#but it was strangely bloodless.

[rottenbrainstuff]

BG3 playthrough: opening thoughts on Astarion (I would be interested to know your thoughts?)

(Mild spoilers that the whole internet knows already)

I’m making my way through the crypt right now. Humorously, my tav is a bard and has fair bonuses for lockpicking and trap disabling, so I always just used him out of habit. Bards are versatile so I tend to forget sometimes to switch to other people in the party, outside of battle.

This runthrough though, I let Astarion take a crack at the crypt and then I felt super foolish, his bonuses are amazing and I don’t know why I wasn’t using him before. Oops.

Now let’s talk about biting, and I’m curious what you guys think:

The writing in this game is absolutely fucking insane. I’m gobsmacked the detail they put into all the dialogue branches. Once again you’ll have to understand where I’m coming from, I never played Skyrim, I never played Dragon Age, maybe this kind of stuff is par for the course, I’m just an old lady marvelling at the crazy things you kids have these days.

So I see absolutely everyone making jokes about constantly being bloodless cause they always let their vampire boyfriend bite them. Just about every single fic I read has Tav and Astarion with the ongoing bite arrangement.

So imagine my surprise to learn that… giving Astarion the option going forward to bite you whenever you want…. Doesn’t actually get high approval from him. Did you guys know that? I didn’t.

Uh without going into too much boring detail about the way the dialogue branches, essentially in the end, Astarion says he promises to only bite enemies going forward. You have the option to simply say “I’m glad we came to an agreement” which ends the conversation right there, OR, you have the option to tell him it’s ok to bite you again, as long as you talk about it first.

Ending the conversation with the agreement gets you five approval. Offering to let him bite you again gets you none.

Five approval is a significant amount. You might think that’s strange. He’s still allowed to bite enemies as well if you do the other dialogue option. Why would he not approve EVEN MORE if he’s allowed to bite enemies AND ALSO YOU? Why does that make sense at all?

I think that is some extremely fucking clever meta writing, assuming it’s on purpose, which I do. Astarion’s arc is all about him gaining back his bodily autonomy, and the writers have shown in other cases they are absolutely thinking about fourth wall breakage and player implications.

I said “the ongoing option to bite you whenever YOU want” very specifically. You, the player, will decide when you want that to happen, and let’s be very honest. The fact that Astarion can get the happy buff from biting an enemy WITHOUT the significant disadvantage of making Tav bloodless every day… who is going to choose to do that, except because they think it’s hawt to have a vampire biting them? And Astarion has no mechanism to refuse or to ask for it when HE wants it. The player is ordering him around. Tonight you’re going to bite me. He can only say yes.

(and I know you guys aren’t being horrible when you do the bite option! I know from the fics you write you see it as role playing flavour where it’s imagined as an offer that Astarion can freely consider: I just think it’s fascinating when placed instead in the context of a game where you are the one controlling the choices and the devs have obviously added a statement)

So dang!! I dunno!! I feel kind of bad about going on that dialogue path now. I think I’m actually going to backtrack slightly and redo the bite to go the other route. Not just because “I am mathing this game and I want the max approval”, no no, I’m not playing like that. But I feel like the approval is there to indicate something important about how Astarion feels about the options, and as a comment about the player’s intentions, and I am absolutely fascinated that this was programmed in. It is DEFINITELY making me pause and really consider why I’m making the choices that I’m making. I want the bite option. Why do I want it so bad? If the character likes the other option so much better, why is it such a debate for me? I have to really confront the fact that I want to boss around the sexy vampire and make him do what I want. That confrontation is the whole point of his character. What a crazy detail. I am FLOORED.

What do you guys think? Which do you choose and why?

[pacifymebby]

I cry when people yell at me(parent issues™️) and I was wondering how the peakys would react to that, like I can handle most things but yelling is like a big nono for me, would they be concerned or tease me for that, I don't think they will but I'm interested on how they'll react to it for the first time it happens, or if I yell back for the first time? You just do a great job at writing these characters💛

( im sorry if this is too personal or whatever)

AN: not too personal my lovely dw, here at Pacifymebby dot Tumblr dot com we (me) totally specialise in ✨ fanfiction as therapy ✨ haha. Sorry these have taken me ages to do. I'm also a crier when men shout at me so I hope I've written this how you wanted!!!!

Tommy

🌿 Is genuinely very shocked when, mid argument, you start crying. You've seen so much worse than this, you've witnessed some terrible things because of him and his brothers, the fights they get into every week. Only last week you'd watched with as calm a demeanour as one could manage, whilst Arthur had a violent breakdown and smashed a chair up at the dinner table. You'd not shown a shred of fear. But now, here you are, silent, heartbreaking tears streaming down your face and why?

