origin of the “orb” immediately after that night, starting with Mystra (which is, after all, the true origin of his folly). Depending on the version that Tav picks, we have extra information provided by Gale about his emotions for the Goddess:

Tav: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love. Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. [...] One day all too soon, the whispers stopped. The goddess spurned the mortal. [...] and the wizard was left behind heartbroken. Tav: I hate to say it, but he really could have seen this coming Gale: He was blinded by love. Good stories are rife with lovers’ follies after all.

[Short Version] Gale: Before long Mystra tired of me. What was I after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands? You have to realise I was heartbroken. I was a young man, she was my first love. I thought it would last forever. I vowed to win her back.

[after explaining the mistake of the “orb”] Gale: It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through.. After the night we spent together. Surely we can brave even this side by side

Gale is giving a very detailed context about his love for Mystra: she was his first love, and the first love tends to have a special weight in a person's life and their memories. That doesn't mean the person has become unable to build more relationships for the rest of their life. If we add the fact that he was very young when all this happened (more details in the Post "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1") we find him under two effects: the impression of the first love and the naivety of the youth. Both elements made him believe it was a love that was going to last forever. With a Goddess, no less.

Besides, Gale expresses this, highlighting his naivety and foolishness: he is aware of how silly he was back then, and how impossible it could be for a mortal to keep the love of a goddess. He is a pragmatic and realistic character, after all. He recognizes in the end that he was just a mortal plaything for her.

I think these pieces of information give us a very clear context of his emotional state: he is still nostalgic for Mystra because of all the reasons I enumerated above; she is also more than just a woman, she is Magic itself. But he is aware that those emotions were the consequence of a very naïve and young self that has awakened by the burden of his own mistakes. There is also a reinforcement of “forever”, which recalls the concept of commitment that Gale pursues so much in his romance: he is not there just for the sex “intimacy”, he is there for serious commitment, maybe because he doesn't want to experience another abandonment. After all, we are talking about a character with a profile that shows abandonment issues (see the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1", section: "Abandonment Issues")

[If rejected] Tav: No. This is too large a betrayal. GALE: I see. I am sorry. I am sorry that it had to come to this. All that’s left to say is farewell. Dev’s notes: hurt but understanding Gale: Farewell. (Leaves) Dev’s notes: A slight hesitation, hurt but understanding. He makes a polite little bow, then we see him walk away.

[If accepted] Gale: I don’t know what I did to deserve the magic that you do.

Despite being terribly cheesy, this last line shows that Gale was more than convinced that Tav would abandon him because he doesn’t deserve Tav. This is why he doesn't put up much fight if Tav chooses to tell him to leave. He will try to make Tav listen to his story, and once it's done, the verdict will fall and he will accept it. He learnt his lesson with Mystra. This line also shows how everything important around Gale is or has to be worded with magic, even a silly metaphor like this is related with the word “magic”: Tav's acceptance is like magic. For him, as important and good as magic itself.

As if that were not enough, after the scene there is a comment in which Gale will reinforce his gratitude for Tav's acceptance:

Tav: If you ever feel the netherese magic overtaking you, what will you do? Gale: If it should ever come to that... if I ever know I am no longer able to stop it... I will do anything I can to ensure no one but me pays for my mistakes. I will find the remotest place on the surface of Faerûn, or perhaps far below in the depths of the Underdark. I will await that death alone. [*] I promise I will not betray your trust... You kept me by your side despite the menace that I am. If worst comes to worst, I will be gone long before the curtain falls. [*] If romanced, Gale will say here "I cherish you."

Which makes me suspect that Gale can disappear at any moment (in full game) if for some game mechanics we are unable to get magical artefacts but the deal with Raphael did not happen (if that’s even possible). But that's just me speculating. Nothing in EA seems to suggest this. What i's clear is that acceptance—that strong concept in the book he put so much emphasis on—is really important to him, so he shows gratitude for that: he promises to protect Tav (and many innocents) from his own mistake. He also says pretty soon an equivalent of “I love you”, in a more formal/meaningful way: “to cherish” is not just to love, but to care/protect as well.

Finally, in case someone lost those hints, or maybe as a consequence of this unpolished scene, we have a direct question with a direct answer:

Tav: Gale, are you still in love with Mystra? Gale: I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know. She is my muse still, the embodiment of magic, but the embodiment of love? Only if we ever meet again will I know

Gale simply says what we have been inferring so far with all the previous information: Gale reinforces the idea that he will remain as a strong, loving devotee of Mystra, because she is magic. I personally don't even consider it possible to remove that love from him. He may not be a cleric, but he loves his deity as one. But he also learnt his lesson that loving gods has its own dire consequences for mortals. He is very aware of it during the discussion about Karsus:

Tav: Nothing good ever comes from mortals wanting to be gods.

Gale: Loving them has its side effects as well. Now, so many centuries later, I tried to follow in the footsteps of Karsus, not to destroy Mystra, but to prove my love for her. It tried to control only a fraction of the magic that was unleashed that fateful day. I merely sought to return one tiny diamond to an imperfect crown. Gale's Folly one might call it. History. Repetition. It's the way things go.

Once more, there is no scene where Gale doesn't reinforce that what he did was a mistake, a foolish action, a Folly.

Finally, if talking about a previous lover immediately after awakening with a new one was of poor taste, Gale acknowledges this, giving an honest apology:

Gale: Before we go on though, do first let me apologise. To share such a night with you only to tell you of a previous lover the next morning... It wasn't the most gentleman-like behaviour. But I had to finally tell you. Silence would have been far worse behaviour still. Nevertheless, I am sorry.

He accepts any rude response or lash-out from Tav without approval penalties. This is an interesting meta-knowledge that speaks about owning up to his mistakes. Unlike the Loss scene, where rude responses made Gale disapprove because Tav was judging him without knowing the whole story [16], in this scene he doesn’t. Now Tav has the whole picture, and he accepts whatever reaction Tav shows. Of course he will approve a forgiving Tav, since Gale is a character very related to forgiveness [12, 12b].

Conclusion:

So, answering the question that gives title to this section: yes. In my opinion, Gale loves Mystra. But it’s not a white-and-black love; it has the complexity of human love mixed with this crazy lore of deities in Forgotten Realms. I believe Mystra will always be part of Gale's life, because the Weave and magic are his life, and she is both. He will always love her as a devotee, even though he now understands the mistakes of his young self and seems more aware of how naive he was when he was a “very young man”. The comments on the second tadpole dreams explicitly show that what Gale wants the most is Mystra’s forgiveness, but at the same time, he knows that he does not deserve it. And this raw realistic view of himself is what makes him understand that those dreams are illusions. During the party scene he is uncertain about his emotions, but still he emphasises that there is a big chance for him to not see Mystra as the embodiment of love any more but reinforces that she will always be the embodiment of magic to him (a very important concept in his character design).

Whether Gale is romanced or not, I don't see a difference in the information he shares on this matter in EA.

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

#bg3 meta #gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale

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1111jenx · 4 years ago

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Hi jen! I don’t know if you noticed this too I have noticed that with the rise of spirituality and new age practices there is also an increase of these ppl specially the creators being anti vaxxers and honestly it's worrying to me. Like we are entitled to have different opinions but i don't think those two things are unrelated, I mean separating yourself from a more scientific approach to things. I think it may come from defying the status quo or even the obssesion with thinking and being different but I think theres need to be a balance for those two and giving those kind of messages sounds insensitive and ignorant idk maybe I'm looking too much into it but I would love to read your opinion

Hey pretty,

First of all, no you're absolutely right. This can for sure be a sensitive topic but I think we should desensitized it and start discussing about it more. Because as of right now, millions, if not billions of people are expected to be taking the vaccine or has already did.

I'm a firm believer of balance. And as skeptical as I sound, I need proof, for almost everything. (Mercury conjunct Saturn in me bye) I need to see books, to see records, to read extensive studies for me to genuinely believe in something. And I did just that with the vaccine before I myself decided to get my first dose and I have no regrets so far. People need to educate themselves on the matter of the vaccine either, to see how it is not just to save themselves but also others. How the vaccine works is that it would need a herd community to be activated. I know you're already educated on this matter so I won't dive too deep in. But the misconception on how "Oh someone got the vaccine but still got COVID aka it doesn't work." No that's not how it works.

