#but anyway back then that hurt a lot

[deoidesign]

Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

[ambrosiagourmet]

I was checking some emotional responses for Laios and was curious if he ever cries at all or if he’s full cold sweat/upset expression guy… I don’t believe he ever full cries but he does very slightly tear up both times Falin is revived :’)

[urproblematicfav-arsonk]

I think the worst thing about Stolas is that he's an absolute picture perfect victim in nearly every situation he's in.

He's endearingly, and relatably sad and insecure. He articulates his feelings and sets "boundaries". He admits that ".... GASP I'd be a monster if I let this relationship go on." He's in a loveless marriage and struggles with selfworth because of the abuse he faced as a child.

Everything about him makes all his behavior have this air of plausible deniability and excuses at the ready for any possible criticism.

Stolas is outright abusive and neglectful of his daughter, repeating the cycle, and regularly prioritizing sex over her mental health? No! He said he was sorry, :(((. His neglect is actually Stella's fault because she's such a BITCH that he can't focus long enough to notice that his kid is suffering.

Stolas has a emotionally and sexually coercive relationship with someone who he knows can't leave/break up with him because they literally need him to provide for his family and not die from poverty? Nooooo! He's insecure!! He just wants to be loved/desired and wasn't thinking clearly. He didn't notice all the blatant signs that Blitz wasn't comfortable with their relationship because....... Reasons!!

Stolas is classist, openly racist and demeans Blitz publicly and completely refusing to stand up for this relationship that he "cares" so much about? Nnnnnnnnnoooo, again! Insecure and sadboi. He was just embarrassed because he doesn't want people to rightfully judge and look down on him for abandoning his family to fuck some guy he just met. Thats not his fault!!! He even tried to emotionally manipulate Blitz into forgiving him by romantically leading him on after basically admiting that he doesn't respect or even actually like Blitz that much!!!!!!

Really, Blitz is the asshole there. I mean, what kind of a self hating idiot do you have to be to NOT immediately forgive the guy who thinks your nothing but a sex toy and when faced with the idea that your relationship is more then that, he acts like your disgusting and he's ashamed of you. Like, wow. He offered to hang out? Is that not fucking enough for you?

Meanwhile, Blitz just isn't really given the same grace. He's an idiot, he's an asshole for not talking about his feelings properly. He reacts badly to being accosted emotionally, and is blamed for not listening to his abuser's placating. Stolas is fair to be upset and want to be wanted after coming from a society where he means nothing outside of his ability to have children. But Blitz was fucking SOLD as a child. Considering how Fizz is also being sex trafficked by Mamm, and how "popular" he was as a kid, I can't imagine Blitz faired much better. Blitz was seen as worthless, only of use if someone bought him and forced him to do labor. All of which are things that heavily impact his relationship with Stolas. He isn't insecure when he's panicking over Stolas' offer, he's having a trauma response to the idea that he isn't doing his job as a body and product. Blitz has so much being held over his head. His daughter's future, his employees and found family, I hate that Stolas' stupid fucking emotional state is also something he has to handle.

All it takes for everyone to be on Stolas side, or to think Blitz needs to be more responsible to their relationship(the cheating accusations are fucking throwing me for a loop)is just some Therapy Speak and SadBoi Songs about how you're upset you got too emotionally attached to a guy you were assaulting.

Because Blitz is messy, and mean, because he's Fight and not Fawn, he's treated as the bad guy in this situation.

I think this problem comes up a lot in stories about mutually unhealthy relationships. I think about Spuffy a lot, where Buffy explicitly lead Spike on for literal YEARS, taking advantage of his feelings so she could feel good about herself and use him as a tool. And when Spike finally snaps(in an extremely out of character way btw)in Seeing Red, its framed like Buffy getting raped is her rightful punishment for being a tease. We don't address the ways she abused him until she's been punished, and we can use her abusive behavior to excuse and rationalize Spike's assault. Its no longer a conversation about unhealthy relationships and now is about how The Bitch needs to comfort and tell The Rapist that it wasn't his fault, it was hers!!!!! he's sowwy :(!!!