🌿 because Tommy raised his voice at you.

🌿 you couldn't even remember what you'd been arguing about now. You'd seen red and blue fear in your mind the second he'd raised his voice. You'd watched him lose his temper with you, his jaw tense, his face going red as he yelled at you, his expression so angry, so cold and unforgiving. And it had shocked you. Tommy had never raised his voice at you before. You'd seen him shout at his brothers but he'd never shouted at you.

🌿 and the sight of you suddenly drained of colour, your skin taking on that strange bloodless translucency as you starred back at him wide eyed and fearful... it shocks him. You're looking at him like you don't recognise him and suddenly there's a lump in his throat.

🌿 He reaches out for you but you flinch away from him, backing away slowly and then suddenly fleeing, running away, vision blurred by your tears. You don't really know where to go and you can here him calling after you, but his voice raised shouting down the hallway for you only makes it worse. Only adds to your fear.

🌿 you're certain that you're in trouble so you don't stop even when he calls after you. Thing is he hasn't even said he's sorry. Hasn't realised why you're running from him.

🌿 "Y/N love for fuck sake what're you doin... we need to talk about this... Y/n stop!"

🌿 He's chased you out to the gardens, still shouting, still not getting the hint... it's only when he shouts again, louder this time, screaming your name across the lawn that you freeze. His voice seems to shake the whole world and it strikes the fear of god into you. So you stop. And he thinks thats the problem solved, that you've stopped running away from him now so he can return to you and you can talk like grownups.

🌿 but when he gets closer to you you back away some more, and even when he warns you to wait for him you edge away. Every step he takes you take one back until you find yourself backed up against a tree, looking at him with all this fear in your eyes.

🌿 He's careful as he approaches, one arm out to you, trying to coax you back to him... he can see that something has absolutely terrified you but it's only when he gets close enough to touch you, only when he brings his hand up to fix your hair that he realises what you're scared of.

🌿 "Don't hurt me!" You gasp, eyes squeezed shut, your body rigid with fear as you bring your hands up to protect your face. And it's that which makes him realise. That movement, that fragile tremble in your voice as you beg him not to harm you that breaks his heart.

🌿 and the realisation hits him like a freight train, chokes him. He can't believe you're frightened of him. He can't believe it's him who has caused you all this terror. You're trembling, your hands shaking the way a rabbit shakes when it knows it's being hunted.

🌿 He let's out a sigh, closes his eyes and tried to steady his own shaken nerves. He doesn't want to scare you anymore.

🌿 "Y/n, angel listen to me girl, I'm not going to hurt you..." he says, his voice a gentle caress as he takes your trembling hands in his, draws them away from your face and places them on his chest. He holds then both to his heart underneath his hand and with the other he cups your cheek. Makes you look up at him, catches your tears with his thumb and brushes them away.

🌿 "I scared you," he says looking at you ever so mournfully, he feels so guilty and you can see the hurt in his eyes. It just makes you feel worse and you shake your head trying to apologise. You can feel his heart beating beneath your hands, it's racing, his adrenaline too high and you feel guilty yourself because you made him angry.

🌿 "I'm.. I'm so sorry Tommy I made you angry I shouldn't have pissed you off its not..." but he cuts you off, finger pressed to your lips to hush you as he steps closer to you, his body so close to yours that you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. His head is bowed to look down at you.

🌿 "Shh now angel I'm talkin yeah, my turn to talk now eh so listen to me..." he's being ever so gentle, his hand holding your hip, the other tucking your hair behind your ear and stroking your cheek. He doesn't look harsh or sharp anymore, instead of anger his eyes are full of love. "Don't you apologise to me sweetheart, please don't do that... I'm sorry I shouted at you angel, shouldn't have done that but listen to me now eh cause this is important..."

🌿 You can't take your eyes off him, you're still shaking, still crying, your hearts still racing, but you're not frightened anymore. He's looking down at you with such an intense honesty, you can see the remorse in his eyes when he talks to you in that sweet gentle voice.

🌿 "I will never hurt you alright, I promise... even if I'm angry yeah, even if we're havin a blazing bloody row, I won't ever lay a finger on you like that sweetheart, I won't ever hurt you.."

🌿 You'd probably start crying all over again, burying your face in his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you and hold you tight. His hand stroking your back as he bows his head to place a kiss on yours. He'd cradle your head against his body and rest his chin in your hair. Close his eyes, hold onto you tight and treasure the feeling of you in his arms.

🌿 "You really fuckin scared me Tommy..." you'd sniffle struggling to calm yourself down.