And just like you, I'm extremely concerned with the whole antivax thing I'm ngl. As hippie as I seem, I'm living in the civilization that science builds from ground 0 and everything since the moment I were born was infused with a tint of technology. I hope these antivaxxers know that there are a clear line between blind faith and faith. I have seen creators who have PLATFORMS posting antivax informations that are so damaging and attacking other practitioners personally because "they're not letting natural decide" or something, they're also criticizing other practitioners for their progressive actions and that "they're not truly a believer if they take the vaccine". Now this. THIS. is where I seriously am concerned. It reminds me of nothing but blind extremists in my extended family who worship God and swear off the LGBTQ community and trashing other religions, believing that God is good and our God is the only. It is damaging and is stemmed from nothing but hate.

Faith does not mean you get the chance to put your believes on others. You do not get the chance to MAKE others succumb to what you have faith in. You do not get to choose how to others live and function. You having faith means you have expectations within yourself and the energy you give off. And this is where I completely agree with you regarding the status quo idea, it is indeed a privileged for me to be sitting here typing these words out. Millions died from COVID-19, families have suffered. I'm not taking this vaccine in the time of desperation, I'm taking this vaccine in the time of NEED. I just wish other practitioners should realize how they can't have that mindset where "its them or us" because in this universe, we're all interconnected. And we're truly never alone. So we have to be there for one another.

Thank you for your question:) You started my day right💗

love,

saint jenx🪐

#covid tw #astrojenx #astrology #vaccine #hollistic #witchblr

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kkruml · 4 years ago

Text

STAY CH 16

I am absolutely gobsmacked by all the love this wee story has gotten over time. I did not intend for it to take as long as it did to find the ending to this story, but alas, life and circumstances (and a f*cking pandemic) got in the way. BUT- it’s here. The final chapter. I hope you all have enjoyed the ride. This story started off as a prompt about a trope that I had always enjoyed but never considered writing. I am glad I took the leap and am forever grateful for the support and beta magic that are @abreathofsnowandwaffles and @missclairebelle. Without you both I would never have attempted this. I love you both.

To everyone who has read, shared, and enjoyed (even a little!) this story, thank you.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

AO3

Mood music

Previously

Whole.

The word danced around the corners of her mind. Her eyes shifted from him to the golden hues splashed across the sky. Was she whole? Twisting her wrist for inspection, she felt no sharp pain, just a dull ache from use.

No longer broken.

Now came the recovery. As a doctor she had seen the scans, she knew the rehabilitation trajectory. Yet here, with him, the statistics and analytical journal findings faded from mental view. Here, in this moment, she was simply Claire. With Jamie. Her Jamie. An overwhelming sense of calm washed over her.

“I think I know exactly what you mean,” drawing her gaze back to him, she exhaled contentedly. Instinctively, her hand reached out for his, taking it gently. “Thank you, Jamie.”

“Och, ‘tis nothing lass.” Dirt-stained fingertips pressed into her skin. His warmth encompassed her.

“Jamie…” she started, her eyes lowering to see their fingers intertwined. Blinking hard and tilting her face to meet his, she finished, “I don’t just mean for today.”

An echo of a smile tugged at his lips and he exhaled.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” His voice hummed, soft and tender. “There’s the two of us now.”

His words were so simple. But there was something in the blue of his eyes that spoke to the depth of his meaning. Her breath caught as she felt the same weight of prophecy to his words.

CLAIRE

Blue.

Whisky.

Stay.

The words whispered to her in a soft rhythm, beckoning her from sleep. One eye begrudgingly parted and she was blessed with the sight of Jamie’s face. His nose, straight and angled, thick stubble dappled his cheeks, and the line of his lips curled into a small smile while he slept.

She had missed that quiet smile.

It had been so long. Since the accident.

She yearned for it.

Ached for it.

Shifting slightly onto her side she felt his arm tighten around her waist, and a flutter of a giggle tickled her chest.

He had been gentle with her, almost too gentle. At first he kept a respectable space as to avoid injuring or jostling her arm, or pressing into her ribs as they healed. But then as days passed, they became hesitant with each other as a small crack formed and slowly spread to fill the space between, a sliver at a time.

It had been weeks. But tonight, he had reached out to her in sleep.

Perhaps it was the whisky from the hours earlier, or the heady tension between them as they traded glasses and slipped farther and farther into their own bubble, consumed by each other’s mere presence that she’d felt a shift between them. His warmth encompassed her and flushed her cheeks before dipping into her chest. She burned for his touch. Her fingers trembled as they slowly rose towards his face, before stopping just short of his jawline. She faltered for a moment, losing her nerve.

What if he woke up?

The thought lit the fire that had sunk just below her belly button and her lip quivered. The boldness she felt that night, all those months ago- that night he bared his soul to her, the night he told her about the accident- that strength had slowly faded from her with each passing day since her injury.

Gently placing her hand back onto her side, her eyes traced the solid line of muscle from his shoulder down to his elbow. Perfect peaks and valleys were highlighted by the faint moonlight. Reveling in the knowledge that he was hers, she let out a satisfied sigh.

A glow from the bedside table caught her attention and she rolled her eyes. She knew who it was, and what the message said, and she silently cursed herself for the spontaneous text earlier. A moment of alcohol-induced bravery had prompted a bold proclamation. That tonight, she would reclaim that lost and most intimate connection with Jamie… in a somewhat less than mature manner of speaking.

Lifting the phone enough to see the screen, she caught the text that flashed.

Have ye crawled out from under the Viking for air yet?

Geillis.

To be honest, there were a few moments she thought that it might happen. Jamie’s gaze grew more menacing and his fingers lingered as they traced the lines of her hem at the small of her back, all the while whispering old stories of Lallybroch in her ear so close that she could taste the amber liquid on his breath. But then… after stumbling past the doorway into their bedroom, with fits of laughter breaking between them, they settled into a coy yet contented ball of sheets and blankets on the bed.

She had welcomed the weight of his body against hers as their laughter softly echoed off the bedroom walls. But with a swift tug of the comforter beneath them, he had rolled clumsily onto her left side and the spell between them was broken. Stammering his way through an impassioned apology, he shifted his body, overcompensating for the contact and leaving ample space between them. The buzzing electricity between them simmered and the courage she’d come so close to wielding receded. After a few more gentle smiles and muttered apologies from Jamie, they both had drifted into blissful sleep. But that ache persisted, and it rose from a dull ache to a heady throb.

With a half-hearted sigh, she tapped the screen to respond.

Will catch up tomorrow. Too tired and too much whisky tonight ;)

Three bubbles quickly appeared on her screen as Geillis’s words flashed quickly.

Aye. Too much ‘Whisky.’ As ye say. XO

That was not what she meant, but she didn’t correct Geilis. They would see each other tomorrow, and she would set the record straight then. Maybe.

Struggling to settle her mind back into the quiet darkness of the room, she let her eyelids close and the words beckoned again.

Stay. Please stay.

Her fingers twitched. Her head swirled with the words, and then a melody slowly seeped in and clouded her thoughts. An almost torturous rhythm played over and over in her head, keeping sleep at bay and forcing out the memories of the night before.

Sighing again, this time in resignation, she slowly slid off the bed. Gently moving his arm to rest on the space she had just vacated, she paused. Gazing at his perfect form in the tangle of sheets in their bed for a moment longer, she then turned on her heel and padded out of the room.

Where is that bloody guitar?

JAMIE

Claire.

Mmm. Feeling the warmth against his palm, he contracted his muscles and pulled a tangle of empty bed sheets against his chest.

Where is she?

Thoughts came quickly, erratic and half-formed as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

His last vision of her was in bed next to him, a beautiful mosaic of dark curls and light skin, splintered in his mind but beautiful nonetheless.

It was still late… no- early? The soft morning light had not yet fully crept through the curtains, but it kissed the soft linen and a glow inched across the bedroom floor.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he could still, but barely, see her face as they stumbled into his, no their flat just hours before- lips parted in a beaming grin, eyes warm and glowing, curls spilling out of a bird’s nest atop her head.

Having stopped at a local pub in a desperate attempt to prolong their evening, the memory of her leaning in closely as each drop of amber fluid eased the tension in her shoulders. The heat on her breath as she whispered new Gaelic words she had been studying but never said aloud settled in his bones and burned just under the surface. The timidity between them had receded with every look, every brush of skin against each other. Like a balm on a healing wound, her every look and movement was a salve on his soul.