Similar problem with Stolitz I think. Blitz is shitty, he is mean and can be hurtful and manipulative. But we're only talking about it within the context of how Stolas needs to be coddled after being called out for his abuse. We could've handled this better. Considering the obvious care and EXTREME caution ValAngel got, I don't see why we couldn't have done that here. I don't understand why Angel gets special treatment and every other character thats sexually and/or emotionally abused gets treated as either a joke or just not given the same effort. They clearly can do it!! Because they literally did!!!!!! I love Angie and Fizz, but like man, we don't got the energy for anyone else, huh?

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'

[agardenofideas]

i hope sunny gets a villain arc if tubbo wont get one fully

like i need her to lash out at every single adult around her for not carring for her pa or her (looking at phil who offered to care for pomme and dapper when he wouldnt for sunny on tubbos Confirmed death), for no one taking her pa seriously, for taking things from them, from her pa until there was nothing left of him.

i need her to lash out at the adults for never seeing her pa hurting and thinking it wasnt serious, i need her to lash out in peoples faces how she had said they were worried for her pa and the adults just said hes like that or he'll get better and he didn't

i want her to lash out and reveal that tubbo said to her he felt more seen and cared about by a fed worker who was learning to have emotions than from any islander around

i want her to burn things, even if not a house and just a wood she placed down to set fire, i want her to do that, i want her to blow things up and lash out and be heard

cuz if being a good girl for her pa ends with them unheard and him dead then she will be heard now and once this thing called Creation gets her pa back to her, she is not letting him go

if any of the adults who didnt do anything to get him back cared for him in life and cared just a bit in death, they dont deserve to see her pa back again, he is sunny's and sunny's alone

i want sunny to spew vitrol and fire and to lash out at everyone, she deserves to go on a murderous rampage too as a treat

[moeblob]

I am really tired of a situation rn.

[chiquilines]

Recent chapters? What recent chapters

[fishy-lava]

I like to think of Simon as Edwin's fourth love interest not bc i think they should be together or that it would be a good idea but bc I like the tragedy of the eternal What Ifs they're both left with. like what could have been in another world? what if Simon had been kinder? what if they'd both been less afraid? what if they had the safety to be less afraid? what if Simon hadn't lashed out in humiliation and ended both their lives that night? what if they had the chance to grow up properly? what if they got to settle into themselves more? would Simon have apologized for all that he did to Edwin? would Edwin have forgiven him? could they have been friends? had a life together? or even a chance to try? could they have been happy? but they'll never know bc in the end Simon was cruel and they were both afraid and it killed them and they both spent decades in hell drowning in self hatred and fear as a result and yes now they've both managed to move on at least partially but there will forever be the question of what if things had been different?

[necrotic-nephilim]

"How else am I supposed to learn if you don't punish me?" With Jason x Bruce ship pls 🙏

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

fucked up BruJay my beloved. this is. honestly more emotional whump than physical and the romance is implied, but i do like this piece a lot, even if i struggled with it a bit. have 2.2k of Bruce and Jason struggling to get along. enjoy <3

Sometimes, Jason did it on purpose.

He knew Bruce’s patrol route better than anyone. Which was by design. Jason wanted to know where Bruce was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with at all times. And really, Bruce didn’t seem to be stopping Jason from keeping tabs. None of Jason’s carefully placed trackers were removed, and Jason knew better than to assume Bruce had lost his touch. Bruce knew they were there, and he knew they were Jason’s.

So if Jason wanted to avoid Bruce, he knew how to do it. And when he really did want to get work done under Bruce’s nose, it was easy for Jason to dance around Bruce’s schedule and send him tail spinning just trying to keep up with Jason.

But some days, Jason didn’t want to avoid Bruce. He wanted the thrill of the chase.

So he got caught on purpose.

He picked a gang on the side of town Bruce always patrolled at this hour. He used the loudest guns he had with no silencers. He started the messiest brawl he could.

And he waited.

Jason didn’t have to wait long.

Like it always was with Bruce, the entrance was dramatic. Shattering glass as a large form with an unfurled cape descended from the skylight. Jason smiled under his helmet.

There were already at least half a dozen dead. The rest were running around like ants, either trying to get away from Jason or futilely trying to fight him.

“You’re late!” Jason shouted over his shoulder. He dodged a batarang thrown in his general direction. “I expected you to get here at least five minutes earlier.”

“Robbery a block away,” Bruce said brusquely. He turned to a few gang members with tire irons and shivs lifted, ready to charge Jason. “Run. Now.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

Jason raised his gun to shoot one. He wasn’t particular about who he picked. He knew it didn’t matter. The bullet wouldn’t actually hit them.