🌿 "I know angel, I know and I'm really fuckin sorry alright..."

Alfie

🐻 He didn't mean to shout, Alfie's never raised his voice at you before because he doesn't believe in shouting at women and girls. He has a very firm, traditional view on that and he's stubborn about it too. No swearing, shouting and hitting women and girls.

🐻 The only reason he shouted is because he panicked, you were wandering around in a daydream so you hadn't noticed the tension in the bakery when you'd entered through the back door on your way to see your beloved. Tommy Shelby had just left, informing Alfie that he'd set up a trip wire to ensure his safety, that if he tugged on the string in his hand he would pull the pin from a grenade which would blow up half the bakery, starting a monstrous fire which would probably kill all inside. All those barrels of rum would go up in flames.

🐻 And you were one step from tripping that string which Tommy had tied to the leg of Alfies desk all, "I'll let you deal with this, have a think about what I've said whilst you work eh, careful though, its a delicate procedure..."

🐻 So when he'd seen you Alfie hadn't thought twice, shouting "Y/N stop! Stay there, fuckin don't move!" and luckily you'd frozen. Your body going rigid as the fear struck you like lightning.

🐻 He'd startled you for sure but more than that the sound of his voice ricochetting around the room, the voice of a man who was usually so tender and gentle with you, always so protective of you.. He'd never spoken to you like that and hearing it now struck ice cold fear into the very bones of you.

🐻 Alfie doesn't even notice at first, doesn't notice how you've gone white as a sheet, can't even move, he's too worried about that wire, too busy trying to work out what to do. Hoping there's a chance Tommy was bullshitting him. Hoping that actually there's nothing to fear.

🐻 And poor you, you're just stood there, hand clutched over your mouth starring at your love in shock. You don't know what to do because you don't want to embarrass yourself by bursting into tears over a little shouting, but you already know it's too late. Alfie really scared you, and he's never scared you before.

🐻 So you can't hold it back, you're trembling all over with the effort of fighting your tears, some have already escaped, you've swallowed down a sob already but it's the fact that Alfie's not even looking at you. The way he shouted at you so sharply, so harshly, and he isn't even looking at you now. You're struggling to reason with your own anxiety, convinced that you've done something wrong, that he hates you...

🐻 but then he hears it. The sound of your choked sob, one you'd tried and failed to hold back. And once the first escapes the damn breaks and you're in floods of tears. You don't move, frozen to the spot but your hands are over your face and your crying so mournfully that the sound sends an icy shard through Alfie's heart. Suddenly the hidden explosive is the least of his worries.

🐻 "Fuck," he grumbles to himself, telling himself off for snapping at you, "gentle Alfie what have I fuckin told you man, sometimes yeah you have to be fuckin gentle..." he's grumbling to himself as he reassesses his predicament. He knows he needs to get to you and get you to safety but he knows he can't get to you without risking your safety.

🐻 So he sighs. "Ziskeit, my dear, y/n poppet I'm sorry yeah, didn't mean to shout at you ziskeit, didn't mean to shout.. that was just me you know... panickin right, but I shouldn't have shouted at you yeah lovely girl I'm sorry..." he's making his way towards you very slowly and very carefully, talking soft and gentle, hands out because he doesn't want to startle you. His eyes flickering with concern between you and the wire you almost tripped.

🐻 "See my ziskeit, down there right by your feet yeah, there's a wire right and I need you to be very careful cause it's very dangerous yeah..." he doesn't want to scare you more than he already has but he also doesn't want you to move and accidentally set it off.

🐻 When he finally gets to you he doesn't hesitate to wrap his big arms around you and give you the warmest, tightest bear hug. He holds you firm against his chest, strokes your hair and cradles your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His beards tickley on your cheek and you're all wrapped up in the comfort of his musky scent.

🐻 "There, there my little ziskeit, s'alright now yeah, your Alfie's got you my darlin an he ain't lettin you go.."

🐻 He takes your hands from your face, won't let you hide and then he wipes your tears away with his thumbs. You can't just turn the waterworks off though and the tears keep coming.

🐻 Alfie feels so guilty.

🐻 But he'd hold your face in his hands and put his forehead against yours, looking down into your watery wounded eyes with such an intense devotion.

🐻 "Didn't mean to scare you poppet, please don't be scared now yeah, I'm here, I love you... I didn't mean to shout."

🐻 He'd probably call Ollie or one of his trusted men for help, he'd be instructing them on how to undo and disarm Tommy's trap, all the while still holding you and hushing you. The contrast between the way he barks orders at his men and then turns to you with the most tender, soft voice, shushing you and stroking your hair.