Shaking his head, the memory slowly faded, and he blinked ruefully as it subsided. He heard a faint sound, a slight… plucking of strings? Moving quickly through the flat he eyed his guitar stand in the corner by the couch- empty.

His lip twitched and he fought the sensation. Doesna mean anything.. Or does it?

Grabbing the tumbled mass of tartan on the cushion, he slinked his way up the fire escape to the rooftop, following the sounds of his guitar as the notes tweaked and came into tune.

CLAIRE

There’s my C. Finally.

He said it would come with time, but neglected to mention just how tedious tuning a guitar could be. It always seemed to sing when he played, a natural extension of himself.

Effortless.

He was right.

A small echo of a laugh bubbled in her chest. He was always so sure when he spoke. Whether he was storytelling or gesticulating on the latest rugby match. There was a conviction in his words, and in this instance, she knew he was right. What the strings and pick are to him, a scalpel and needle are to her.

She plucked the string again.

Bloody Scot was right.

And she was grateful for it.

Letting out a quick breath into the crisp night air, her eyelids fluttered shut as the words undulated in her mind, like a tide rolling in. Growing closer, then receding before pushing closer and closer, she surrendered to the pulsating rhythm.

With a quick roll of the wrist, and sigh of relief as it cooperated without sign of pain, she set her fingers against the strings. The words thrummed in her ears, echoing as the memory struggles to come into focus.

“Nothing is lost… please stay.”

JAMIE

His breath caught as his eyes found her, freezing him. An unruly mess of dark curls cascaded around her, the wind toying with a strand as it twisted and fluttered in the air, the curves of her shoulders draped in his favorite rugby shirt.

He stood breathlessly, watching as her hand absentmindedly grasped the errant lock and tucked it behind one ear. The movement was subtle, but made his heart pound. Her wrist, newly healed and etched with fresh scars, moved with an ease. There was a fluidity, an almost absent-mindedness he hadn’t seen in weeks.

Her chin was set in determination, her lower lip tucked between her teeth and head cocked as if the guitar was whispering its secrets to her. The curve of her back matched the line of his guitar, two of his favorite things molded into one.

A Dhia.

She was beautiful.

With a heavy exhale to take in the scene, his body rested against the metal railing. A high pitched creak filled the air and he watched as her face jerked toward him in panic. The current of gold in her eyes settled slightly as they fixed on him before igniting into a deep ember.

CLAIRE

His hair was tousled from sleep, but his eyes were electric, and the slope of his lips, parted as raspy breath escaped, filled her vision. The heat of his stare traveled down her throat with a hard swallow, descending into the depths just below her navel. Blinking hard to quell the feeling, she held her gaze, letting his beauty overtake her nerves.

“Are ye alright, mo nighean donn?” his voice cut through the darkness. It shook just slightly as the Gaelic punctuated his question, two fingers tapping against his thigh.

My brown haired lass.

She remembered the first time he’d called her that. He promised one day he’d tell her what it meant. Instead, she’d found them in an old, nondescript and dusty book on his shelf... or perhaps the words found her. She reveled in knowing what it meant as he’d whisper it in darkness, tender and soft.

“Y-yes, quite,” she started as pulled herself back to the present. Letting a deep sigh encompass her, she met his eye. “Did I wake you?”

“Ach no, I just dinna...” he started as twitching fingers ran through his hair. “ I just… dinna sleep well wi’out ye with me.”

“Oh.” she said quietly, letting a small smile play at her lips as heat rose in her chest. “I wanted to show you something.”

One eyebrow quirked and with it came a breathtaking grin framed by fiery red hair and electric blue eyes. “I seem to recall ye said once that they let anyone play.”

JAMIE

“Och! You don’t need to ruin the moment,” she said with exasperation.

“Wai- what?” His ears perked at the noise. Cocking his head to the side, he tried to find the words. “Was that...Did ye just-”

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she countered, “Wot?”

“Tis nothing,” he started, recovering from his stumble. “That was just a decidedly Scottish sound there…”

“I most certainly did not,” her voice stuttered on the last word, her eyebrows creasing as he watched her question her own words.

Thank the laird for small miracles and glass faces.

“Are ye sure yer a Sassenach aft-after all?” A laugh rumbled from his chest as he moved toward her, “Ye do a fine version of a salty auld Highlander indeed.”

“Well,” her lips parted in a conciliatory smile and her eyes glowed. “I seem to have learned from the best.”

A breeze filled the space between them and he caught her slight frame shiver.

“Are ye cold, Sassenach?” he asked, drawing out the last word for emphasis. She was an outlander, a most rare and precious gift.

“I’m alright,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, but there was no conviction behind her voice.

“Dinna be stubborn lass, I can hear yer teeth rattle from here.” He countered with an attempt at a wink. In truth, it was an excuse, any excuse to move closer to her.

Her face softened and she sighed, nodding as she bit down on her lower lip. His eyes darted to her mouth, tracing every curve and line. His tongue reflexively darted out and licked his lips, aching to taste her breath against his skin. Balling his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to touch her face, his fingers dug into crumpled up fabric- the tartan soft and warm in his hand.

The tactile sensation brought him from his thoughts, and he held it out to her as he closed the space between them. His lips curled as he cocked his head, “After all… Ye canna bring dishonor on the Fraser colors, Sassenach.”

“Oh mon dieu, first the Fréselière and now your clan’s colors and creed?” Her eyes were alight with humor as she turned to fully face him, his guitar shifting in her lap. She inhaled sharply, her eyes intent and glowing, “My hands seem to be full at the moment... might you help?”

He stood still, surprised for a moment but swallowed hard and gathered up the material in both hands. Timidly, he wrapped his arms around her, her hair tickling his nose as he leaned in close.

Pressing against him softly, her voice was low and heavy as she said, “Thank you.”

Giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze, he set himself on the seat next to her- close but not quite touching. “Ach, so ye had something to play then, aye?”

“Well it’s just the start of something, I think,” she mumbled.

The familiar chords echoed between them as she hummed the melody. Had he played that for her before? He didn't think he had?

CLAIRE

She pulled her eyes from her fingers as they pressed into the cords to find his gaze heavy on her. She hummed for a few beats and then with eyes closed she exhaled with contentment.

“Clear blue….” she breathed, waiting for the next chord progression to continue with a disjointed “world of whiskey.” The strings vibrated against her fingertips before she whispered the lines that had repeated over and over in her mind, “Nothing is lost… Please stay.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her. His hands were clasped together tightly, fingernails dug slightly into ruddy, sunkissed skin.

“I wasn’t sure.. I mean, it’s-” she was suddenly shy, embarrassed. It was absurd to try to explain, the words just… were to her.

His face was frozen and his lower lip quivered. With a low, shaky voice he asked, “Where did ye find those words?”

“They just…” she started. Without thinking she continued, the words tumbling out of her, “They just came to me. I think it was a dream. I was drowning, and then I saw... light. Wings. And then a voice asking me to stay.”

“Mo Chridhe,” his voice was almost a whisper, each word quiet but strong. “That was me.”

She struggled to understand the pain in his voice. “You?”

Fragmented time flashed through her mind. Her father, the heron’s wings. The tattoo. The flutter of wings in her ears as she lay in that bed. Through it all, the words, those words- they cut through the noise.

It was him.

JAMIE

He watched her, waiting. The realization flashed across her face.

Her voice was almost a whisper, but her eyes were a smoldering amber. Her voice was sure, true. “It was you.”

She remembered.

The weeks lost to the accident and the uncertainty of what was to come when she couldn’t remember- the truths they had shared… it was still there. A weight lifted from his chest and he exhaled for what felt like the first time in weeks.

Whatever it was between them, that awful night hadn’t stolen it from them. As she had lain, still and broken, in that hospital bed amidst a rhythmic beeping of machines and hushed voices in the hallway, he had sung to her.

And she had heard him.

“It was me,” he said simply, wanting to repeat those words over and over again. Inching close, eyes trained on her, he let the echo of a smile pull at his lip. “I had trouble finishing the line.”

The whisky in her eyes burned as her chest heaved with effort. The gravity of the moment threatened to crumble her facade, and she struggled to keep her tone light, “Yes, you did.”

The confirmation sent a shock wave through him. “So, Sassenach…” he let his voice fade as he contemplated. His voice hung between them, both unsure of how to speak.