Because just on time as Jason squeezed the trigger, a batarang buried into his hand. He swore and dropped the gun.

“Enough, Hood,” Bruce said coldly.

Jason smiled under his mask. “Someone’s gotta clean up this city.” He lunged for another thug.

Bruce’s body was like a battering ram, slamming into Jason. He was heavy enough to knock the wind out of Jason, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Jason groaned, trying to throw Bruce off of him. When that didn’t work, he went for his belt, grabbing his kris dagger and flipping it around.

“Do you hold any value for human life?” Bruce demanded. He grabbed Jason’s wrist and pinned it against the ground. “These aren’t supervillains, they’re normal people down on their luck-”

Before Bruce could finish talking, one of the gang members bashed him over the head with a wooden plank. Bruce’s cowl was reinforced, but the little bastard had managed to hit hard enough to snap the plank clean in half. A grunt was forced out of Bruce and his whole body buckled.

Now that was just rude. Bruce was Jason’s meat, not some stupid punk’s. Possessive jealousy flared through Jason, watching Bruce wince in pain to a wound Jason didn’t give him.

“Yeah, they seem real grateful to their savior,” Jason sneered. He threw Bruce off of him and grabbed the gang member. A wiry thing, probably still a teenager. Jason twisted them around to hold his dagger against their throat with his fingers buried into their hair, holding them still. A horrified noise came out of them. Not that Jason particularly cared. He wasn’t the one stupid enough to try beaning Batman with some plywood.

Bruce was on one knee, looking up at Jason. “Don’t.” His fingers twitched toward his utility belt.

“You can’t stop me,” Jason taunted, pressing the blade against tender flesh until the person was squirming in his grasp and blubbering out incoherent pleas for mercy. “Hands where I can see ‘em, B.”

If Jason was anyone else, Bruce would’ve stopped him by now. A quick flick of his wrist to hit Jason with a tranq dart, was how he guessed Bruce would do it.

But he wasn’t just some rogue. He was Jason. And that made Bruce go still, actually listening to Jason’s demands.

“You’re just doing this for attention,” Bruce said carefully, keeping his whole body tense, but not moving it. “Let them go.”

“It’s working.” Jason shrugged, adjusting his hold on the stranger. “So can you blame me?”

“There are other ways to do it without-” Bruce briefly looked around the room at the bodies littered everywhere- “casualties. And innocent hostages.”

“Innocent?” Jason laughed. He turned to address the person he was holding. “Do you think you’re innocent? Why don’t you tell the Batman where these drugs were getting funneled.”

“I don’t- please, I just help packaging- I didn’t-”

Jason huffed in annoyance. “I’ll tell him for you. The middle school down the street. And if there was extra supply, the youth center just around the corner from it too. You remember that youth center don’t you, B? I slept there sometimes as a kid. It was warmer than the streets.”

Bruce’s mouth faintly twitched. His jaw was set. Jason could see him grappling with the rage of knowing exactly who these low lives were dealing to, while still wanting to tell Jason off for all the ugly murder.

How contradictory that nasty little moral code of his could be.

“Let them go,” Bruce spoke slowly, “and we’ll work together to figure out how-”

“Oh don’t even pretend,” Jason laughed. “Don’t pretend you would work with me for a second.”

“Let them go,” Bruce repeated. He seemed to pointedly avoid admitting to Jason’s point.

Jason let out a long hum like he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. What’s one more to my body count?” He started to press the blade.

Bruce moved inhumanely fast. He kicked up, knocking the knife out of Jason’s hand without hitting the gang member. His hands went for Jason’s throat and he managed to get Jason back on the ground. The gang member ran off, footsteps echoing until they were gone while Jason and Bruce grappled, trading punches and kicks until Bruce managed to pin Jason down. Blood was pouring from Jason’s nose and Bruce had human claw marks across his cheek.

Rough. Animalistic. Just the way Jason liked it.

“Why do you do this?” Bruce spoke through grit teeth. “Why do you make me do this?”

“Like you said,” Jason grunted, trying to twist out from Bruce. “I like the attention.” His struggles only got him pinned harder. Bruce forced Jason facedown against the concrete, with an arm twisted behind his back. Jason’s helmet was torn off and tossed to the side.