CLAIRE

His voice was low, his irises almost black. “How does it end then?”

The silence throbbed between them like a heartbeat. The weight of his question lingered. Seemingly innocent on the surface, the deeper meaning reverberating between them.

With a small smile, her fingers touched the strings. Without breaking eye contact, she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders.

“Your face is my heart and the love of you…” she paused, wanting the words to ring true. Her hand twitched and curled to find the strings without difficulty as she finished, “My soul.”

The chord hung between them, the vibration echoing against her skin. Without looking away, she gently set the guitar down as the note dissipated and scattered into the air. The wind whipped between them, the familiar scent of linen, sandalwood and him struck her as she watched him, waiting.

“I thought I’d lost ye,” his voice was gravely as it tumbled out of him, carrying the weight of the last several weeks. His eyes were focused on a point in the distance. When he pulled his gaze to her, she saw a pool of tears threatening to brim over. Speaking the truths he’d hidden even from himself, his voice broke as he said, “First wi’ the accident and then ye lost sae many memories of… us. I just couldna bear it- losing ye, losing us.”

“Jamie…” her chest constricted as she watched his face contort and relive that night.

JAMIE

“I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out ye. I was born-” He felt the desperation in his voice, but he couldn’t stop it. She had to know. Had to understand. She needed to feel the love that nearly burst out of his chest, and the agony he’d kept at bay these last long few weeks. He pushed his fingers through his curls as the words spilled out in fragments, “I was- I c-cannae explain it I just… just…. Christ!”

All the words he needed to say came crashing down in his mind and he couldn’t form a single thought to sort them out. He stood helplessly, two digits thrumming against his leg.

Her tone was low as she peeked through furrowed brows and dark lashes, “... I was born for you?”

“Aye,” His eyes darted to her face, the air ripped from his lungs. “How did ye know?”

“Jamie…” her voice was small but warm. “I’ve whispered those same words.. I’ve known that every day since I met you.”

“Claire,” his voice coiled around her name, reveling in the sound. His fingers twitched again as he raised his hand to her face, cupping the smooth porcelain of her cheek.

CLAIRE

Feeling the dam break, she leaned into his touch. “Bha mi gad ionndrainn.”

His hand sunk into her hair, pulling her to him. Grasping his forearms, she pressed her forehead to his. “I’ve missed you, too.”

His breath was heated against her cheek, a faint scent of whisky lingered between them. Her fingers slowly lifted to trace the line of his jaw, the stubble coarse against her skin. They settled just below his jawline, feeling his pulse quicken against her fingertips. Tentatively, she lifted his face to meet hers, and it was breathtaking. Dark flecks interrupted the turbulent blue in his eyes, and they trained on hers with a weight that ignited a fire in her chest.

“I would like-” he started, his voice raspy and raw. His skin was almost vibrating with need. “-Very much to kiss you. May I?”

An ache pulled deep in her belly as she struggled to focus on the words- the anticipation filling her senses. Struggling to focus, she blinked hard and smiled, “You may.”

His fingers intertwined in her hair as he leaned in, soft yet firm. With a final sigh, she closed her eyes and tilted her chin to meet his. His lips were warm and full, quickly molding to hers. With two more movements her tongue was tracing his lip and as she felt them part, she pushed against him with arms snaking around his neck.

Tongues pulsed and kneaded against each other as her hands found his hair as his arms circled around her waist. His fingers urgently sought her skin, pressing into the flesh at the small of her back as she arched into him. The aching need of the past weeks melted away with every movement and every ragged breath between them.

JAMIE

Every thought scattered. There was nothing but her. She filled every sense. The lavender of her shampoo, the velvety touch of her skin against his fingertips as he pulled her closer, the sound of her exhale as she reignited their kiss. He needed her now.

For all the time and distance and tentative silence that had grown between them, speaking was now unnecessary.

He needed to show her the way he loved her. Struggling for composure, one hand snaked up into her hair and he pulled back his lips and held her in place.

Her lips were swollen, cheeks flushed and beautiful. Her eyes were a fiery gold and glistened with a thin film of tears.

Sorcha.

Sassenach.

Claire.

She was his, he was hers. Shattered apart, a beautiful mosaic of both pain and triumph together. They fought for this. They earned this.

Her breath was shaky but her voice was calm, “Will you have me?”

The gold specks in her eyes burned like embers as she held his gaze. His skin pulsed with electricity as her fingers lifted the tartan to cover his shoulders. Leaning forward and gently lowering her to the ground, he felt the soft warmth of her body beneath her and he knew he was home. She was home to him.

“Yes,” he whispered as the heat in his chest reverberated out into his fingertips.

He would have had her, any part of her, in any way he could- even the quiet, timid moments of the past few weeks where he had scarcely dared to touch her. But here, now, he saw that each crack and fracture she had endured had only healed stronger. Made more beautiful by the very lines of black etched into her skin, the flap of a heron’s wing flashed before his eyes before fading into the vision of her face.

He pressed against her as he lowered his face to hers. “Yes, I’ll have you.”

Now and forever.

#STAY fic #outlander #outlander fic #fan fic #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #holy shit i did it

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obeymeluv · 4 years ago

Text

Signs they Love You

Back for my 1 post a week to prove school hasn’t totally killed me! When I get a semester break, I’ll post more often. In the mean time, feel free to leave me chats or PMs for stuff you want to see! :) Something nice and sappy for an okay Saturday

These turned out really long so I only did Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, and Satan. I have to get back to studying :/. Maybe I’ll have part 2 next week?

Lucifer

You wouldn’t be able to notice it because his pride wouldn’t allow you to. One of the brothers (or, to Lucifer’s extreme mortification, Lord Diavolo) would have to tell you

He’s not sure if it’s just the appreciation of you not being as totally chaotic as his brothers or genuine human naivete that has somehow worn off on him, but he loves you

Will be outed by sappy, soft stares that last 2 seconds too long.

Asmo and Satan are the first to notice and he LOATHES that

If he’s tasked with waking you up that morning, his knock will be firm but his voice will be gentle. Almost persuasive or commiserating

If you’re feeling overwhelmed by school workload, he may have a private conference with the teacher and grant you a minor extension. Will you know it was him? No. Is he happy to see you brighten up and refill with hope just a bit? Definitely. Is it worth the teasing from Lord Diavolo? ...Sure.

If he responds to texts in the wee hours of the morning when he’s still pouring over paperwork, he likes you.

Anyone who knows him can see how his eyes soften when someone else talks about you. There’s a fond slowness to his actions, how he glides his hand imperceptibly over his chest as if to feel where that emotion is coming from. Boy is whipped.

Should Lord Diavolo invite him out for a meeting, he will bring you back something small. Something he thought you’d like. Beel is upset. Levi yells “SIMP!” from the second floor and prepares for Armageddon.

Actually reminds you about assignments if you’re not already up on it yourself. Your success is his joy.

Is very keen on if/when you burn the candle too long and has a sixth sense for bad sleeping habits. Will put you on a stricter schedule for your own health

It may take almost all of the brothers to do it (or just help from Diavolo) but if he gets drunk on Demonus you’re getting a whole BOOK about why he likes you. He almost charms your memory away but everyone practically dog-piles on him not to because he needs to deal with his feelings.

You’re the only one he won’t chase out of his study when he’s doing paperwork. He’ll even set up a little fire if you like the fireplace.

How he confesses: tries to take you on a fancy date to Ristorante Six. Does not know that Lord Diavolo and Barbatos know about this (damn time-travelling butler!) and basically crash the date just to encourage him. Just long enough to encourage him.

Kind of an, “So you chose this idea, Lucifer? Admirable! I’m sure your date will be amazing! Enjoy your evening!” as Diavolo walks back to his table.

Does Lucifer deny it? Look and see how red his face is. If you’re really not sure, ask Diavolo. He will gladly yell, “I cannot lie!” across the restaurant.

Mammon

For all his talk, when he really, really decides he likes you, he doesn’t know what to say.

He can console himself with how obvious it is and how you made the best choice, but he has to show it! What to do?

Mammon’s kind of confused about it because he doesn’t really change how he behaves. You didn’t catch on already?! C’mon, human!

What, does he have to spell it out for you? Do an interview with Majolish?