“I never want to hurt you,” Bruce actually sounded choked up about it. “Why do you have to take it too far every time?”

Jason would give anything to see his face, right now.

“Maybe I want you to hurt me,” Jason said. He looked at his hand resting against the concrete, blood still pouring out of the wound the batarang left. it was a bright, pulsing pain that danced across his reality, making his blood sing. He hoped it would scar. Another to add to the collection of ones he’d goaded Bruce into giving him.

“Why?” Bruce’s voice broke on the word. It was an ironic thing. How badly Bruce wanted to show Jason his mercy. His gentle side. And how badly Jason wanted Bruce’s violence. He wanted Bruce to fight Jason until Bruce’s knuckles were bloody and Jason was barely conscious. He wanted to feel Bruce’s violence down to the marrow.

Jason craned his head back to look at Bruce and smiled. “How else am I supposed to learn if you don’t punish me?”

Bruce stared. For a long moment, he was silent. Jason listened to his breathing like a lifeline. “You don’t actually believe that.” his voice was soft and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to concern.

Sentimental bastard.

“No,” Jason admitted. “We both know I’ll never learn.”

To prove his point, Jason grabbed a stray piece of glass from the ground and stabbed it into one of the weak spots on Bruce’s armor. It made Bruce’s grip loosen enough for Jason to roll free and try to kick Bruce in the face.

Bruce wasn’t fighting him. He only blocked Jason’s blows, and even then, let some of them hit. It was like fighting a brick wall. Hard and unrelenting.

It was starting to piss Jason off.

“Don’t be afraid to hurt me now, Bruce,” Jason said through grit teeth, throwing another punch. It sailed uselessly over Bruce’s shoulder when Bruce easily dodged.

“No.” Bruce’s expression was unreadable under his mask. “I’m not playing your game, Jason.”

“Damnit!” Jason could feel his anger threatening to take control. He kicked Bruce hard in the shin, forcing the man to his knees. Jason ripped Bruce’s cowl off. He wasn’t stopped by Bruce. Hard blue eyes stared up at him. Practically emotionless. “I know you hate me. I know you’re itching to rip my head off for…” Jason spread his arms, gesturing to all the bodies. “For this! For everything I’ve done.”

Bruce shook his head, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. “I don’t hate you, Jason. I could never-” He doubled over when Jason’s knee connected with his stomach.

“Well you definitely don’t love me,” Jason snapped, ice dripping from his tone. “If you did… if you loved me, you would let me have this.”

“Killing people?”

“Hurting me,” Jason corrected. He snatched his kris off the floor from where it’d fallen to. He stared at the blade. “I’m sick of your pacificism. I’m sick of you pretending you don’t crave hurting someone and pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’ve never pretended,” Bruce looked at Jason through careful, hooded eyes. “That want… that need has always been a part of me. I take too much pleasure in hurting people. Pleasure in believing they deserve it.” He studied Jason for a moment. “I never wanted it to consume you the way it consumes me. Because I know it’s something you can’t come back from, once it takes root.”

Jason hated it when Bruce waxed poetic. It was a whole lot of bullshit that meant nothing to Jason. It did nothing to fight the roar of rage building in Jason’s chest.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Jason asked.

He needed Bruce to say yes.

He knew Bruce wouldn’t.

Even if it was the truth. Which now, Jason wasn’t so sure.

Bruce was silent. He didn’t give Jason any answer, not even a change in expression. Bruce just pushed himself to his feet and looked at his cowl that Jason was still holding.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce said. He grabbed the cowl, but Jason didn’t let go. “I want to help you. Please let me help you in any other way that’s not… this.” Bruce’s thumb brushed over the still bleeding gash on Jason’s hand.

Jason tightened his grip on the cowl. “I’m not giving you the free pass to sleep easy at night,” he hissed. “You can’t take back any of the scars you’ve given me. And we both know sooner or later, there will be new ones.”

Bruce tore the cowl out of Jason’s hand. Before putting it on, he started to reach out for Jason’s face, but seemed to think against it, hand abruptly dropping. He opened his mouth to say something. An apology, probably.

A muffled, crackly voice came from inside the cowl. A police scanner, by the sounds of it. Jason only caught the words bomb threat and hostages.

So much for Bruce’s attention.

“Come with me?” Bruce offered, pulling his cowl on.

Jason shook his head. “You know you don’t want me there.”

“I always want you-” Bruce cut himself off, seeming to realize how dangerously vulnerable his words were. “The offer to come to me will always be open, Jason. You know that.”

Jason’s fist curled and his blood dripped onto the concrete. “Go to hell.”

Like that, the intimacy was gone. Bruce put his emotional mask back on to go with his physical one and turned heel, walking away. Jason just watched him go, some part of him foolishly waiting for Bruce to turn back and say something. Anything. He could get any other hero to handle the bomb threat. He could spare Jason just a few more moments of arguing and fighting. Maybe even something more.

But of course, he didn’t.

[galaxythreads]

Made cake at 11pm today to celebrate my engagement because my parents refused to be happy about it.There is perhaps a small amount of bitterness in me. Cake was good though. Even if it's kind of gray for some reason.

[deoidesign]

My comic is so pretty...

The hiatus is letting me take a little extra time on these episodes, and I'm definitely putting it to good use!!!

[recitedemise]

𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿. This lengthy headcanon will refer to canon dialogue from mostly Gale, sometimes others. Reader's discretion is advised. There will be in depth explorations into grooming, emotional abuse, heavy manipulation, and suicide.

First, let it be said that Gale, a mortal man, will always be the powerless one in his dynamic with Mystra. Of course, nearing forty years of age, he remains entirely responsible for his own actions, his own blunders and every hurt he'll cause, but it's important to remember who formed much of who he is: his goddess, his deity, and egregiously, his lover.

Mystra is power. Mystra is possibility. She knows what sway she holds over her Ioyal, vulnerable, and entirely mortal followers. In all ways that matter, they are but lambs she can steer and herd as she sees fit. She knows they can't deny her and knows they'll never want to. Gale's sheer servitude and complete devotion. Mystra, knowing that, used him to filth.

Gale: I was just... practising an incantation. Player Character: No, there's more to it than that. I know devotion when I see it. Gale: What can I say? She's—she's Mystra. I can't describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence... Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation. Player Character: I didn't realize the depth of your devotion. Gale: Magic is... my life. I've been touched with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it.

Gale, orb in his chest, doomed to be eaten by the very thing he loves the most, still speaks so reverently of the goddess, of his lover that has left him to die. He conjures images of her memory—and she is all the while forgetting about his.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rasheman. While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth, I thought it born of caution after some catastrophe of wizardly men-folk of old. Now, I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

Tales of Mystra's treachery spreads far, leaving those familiar waters surrounding Gale's tower in Waterdeep. They whisper her name, afraid to utter it one time too many, suspecting, perhaps, that she'll show in their mirror like some Faerûnian Bloody Mary.

Talent rouses Mystra. She can see who uses the gift of the Weave and feel them, sampling whatever delight sings their veins as they pull from her domain. Not unlike a spider, she'll follows every tremor that strikes her as just a sliver more profound; and Gale, a prodigy, plucked the Weave's web to so garner her focus. And like some black widow scurrying, she surged down that ripple to prey on a boy. There, Gale, so impressionable, was just a mite older than twelve whole summers. He sat so stunned, beholding Mystra as she lured him into the cradle of her Astral domain. Bathed in her magic, pleasantly coddled within that glittering cosmos, Gale felt blessed in a way he'll struggle always to recount, no word, no language, fit to describe it. He felt chosen. He felt seen. And potently, to a child, he felt loved. Now, imagine a child experiencing something like that. Imagine what they'd think, how brilliant they must be when stood beside the rest. She told him he was gifted, made his heart swell not unlike a child's appetite for praise. She knew what she was doing by offering these morsels, by preying on a child's most delicate mind, and Gale, child prodigy, was already so awash in the idea that his value was in magic. Unfortunately, Gale, susceptible, had no way of squirming out of his goddess' grasp.

Reality: She's laid down the seeds to creep into his heart. When he's just old enough—seventeen's sufficient, she thinks—she stakes her claim and makes him hers.

Gale: My virtuosic talent once caught the eye of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, who named me her chosen and her lover.

Gale is stunned when she takes him to bed the first time. (Is this really happening?) Mystra claims his mouth in a kiss, taking everything she knows he offers so willingly. Mystra, of course, is not so stunned.