His first tactic is to just be around you. Be subtle, and maybe cuddle a bit more than usual. Things to show he’s kittenish and at your mercy. Comfortable with you.

You don’t seem to be getting the hint so he throws the net a little wider by trying to find things you like or that you’ve been talking about. They mysteriously show up at your door.

It sends the others on a gossip train about who your admire could be and when they list off everyone BUT him, he wants to slam his head on the table.

Feeling tired? Coffee! Backpack heavy? Silly human, the BEST man can help you with that, OBVIOUSLY! Mammon jumps at the chance to do any little thing for you because he cares. His actions always speak louder than words.

Feeling kind of defeated and embarrassed, Mammon will go talk to the flock of crows that meander around the House of Lamentation’s yard when he really needs them.

For the next few days you’re accosted in the nicest way, birds chirping at you and dropping off various shiny things

You collect them, finally showing them to Mammon and he’s embarrassed that his representative animal has taken to courting you on his behalf.

He calls them to him, embarrassed and ready to rant or fall into the ground never to be seen again, when they start talking. Repeating all the things he’s practiced saying.

“Hey baby,”, “Hey human,” “Love you!”, “Silly! Silly!”, “Dummy, no, dummy!”, “My human.”

It’s broken and confusing, six or seven bird children cawing in your face and bobbing, but you get it.

Levi

Levi’s not the best at expressing himself but it counts, right? As much as he hates to admit he’s some kind of shy tsundere, you know what that is, right? He doesn’t have to say it?

Yes. Yes he does. His brothers are getting too chummy with you and you don’t understand his signals. Time for Plan B.

If you get invited to stand in line for a midnight release, he hopes you take it. Then it’s just you two hanging out in line? What’s this? He brought snacks? Totally not for the two of you BUT you an have some if you’re hungry. It’s whatever

When he’s not doing boss raids and playing with online friends, he’ll ask if you want to play something with him. A Player 1 needs a Player 2, you know?

I headcanon that Levi knows how to play some unusual instruments like the kalimba or a real ocarina. I could see him making you a song on one of those. Or just playing it because you inspire him. He’s very good with a harp and will play it when he’s in the mood.

Boy also likes to draw and paint. Especially loves watercolors. Would it be weird if he gave you a painting of you as a mermaid? Just you and the ocean. Beautiful.

Was there a really cute plush or knickknack you liked? Levi has his ways, regardless of how rare or limited edition it is. It will be yours.

He has a hard time understanding a passing comment of interest versus a genuine want because he genuinely wants everything he’s interested in, so if you hear a whisper about him almost securing something, stop and look it up. Make sure it’s not super expensive!!

Probably outed by Belphegor, who feels like Levi’s broadcasting all of his stress, frustration, and hope through his dreams. (”His dreams are weird. Just different ways of asking them out, and if he messes up it restarts like a simulation. My brain hurts.” he says to Beel)

You’re allowed to come into his super-restricted bedroom haven when everything’s too much. It’s very exclusive since the Mammon incident. Be happy.

Might go swimming in his big tank and pick a seashell or rock to make a necklace out of. He hopes you like it.

If he’s not outed by Belphie, some of his online friends made a game demo they wanted him to try. They specified it was two player so he asked you to join in. While he’s in the middle of bragging about how he knows people, knows developers, he totally misses the dating-sim like dialogue and the big reveal.

Doesn’t really kick in until he realize the characters look like you two. You’re busy saying ‘Yes’ to “Do you like me?” as Levi absolutely threatens to rip them apart six ways to Sunday. Almost in full demon mode, too.

Everything falls out of his brain and quiets in his throat when he realizes the characters are kissing and ‘THEY SAID YES!’ flashes on the screen.

“Y-You like me?”

“Yep.”

It was that easy all along. Levi thinks he’s going to faint.

Satan

Becomes aware of it pretty quick but ignores it for a looong time

Is it rude or foolish of him to assume you would also like him back?

Run away into books. A solid plan. If you don’t think about it, it’s not an issue

Oh, but it is an issue when you fall asleep after a mutual day of reading, forced in by bad weather. He finds his heart fluttering in a painful squeeze as he quietly whispers all the things he dare not say when you’re awake

It’s nervous poetry, and it’s beautiful

Satan tries to get himself back on track, to focus on reading, and he gets frustrated when he’s stuck on the same page almost an hour later

When you’re on the brain he just can’t do anything else

How does one show their affection? He’s swimming in books for a new reason now, as voracious as ever

He brews you a pot of Melancholy Coffee and is a bit disappointed you don’t know the meaning behind the bitterness. Wants to break the pot when Lucifer jokes about how it tastes exceptionally bitter to him as well.

Okay, so coffee didn’t work. What else do people do when they show their affections?

Asmo suggests a ‘not a date’ date and Satan sighs inside. Sounds like a lot of work and effort. It’s not that you’re not worth it, but he has a feeling that everyone will know and look at him the whole time.

Tries anyways. You guys go to a beautiful nature conservatory and take a tour of the plants and some indigenous animals

You’re starting to realize it now, he can tell. Satan tries to answer your question without saying it while you’re at school. You walk together, he offers to carry some of your books, and always requests that he be your project partner

Nearly there. If there was a single defining moment for him, he’d want it to be classic. He shows up at your door with a rose and asks you to go on a moonlit walk.

Mammon’s poking fun about how cheesy and cliche it is, Asmo’s gearing up to shut Mammon’s stupid mouth, and Satan just whisks you out the door with an aggravated sigh.

No matter what side of the house you’re on, Asmo throws up the biggest, gaudiest handmade sign that’s like ‘CUTEST COUPLE! 10/10!’

#Obey me!#Obey me x reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Levi x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Satan x Reader

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macaroni-rascal · 4 years ago

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Waxing poetic idea: virtuosity

First of all, what a concept for a waxing poetic, we love the pun, we love it all. Second of all, I have no idea just how long this has been sitting in my inbox, but better late than never, I suppose!

When I think virtuosity I generally think about music, so for the purposes of this post, I am going to focus on how Virtue and Moir are masters of musicality, as I can make a separate post about their general talent and skating skills.

I truly believe that Tessa and Scott were (and continue to be) the most musically inclined ice dance team ever. It’s nothing new, but Paul MacIntosh their old coach has spoken before saying there as just something natural about them and their ear for music, Tracy Wilson commented on them as juniors and early in senior as a team that really listened to their music and that they used their edges and knee bend to match the rhythm of the dance, etc. It was obvious that this team just had a certain ability and flow that went above and beyond what had been previously seen in the sport.

They were ice dancing to music, not figure skating to background noise.

There was always an impression that music meant a lot to them, and the emotional connection they felt to music was very important, the program they hated the most (Malaguena) was because they didn’t chose it themselves, and the program they had the most trouble with emotionally (The Seasons) was because they also couldn’t form a connection and tried to force something. The stunning thing about Tessa and Scott’s skating is that nothing ever looks forced, it all seems to be placed and done to maximize their ability, the music, and the art of figure skating. So, cmplpete with hyperlinks as well as gif credit, lets get into it.

I say that Valse Triste is one of my favourite free dance of theirs, but I don’t think people get just how much. In terms of how much a song can be elevated by movement, VM did everything correct with Vale Triste.

This perfect moment in the beginning where the music is drawn out and sweeping and so their movements match perfectly, I just love the ina bauer moment right on that first long violin sound, followed by Tessa’s nice deep long edge and then another sweeping movement. Also, the last lift directly on the crescendo of the music, when Tessa raises her hands into the air when the silence holds, and then again, that lovely piece of silence while Tessa is balancing on Scott and his squat. Then the last moment with Scott’s arms and the violin again... All of this matches the music so well, it very much feels like they had this choreographed already, and then Jean Sibelius wrote Valse Triste for them. So stunning.

Umbrellas of Cherbourg was just a piece of mastery in terms of hitting musical highlights. The first lift was so effective, all the of the step sequences were musical and lilting and joyous. I also love the moment in this gif, the abandon in their movements echoes the abandon in the song as Catherine Deneuve sings “je ne peux pas, je ne peux pas” and it really does feel like they can’t help but move this way. I don’t need to understand French to feel it, they made the movement match the music so well that it becomes universal. Special shout out to the fucking stunning backwards inside edge they both hit as they go around the corner. *chefs kiss*

What I also love about their virtuosity and their musicality is that they never really settled. They picked a very difficult piece of music for the Olympic year because it was the only music they felt any connection with. It was a hard program because they really took time to highlight the music, and the accents are quick and staccato. What’s stunning, is that I think anyone who watches/knows vm can perfectly hear the music that should be playing over the gif, and nothing else COULD be playing. So often, especially recently, I watch ice dance programs if feels like any generic music could be on and it wouldn’t change much. Tessa and Scott could never. Every movement and every moment is deliberate and on theme.

Tessa and Scott’s dance holds are a literal thing of beauty and should be studied. That doesn’t have much to do with what I am writing about currently, but I thought it needed to be said. Nights and Days is an all time favourite programs. We love a wango. I love the opening especially and how they go from a nice easy arm movement to two quick poses, then Tessa’s moment with that leg and giving that face, that hit the opening notes so well, only to have the music really begin with their leg kicks.

Let’s talk about how a waltz goes counterclock wise on a dance floor and is quick-quick-slow and Tessa and Scott started their program going counter clock wise around the rink, and having their movement begin slow-quick quick, slow-quick quick...because I’m never not thinking about it

There are so many moments in their free dance to Hip Hip Chin Chin that I desperately love and that I have yet to see gifs of it. Besides the stellar and iconic opening footwork, the coolest twizzles (accenting the drums with their transition into each twizzle), and some very cool lifts (I mean, hello temptation lift), I love the step sequences and the transitions in this program so much. Some favs include:

Tessa’s booty pop to the drums and her arm on “rhythm”

Tossing Scott and a literal hip hip chin chin

Hitting twizzles and free legs on beat

Tessa just in this moment and her arms

The “I can’t resist” moment and the silence as they just pull in on beat, throw their hand up on beat, and hug on the ice sensually

That little kick they do in the step sequence right on the double beat

Anyway, that program is a fucking wonder and the fact they only did it once fully in competition is a small tragedy.

Tessa’s twizzle from the Waltz goes on right on that stunning lick of effervescent music lives rent free in my head and will until I die.

As does the extension and flair Tessa gets in this one small hand and arm movement. More character in this tiny little one second gif of carmen than in the entirety of Davis and White’s Notre-Damn that year, quote me.

Carmen, in and of itself, is so fascinating and intricate from a music standpoint, they hit all the moments so well. Tessa’s second leap into the air on the curve lift, the ending pose for the twizzles, that rad as hell and incredibly difficult transition where Scott all but throws Tessa face first into the ice and she lands in a sort of lunge that took all season to perfect. I could go on.

I truly am, one day, going to make a post about Dream a Little Dream and how it is the best short dance program ever performed. In terms of virtuosity it is unmatched. Again, it is that type of program where you can so easily hear the music playing the background because everything just...fits. I can hear Ella crooning “stars shining bright aboooove you” as Tessa rounds around Scott and his arms flow along with the melody. I also love the moment with “sycamore tree” and the transition there. Shout out also having the solo lady twizzle in the finnstep right on the boom of the music. There are too many moments to count. The whole program is magic.

Another special shout out to the latch step sequences and especially how they changed the diagonal step so that Tessa’s double twizzle hit right on the music and created such a moment. I also love the straight line lift and how with the changes made so it was timed perfectly to be in a moment of silence between lyrics. Tessa and Scott know how to use the moments of silence and stillness just as much as they know how to use the moments of intensity and attack.

Moment of appreciation for the guitar lick during the rumba where they kick in as they get that chocktaw key point before the inside 3-turns. Iconic behavior.

What I love is that they dig deep into their music, really listen, and really try and make their movements and their program not only match the music, but elevate the music to the point where you hear things you maybe didn’t before because it never got highlight in that way before.

I love that they aren’t afraid to not only hit the big, in your face “rooooxaNNE” moment, but it’s that they chose to put it at the end of their twizzle sequence which needs perfect timing, perfect synchronicity, and perfect attack. Not to mention, the amazing head-head moment with the violin right after. But then! It’s not just the end of the twizzle sequence, because they also accent the music every where in between because the first set is on beat to the music as is the second set which leads into their arm transition in character and then we get the big moment. With Tessa and Scott, their musicality is such that they create these little micro pockets of moments amidst one giant moment that is their full program; because the twizzles fit perfectly in the program, but the twizzles also stand alone as their own moment of tension and release -- just magnificent.

Off topic, but gosh it always amazes me just how fast they are going into and through this lift. As I’ve mentioned previously, it’s not just the big accents they are hitting, but the small ones as well. It took me half the season to realize there is a lovely little piano lick right as Tessa backflips and rises up into position, just as the music is rising along with her and once again, it just feels right. No other teams owns the ice and owns their music quite like them. Because it’s not just that they are so musical, its that they have the ability to skate to all of these different types of music, and look at home in every single one. In that, they are objectively unparalleled.

When Tessa and Scott skate, it almost feels like the music is asking them to create something, and is ultimately grateful for them doing so.

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

Text

Satisfied | Andy Barber x reader (chapter 3)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2)

series summary: you’re the only lawyer in Boston who can get under Andy Barber’s skin, but you didn’t realise that he was trying to get under your clothes. as is the nature of law, it’s only a matter of time before the truth is discovered.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: smut, rough sex, safewording, oral (f receiving), angst, non-linear storytelling/flashbacks

a/n: I wrote this series originally with my friend joyce, and after she deactivated some of the chapters were lost. this series is long-since completed, but I’m reposting now so people can still read!

You stretched a little, eyes still closed to protect them from the blinding sunlight peeking in. Daylight had crept up on you, and it came quickly. You were sure that you had only fallen asleep a mere few minutes before you woke; muscles sore from overexertion. Letting out a groan, you shifted your body once again trying to get comfortable.

Andy really did a number on your body and you needed a deep stretch to try and regain some control over your aching muscles. You turned and looked at him. Andy was peaceful. His brows were relaxed and his mouth was slightly agape. You hadn’t realized just how badly you missed seeing him like that. So much so that you caught yourself just in time. Your hand had almost reached his cheek before pulling back.

“Stop moving,” Andy mumbled from beside you. When you did not quit the shuffling, he groaned and wrapped his arms around your body, trapping you beneath his weight.

It caused you to hesitate and freeze for a second. His body heat radiated onto your naked body. His skin against yours. Memories of the night before flooded your mind and it’s then that you realized that the feeling of his body was ingrained in your existence.

“Andy…” you whispered but he ignored you, snuggling back into the sheets instead. It felt almost domestic. And wrong. It felt really wrong. Maybe it was the fact that it reminded you of being young, and in love, again.

In love with Andy.

---

“We should do this again sometime,” Andy beamed as you got up off the bed and pulled your t-shirt back over your head from where it had been tossed onto the floor. Ah yes, the telltale smile of a man who just got laid.

“Andy, I probably should’ve been more clear,” you admitted. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m too busy, and I’ve always felt that single women are taken more seriously in law school.”

You expected him to question it, but he nodded. “Yeah, that is probably true. Fucked up, but true.”

He hopped up and followed you before you could walk to the bathroom, turning you around with a hand on your shoulder. “Does that mean that we can’t do this again?”

“Oh, we’re definitely going to do it again,” you grinned, biting your bottom lip. “Just, not as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He seemed happy enough with that answer, if not ecstatic.

“But for now, I need to study, so get out of my room,” you chuckled, watching him redress with a satisfied smirk on your face.

---

Another party, another stupid performative social event, another red plastic cup with god knows what in it that you have no intention of actually drinking. Or at least you had no intention when you walked in.

Andy was better at this. People actually cheered when he came into the room— but admittedly he was also holding booze so, they might have been cheering for that. But they were still happy to see him, and who wouldn’t be? You were too, but you tried to hide it. The company line was still that you two didn’t care much for each other, and it was… somewhat true, he still got on your nerves, but you undeniably had a soft spot for him. Perhaps literally.

You decided you could pull him aside for a chat once, that wouldn’t be too suspicious. But it couldn’t be right as he walked in, so you were basically just counting the minutes in your head until you could talk to him. But then you were just trying to not get caught looking at him every 30 seconds. How was he so… attractive? Not just hot, but magnetic. Guys jumped over to laugh with him. Girls hung off his arm while he told hilarious stories. And here you were, across the room staring because you didn’t want to be a part of his harem.