Dream Visitor: An elder brain... one of the cruelest and most powerful creatures in existence, enslaved by mere mortals. Gale, tasked with Mystra's missive to sacrifice himself: This is it... I must do as Mystra commands.

Gale has worryingly low self-esteem beyond his magic. As already explored, his entire worth as a man hinged on and was built entirely off his talent as a wizard. He fought tooth and nail for any crumb of affection Mystra would offer his way, something she only gave him at all seeing his gift as a child. He wants her forgiveness. He desires it genuinely. He believes so firmly that he has wronged his goddess, buying into the idea that sacrificing himself will right his wrong. She holds such dominion over him, making him reduce his confidence in himself into a mere, trifling pittance; after all, she wasn't just his lover, but the patron deity he prays to. And regardless, Gale is a people pleaser, his initial acceptance of her missive coming as no surprise.

After all, Gale, at times, goes to incredible lengths to appease his audience. This habit, compulsion, impulse, whatever you want to call it, is a quality that was relentlessly exacerbated in his relationship with his immortal paramour. He wanted to content her, felt all he did was never enough, for as a matter of principle, he was oceans, leagues, and entire galaxies beneath her. Gale figures: well, how can a short-lived dalliance satisfy a god? He had to make her happy. Indeed, he'd done everything she'd ask. He'd bedded her how she liked, kissed her how she wanted, and of course, even said those words she'd said tasted best. She was his lover, a lover that never tended to his own needs and pleasures, and he fooled himself into thinking that's enough. He won't bend backwards for everyone, mind you, but if you're of the ones he would, he would stop at nothing to make you happy. After all, people pleasing is a way to keep oneself safe, a trauma response to sidestep discomfort, and though it achieves only a direly tentative peace, when that is all you've been fed, you will pursue it.

Gale did not want to lose Mystra; he couldn't bare the sting of it. And so, when Elminster visited him, Mystra's call for his death offered oh so callously, Gale, heartbroken, felt that part of him kick up. He couldn't endure the guilt, was so hungry for a chance to let his weighty heart breathe, even if it meant dying in the process.

At least this way, he'll finally do something right. At least this way, Mystra will forgive him, and all his friends will survive.

Gale: After I was afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my self-inflicted tragedy. I'd given up on myself.

As a byproduct of people pleasing, Gale, too, is all too quick to accept all guilt. He self-deprecates, gaslights himself to a venomous degree, and twists his reality in so cruel a way as to make him the villain Mystra'd led him to believe. He self-flagellates himself, the first one in the world who will throw Gale of Waterdeep a mental punishment. Mystra's a goddess, after all, seen as utterly faultless, and twined so tightly with a being so mighty in esteem, Gale slipped into the role of the guilty often. When tied with anyone with grandeur like this, so immeasurable in their own self worth, it's important to keep in mind this: you are nothing but a prop in which to fulfill their ego. Gale was not Mystra's, not by a long shot. Rather, Gale was a tool, simply her mortal extension.

And he took every blow meant for her... a common and terrible habit for many people in imbalanced, ego-fueled relationships.

Gale's life beyond her wasn't something that interested her. She took most of Gale's devotion, manipulated his life to be her sole mantle of attention, for Mystra is not a goddess that shares very happily.

Indeed, long before his self-imposed isolation, this jealous deity did well at keeping him isolated.

Player Character: Picture kissing him. With tenderness. Then, with passion. Gale: I... I didn't think— Narrator: You perceive quick-fire embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.

And so, cheated out of love, so reduced in his value as a man and lover both, suffice to say, Gale's slow to believe he can ever be loved. That's what happens when you're with someone so cold, consistent only in their infinite lack of respect. Gale looks at fondness, and he feels—confounded, to be sure. He thinks, is this truly mine to have? He doesn't know what to do, is nearly forty in game, and despite having lived decades devoted to one relationship, he feels, at the same time, entirely out of depth. To be frank, he greets it with embarrassment, like he's been caught red handed with something not his at all. He's like a child caught rummaging with his hand in a cookie jar, all this isn't mine to enjoy, not mine to indulge in, but he thinks, startled, but god, do I want. He wars with disbelief, uncertainty, and need, and in so many ways feeling utterly starved, with just a glimmer of affection, he falls fast into love.

Scenario: (And if properly romanced, it changes his world.)

Gale: In her (Mystra's) likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death. I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling... No god could ever compare.