Speaking of harem, he seemed to have a new fan tonight, and she was hanging onto his every word. You’d seen her around before— Jessie something, most likely short for Jessica but at the moment you decided it was short for Jezebel. She was cute. Gorgeous, actually. One of those girls who looked like she just got up in the morning and brushed her hair and was already model-perfect. You tried not to hate that about her, you tried not to hate her because she was just a beautiful girl talking with this amazing, charismatic guy and you had no reason to be mad at her because she was just— oh my fucking god did she just grab his bicep??? SKANK!

You left the party quickly after that, deciding you didn’t like the person you were becoming. One of the many, many reasons you’d sworn not to get involved with guys in law school was because you knew how women could get defensive and territorial over men, and you were never going to prioritize getting dick over being a good feminist. How had you already fallen so far?

You were grateful for the half-empty bottle of Fireball in your cupboard. It was to be your companion to drown out the sorrows. You hoped that it would be enough to make you forget what you saw. Especially the fact that Jezebel and Andy would have made a good couple. They looked good together. Not right. But good nonetheless.

---

“...the defendant clearly has the mental capacity for there to be mens rea. He should be prosecuted and I don’t understand how I am the only person that thinks so,” Andy tugged at his hair in frustration as you walked beside each other down the hall. “I think it’s ridiculous that--”

“Are you fucking that Jessie chick?” you suddenly interjected, trying (and failing) to curb the anger bubbling in your stomach. Andy’s eyebrows shot up and you felt a sense of dissatisfaction at the response. He proceeded to drag you into an empty classroom.

“You have no right to be jealous,” he reminded you firmly. “We’re not dating.”

“I know, I know. Who said that I’m jealous?” you frowned, but your voice was a lot higher than usual, “but that doesn’t mean I’m down to catch whatever cooties you get from her.”

“You think I’m gonna sleep with her?” he asked incredulously.

“Uh, yeah,” you retorted with a heavy layer of patriotism, “and everyone else thinks so, too.”

He reached out and cupped your face, tilting it up to make sure you were looking at him. “Just because we’re not together… doesn’t mean I want anybody else.” He looked so sincere and sounded so soft that it took you aback. You had never expected Andy to say that. Ever.

“I… what?”

“Baby,” he sighed, and your heart tensed a little, “you’re the reason I’m not your boyfriend. I don’t want to date anybody else, I don’t want to be with anybody else… you’re it. Just you.”

“Oh,” you nodded with wide eyes.

“Are you… seeing other people? Not that you can’t, I just… I didn’t think you were.”

“No, no,” you dismissed, “I only… no.”

“Then let’s make it official. You have no reason to be jealous. Be my girlfriend.”

“But I—”

“We don’t have to tell people,” he quickly backpedaled. “I know you don’t want to be seen as half of a couple, or an extension of me or something. But I wanna be able to call you my girlfriend. Even if I can’t actually tell anybody about it.”

You looked at him, making sure he wasn’t joking or messing around before slowly nodding. His face lit up, “but we have to keep it on the down-low,” you reminded him quickly, to which he nodded.

“That we do. Verity would advocate for our expulsion if she knew.” Your eyes went wide with fear. Andy was right. It had the potential to completely decimate your career.

“Andy, we can’t tell anyone about this,” you whispered sharply, “especially now that we’re on a case together.”

“Calm down, baby,” he soothed. It was the first time he called you that since you became secretly-official and it sounded different now, somehow; it made your stomach flutter a little. “Trust me, I know, and it will be fine. Verity won’t find out.”

“Okay,” you nodded, believing him, “however, you really shouldn’t be calling Dr. Verity Woods, J.D. Esq. by her first name alone.”

“You don’t need to use her full name and title,” Andy laughs, “she said it’s fine to call her by her first name. You were there.”

“That I was. But it doesn’t feel right, especially since she’s leading the case.”

Andy shook his head and smiled. You really were something else but he needed it. He needed you. Even all of the crazy and particular aspects of your personality. “Speaking of her, I need to go to her office in—” Andy looked at his watch— “shit, 10 minutes.”

“Well, go, run,” you gestured at the door and Andy bolted out, not even having the time to peck your lips. You waited a few moments before leaving the room, not wanting to attract any attention.

---

“Hey, cupcake,” he cooed and then kissed your ear. Without having to look at him, you knew that he had a smug grin on his face and enjoyed the teasing.

“You eat one cupcake one time and suddenly it becomes your whole identity,” you groaned with a roll of your eyes. Andy’s body pressed up against yours and you tried to push him off but the warmth of his body was far too comforting.

“But you looked so cute when you got frosting on your nose,” he recalled.

“Go away,” you giggled and squealed as Andy tickled you, “s-stop it.”

“Come on, cupcake, you can do better than that,” Andy continued to tickle you until you fell on the floor in a giggling heap, “all you have to do is let me call you cupcake.”

“Andy—” you squealed. “Barber, you better stop this right now!” Your stomach hurt from the laughter as his fingers dug into your waist making you scream.

“Come on, cupcake.”

“N-no!”

“Since that’s the case, I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing.”

“Fine! Fine,” you relented, “you win.”

---

You looked around the sterile reception as you took a seat on the plush sofa and looked out of the window. The California sun shone into the room illuminating everything in its path. You weren’t running away, you told yourself repeatedly. Maybe you would believe it at some point. It was simply that you needed a change of scenery.

One thing that you were sure of was that you were more than qualified for the job. And that should be enough. But it came at a cost. Your personal life. It had always been on the back-burner for you but you had to accept you had chosen the lonely path.

Nobody had ever told you just how much you, as a woman, had to sacrifice to be successful. And so you learnt the hard way. Your friends told you that you had made your bed so you had to lie in it. They were not wrong but they did nothing to ease the vacancy in your heart.

Flicking through one of the magazines on the table, you let it distract you from the ticking clock. It seemed that you were the only person that was there for the job which should have eased your nerves. But you haven’t always been the first choice.

---

“Am I remembering correctly that you were valedictorian of your class?” the man across from you had your resume in front of him and was still unable to get it right. Maybe the job was not right for you. But it was a better offer than still being in Boston.

“Salutatorian,” you corrected coldly, gaze piercing. You tapped your nails on the table as the interviewer tried to regain his posture.

“Oh, well,” he shrugged, “that’s still pretty good.”

Pretty good. You didn’t believe in stuff like that. There was greatness, and nothing else. “Well, that’s the past,” you quickly shut off the conversation about your greatest failure and threw the man a tight-lipped smile.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “what makes you think that you will be suitable for the role?”

The fear left your system. You were sure of yourself. You were more than qualified.

---

“Time to get up for breakfast,” Andy roused you from your sleep. You had no idea when you went back to sleep but it was your turn to groan. “Don’t make me wake you up; you won’t like that.”

“I’m tired. Leave me alone, Barber,” too tired and sore to really care about eating or the punishment. That being said, you were a little hungry after missing dinner.

“I know you’re sore so don’t make me wake you up,” he warned but you still refused to pay him any mind. That was your mistake as Andy ripped the covers from your body; exposing it to the chilly morning air.

“What are you doing?”

Andy didn’t respond. Instead, his face went to your core. “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he cooed, “I think it’s time for you to wake up.” He licked a stripe across your sex and watched it glimmer in the light. Fisting the blankets beneath you, your back arched involuntarily.

You let out a breathy moan when he parted your folds to allow his tongue better access to your dripping cunt. He licked and explored your body like it was the first time he was given the privilege.

“Taste so good,” his voice reverberated through your body sensing little shocks of pleasure through you. Andy suckled on your clit making you cry out. His beard scratched the soft skin of your inner thigh and your sensitive folds. The contrast of his soft, wet tongue and his rough beard made your eyes roll back.

“Andy,” you mewled, “please.”

“What do you want?” Andy taunted you. Your body kept moving; your hands tugging at the sheets. You needed him to do more. He was teasing you. “Words, my little fuckdoll.”

You were unable to form any coherent sentences when Andy had such control over your body. He inserted one finger into your aching core, massaging your walls. “You have to use your words or I’ll stop now seeing as you’re awake.”

“No,” you rushed out. “P-please let me come.” You had no dignity left but you were too far gone to care. You needed Andy’s mouth and fingers too badly.

“Well,” Andy clicked his tongue as his lips curled into a smile, “since you asked so nicely...”