He says it with sincerity. There is such wonder, such love, and such awe in his eyes. He makes the act of kissing him feel like you've just reached into the trenches to but pluck him soundly from his ruin and despair. You think, Gale Dekarios, how unloved have you been all this time?

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command… none have loved me so purely before.

The answer is: entirely.

For so long, Gale thought love was simply being chosen. He knew nothing of being favored for the quality of his character, to be cherished and accepted even in those ways he fumbles and lacks. Again, his needs were seldom met, often treated with utter indifference by Mystra herself, and to meet someone so eager to treasure him, dote on him in a way his heart, his body is somberly new to, raptures his spirit and captures his soul. He's seen for who he is. He's... loved, desired for his silly quips, his easy smiles, and his growing affections. He bares himself to them, and in turn, they cradle his heart like something entirely precious. Gale thinks this has to be dream. He says, at times, you are more than I deserve.

Scenario: (But sometimes, he hopes too strongly and loves too greatly. As it always does, then, like he's once more wanted too much, he watches something beautiful slip right through his fingers. Of course, Gale Dekarios. Of course it does.)

Player Character: I didn't know you felt so strongly, Gale. Gale: Perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach... but I was only myself, and sometimes that isn't enough.

They don't love him anymore. It breaks his heart. He hurts so much, so profoundly and deeply, and he doesn't realize that he breaks their heart in turn.

Unable to ever voice his feelings with Mystra in any way that amounted to much, Gale's a tendency to wallow, expressions coming off as potentially 'guilt-tripping' and even, on occasion, passive aggressive. Firstly: Gale NEVER means to manipulate emotions, and he's no intention of twisting anyone's arm, either. Fact is, Gale, never taken seriously when he'd bared his vulnerabilities to the Mother of the Weave, can end up saying just a little too much. He feels very deeply, and for most his life, seldom had an outlet for these weeping sentiments. He sometimes lets slip raw words and oftentimes heart-wrenching expressions; all the same, it's not so pitiful as to shepherd an outcome, but rather, is a gesture taken by a man so desperate to be heard. It may feel like scheming, but the truth is far, far greyer: feeling as though he's no right to share the depth of his heart, Gale simply lets it geyser out in a way he can't cork up. In ways he doesn't realize, he's adapted to this ache, passively reacting so his feelings can at least be seen and recognized—no matter how pitifully unwhole. With someone who values so little his thoughts... well, when he slips into these moods, one can hardly feign shock.

Situation: (And if no one shows him trust and tenderness, any true care in his character or worth, Gale gets swallowed up by how wronged he was.

He thinks: Let me be a god. Let no one hurt like me anymore.)

Gale: They only want us to serve them, pray to them...and ultimately, to die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to? I could make that happen.

Gale is not above anger, and as stated, he is not above pettiness; however, more than that, he is not above righting himself whatever wound he was struck. Gale, if not offered much by ways of affection, understanding, is made to believe that one idea that's lived growing in his mind: Gale Dekarios is far from sufficient; he has to be more. He has to be better. Gale, in such an unkind ending for himself, sips too desperately—and perhaps greedily, too, but desperately serves as a far better word—at that idea that he needs power. And so, wresting the Crown of Karsus for himself, he spites Mystra in his own way, becoming a god he feels is leagues better than she will ever be. Damn her thoroughly. Damn her ego, her power, and her endless indifference. He will serve the people, protect them, and in ways Mystra never could, better the world.

Situation: But as a god, he loses all sense of his kindness. Humanity. All who loved him leave him, and even Tara spurns the image he's become. With power, he's gained the respect he thought he always wanted... but in turn, he lost in even greater measure all the love he's known.

Endnote: But healing, knowing to forgive himself and knowing he's deserving of care simply for being Gale Dekarios will remain, always, the best path for him.

[pzyii]

Wine of the mother. Death of the innocent. (I think about her so much. Also close ups under cut)

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i am not immune to launchpad sol and albin thoughts

[cheeriochat]

My attack on @fearmeeeee !!!

I loved drawing their oc Rosette and it was an honour for him to be the subject of my first attack ever!!!

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Ladd: but why would you kill me when I'm willing to kill for you?? Lass: omg you can't just say you'd kill someone, Ladd. that's murder and it's frowned upon.

(and then Ladd does kill for her but it's fine and part of the job)