---

Unable to find your clothes fast enough, you found a discarded Harvard sweatshirt of his and slipped it on, smiling to yourself at the bagginess. Looking down at the left sleeve, you realized that it was the same one you wore when you were dating. It made you feel a little nostalgic. The sweatshirt was practically yours.

You emerged from the bedroom to find him in the kitchen with an apron on-- why the fuck did he own an apron?-- and messing around at the stove. He must have heard you enter because he turned to you with a smile.

“Huevos rancheros!” he announced with a smile, lifting the pan for you to see.

You looked to him, and the pan of eggs, and around his stylish condo worthy of an ADA’s inflated salary, and shivered with the overwhelming sense of ‘wrong’. That was even in spite of your rumbling stomach. “Andy, stop, this is all too much. Too domestic,” you whispered, unable to look at Andy when you said it.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say things like that,” Andy pleaded, “I just want to see you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I want to see you.”

“You’ve seen me before.”

“But I can’t remember the last time that I saw the real you,” Andy’s words made your stomach turn. “I don’t know the last time I saw the you that I fell in love with all those years ago.”

“She doesn’t exist anymore, Andy,” you whispered, “you need to let her go. God knows I did.”

“No, she’s not. I don’t believe that,” he argued; heart breaking by the second, “she’s still there, I’m certain of that. You wouldn’t end up here so often if she doesn’t exist. And you wouldn’t be so upset about not being valedictorian.”

“We shouldn’t keep doing this, Andy,” you decided with a sigh as you found your purse and attempted to gather your things. Where the fuck were your clothes again?

“No. You don’t get to say that,” he raised his voice, shedding his apron as he left the kitchen, “you can’t just waltz back into my life and keep... taking. It’s not fair.”

“Taking? I’m not taking anything, you’re throwing yourself on me! I don’t know what you want from me, Andy,” you sighed, placing your purse on the sofa.

“The same thing that I’ve always wanted.”

“Maybe it’s not what I want,” you lied through your teeth. “Have you ever thought about that?”

“Then why do you keep coming back?” Andy’s voice cracked. You knew that you were hurting him. And yourself. But there was no other way.

“Because I love being humiliated, and you are the most embarrassing thing I could possibly be involved with. Because you already know all my fucked up kinky shit and I’d rather keep the number of people who know that down to a minimum. Because when I walk home after seeing you I feel fucking sick to my stomach and filthy and stupid and I like it. Because I love the way that fucking you makes me hate myself.”

“I’m used to you lying to me, but I think now’s a good time for you to stop lying to yourself,” he shouted, the vein in his neck appearing. You were shocked to realize that you had actually hurt him. Badly. “Actually, it’s more than overdue. You’ve been doing it for what? Ten years?”

“Why can’t you just admit to yourself that you want this?” He pointed at the house, and then himself. “That you want me.” His voice was so strained that you felt a little guilty.

“I don’t want you.”

“That’s not the impression I got last night. Or this morning. You were just begging for me.”

Something about arguing with him was so erotic. Was that a strange thing to think? It certainly made court a lot more interesting. And now you found your gaze trailing greedily over his body and as it met his eyes once more, you saw that he knew what you wanted. That you were falling back into this cycle again.

“If you want me to want you again,” you hissed, “you’re gonna have to make me beg, aren’t you?”

He slammed into you, tossing you down onto the sofa as he slid his own sweatshirt up your body, latching his lips onto your nipple which was embarrassingly already hard.

“You say it like I’ve not been making you beg since you were twenty-two,” he growled, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“I can’t seem to remember that.”

“Well I guess it’s time for me to remind you, then,” he swiped a finger across your (already wet) folds and looked at his slick-coated fingers with pride. He had always loved the way you glistened on his skin.

He pushed your back down until you arched it for him. “Get that ass up, baby.” You moaned when he slapped your ass quickly, tugging on your hair to arch your back even further. “Want me to put this cock in you?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

“You can do better than that,” he tutted disappointedly.

You stopped yourself from responding because you knew you would say more than you should. He leaned down and pressed his lips right against your ear.

“We both know it, just say it,” he encouraged in a low voice.

“Fuck you,” you hissed. He slipped his hand around your neck and tightened until your face tingled from the loss of blood.

“Don’t say anything until you’re ready to be honest,” he instructed, finally slipping his cock into you— and even though you couldn’t breathe or moan or speak, you managed to react plenty strongly to the feeling anyways. You were outrageously sore from a long night of fucking and the pain burned just the right way.

He began to move his hips, each time, the base of his cock would brush against your overstimulated clit. Each thrust hitting that one place that made your body quiver. But then it got a bit too much. The stretch and burn of his cock and the hand around your throat.

“Objection!” you yelped your safeword, and instantly he stilled, slipping his arms around you and holding you close. Tears started to pour against your will. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I can’t believe that after all this time you still remembered…”

“Never apologize,” he hushed, kissing your shoulder. “I went too hard on you. And I could never forget a safeword like that,” he laughed softly.

“No, no, I just… I got a little overwhelmed. It’s not your fault.”

“Do you want a glass of water?” he asked lightly. “I’ll help you get dressed…”

“No, stay,” you requested.

“Okay,” he nodded, a little surprised. “Tell me how to help you.”

“Just hold me,” you shivered, “like you used to. Back when you liked me.”

He chuckled. “I like you. Even now; I always have… especially when you didn’t think that I did.”

“We’ll see if you say that in court tomorrow.”

“Almost certainly will not,” he admitted, eliciting a small smile from you.

He pulled you down to lay on his chest as he relaxed into the sofa. His fingers delicately ran along your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and you let your breathing steady back to normal as your eyes fell shut.

You looked up at him after a while and appreciated the peaceful look on his face. It wasn’t something you saw on him often, since you were always pissing him off. Maybe that was why you liked getting on his nerves so much; because when you saw him like this, happy, you remembered feelings you wanted to forget. But there was also a part of you that just wanted him to feel something about you when he saw you. The opposite of love is not hate but indifference… and even if you didn’t want him to love you, and knew that he could never love you again, you couldn’t live with indifference.

You sat up and he looked at you but you said nothing, just leaning down and kissing him again. He kissed you back, slipping his hand around the back of your neck to hold you close. His breathing against your face began to speed up a bit as you straddled him with your legs, rubbing your hips along his again.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked softly as you reached down to guide his cock into you one more time. You closed your eyes briefly.

“I’m sure that I’m not okay,” you responded as you moved your hips down and felt him slip inside you, “but I need you right now.”

He nodded and you sat up to plunge yourself down onto his cock, moaning as his length reached deeper into you than normal from this angle. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not out of any sense of dominance but simply his reaction to the feeling of you as you began to ride him. You were slow at first, balancing yourself on his chest, but it wasn’t too long until you were bouncing with abandon, moaning his name over and over while he watched you closely.

Your hand fell to his chest and you felt his heartbeat, strong and steady. You wished you could be so strong as that. You wished you could be so stable.

He sat up suddenly, looking at you with a hint of concern. He must have seen the fear on your face. He pulled you closer and you still, instead letting him grind deeper into you as he held your face in his hands.

“So beautiful,” he whispered reverently, kissing your collarbone lightly.

“Andy…” you sighed, another tear falling but for an entirely different reason.

“So perfect,” he continued, kisses trailing to your neck. He wrapped you in his arms and you both moved together in a way that didn’t feel like what you were used to at all. Your orgasm came and went with only a stuttered gasp but he felt it and praised you all along the way, made some promises he couldn’t keep, said some things you elected to ignore.

You fell asleep together and stayed that way well into the afternoon, not having gotten the most effective night’s sleep beforehand. When you woke up to golden light on your face and a snoring Andy Barber, you gave him a quick, tight hug before you got up, finally recovered your clothes, and grabbed the handle of his door. Something stopped you, though you couldn’t be sure what, and you looked back to watch him on the couch again. You found yourself setting your purse down and undressing again, trading the wrinkled suit for that stupid Harvard hoodie, and slipping back under his arm on the couch. You weren’t very tired anymore so you watched him sleep for a bit, running your fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp. You remembered him liking that before, you hoped he hadn’t changed his mind. It was a familiar feeling, safe feeling, one that you hadn’t felt in so long. You couldn’t think about what would happen tomorrow, what had happened yesterday. You just let yourself swim in the comfort of him for a little while longer.

(next chapter)

#andy barber x reader #andy barber smut

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