🐻 Promises he'll never shout at you again, but also, because he knows what he's like he also promises that if he does raise his voice at you, it won't be because he's angry and it won't be because he hates you. It'll be because he'd a stupid old man who forgets himself sometimes.

🐻 You'd sniffle, this shy smile on your lips as you tell him "you're not a stupid old man..." and he'd just chuckle, kiss your nose and brush your hair away from your tear stained cheeks, probably catching another tear on his thumb. "I am for making my ziskeit cry, but, you have my word now don't you girl, ain't ever gonna make you cry again..."

🐻 It's a big promise but Alfie is truly devoted to you and so protective of you that he really does hold it against himself forever. He's always viewed himself as your protector so the idea that you were scared of him is horrifying to him. He really does intend to keep his promise.

🐻 Will set a rule in the bakery and the warehouses that if you're around nobody is to raise their voice for any reason. He'll spin some bullshit about how it's very fucking rude and inconsiderate to shout when there are women and children present. If anyone breaks that rule Alfie will not hesitate to silence them in his own special way.

Arthur

🍂 It's probably not the first time this has happened let's be real here, this is probable not even the first time this has happend this week...

🍂 Arthur's emotions aren't exactly the easiest thing to endure... for either of you. He has a quick temper and he doesn't know how to express himself. If he's scared he turns to violence, if he's upset, he turns to violence, if he's angry, violence... even when he's happy or excited something usually gets broken, he usually forgets himself, talks too loudly... shouts...

🍂 And even though you're used to Arthur and his loud, uncontrollable and often unpredictable ways, you've never been able to get used to his yelling. You've always been easily startled and people yelling, raised voices has always set you on edge. And when someone shouts at you well, you always cry. You can't help yourself and you feel so stupid for it sometimes too... especially when it's Arthur who has made you cry because you know you should be used to it by now. You know what he's like... when he shouts and you start crying you always feel like a stupid child who can't control her own emotions.

🍂 But Arthur understands how that feels. It's not like he can control his either...

🍂 So of all the Blinders Arthur is the most sympathetic. It's not just that he feels terribly guilty for making you cry, it's that he hates how bad about yourself it makes you feel too and he wants you to learn not to be so hard on yourself.

🍂 So, he's always trying his best not to shout, for whatever reason... sometimes he comes home ecstatic about something that happened at the Garrison, he's half way through shouting through the house for you when he cuts himself off.

🍂 "Nah what have I fuckin told you Arthur Shelby, indoor voice for y/n, nice, gentle indoor voice..."

🍂 But of course this is Arthur and no matter how hard he tries he forgets himself and loses control on the regular. And when he does you also lose control... Arthur is an intimidating man at the best of times and when he shouts he is so fucking scary... especially when he's shouting because he's angry, and especially if he's shouting because he's arguing with you...

🍂 When that happens you probably don't just cry, you burst into tears, really dramatically... you'd shrink away from him, curl up on the floor crying your heart out, shaking, sobbing into your skirts and then when he realises what he's done it hits him in the gut and he does cold, panicks. He feels so guilty for scaring you again and rushes to try and hug.

🍂 Gets down there on the floor with you and bundles you up in his arms. His whole demeanor changes in an instant, all the fight knocked out of him in seconds as he rushed to comfort you.

🍂 Cradles you to his chest, rocking you to sooth you as he apologises over and over again. "For fuck sake darlin come here, fuckin 'ell I'm such a bloody idiot, I'm sorry my darlin I'm fuckin so sorry alright... didnt mean to scare you girl, y'know I love you don't I, ain't gonna hurt you, didn't mean to scare you just forgot meself that's all, you're alright my girl, I've got you eh, your Arthur loves you very much an he's very fuckin sorry for being such a fuckin dinlow eh..."

🍂 You'd be clutching at his shirt, sobbing into his chest, doing your best to calm yourself down, mentally chastising yourself for being so stupid because you know he didn't mean it, you know it was an accident, that you're safe with Arthur, that he won't ever hurt you... but even so, he scared you so much...

🍂 you'd push yourself up in his lap and try to wipe your tears away, probably trying to pull away from him and act as though everything was fine even though all you want to do is nestle deeper into his embrace and hold onto him until your heart stops racing.

🍂 And Arthur knows you well enough to recognise what you're doing so he isn't going to just let you go and pretend you're fine.

🍂 "Right now where dya think you're goin darlin..." he'd start, catching your hand and tugging you back into his lap, his arm locking around your waist, the other hand using his sleeve to dry your eyes. "Look at me yeah, got all the time in the world eh so I don't know what you're rushin off for darlin..."

🍂 "S'alright I'm alright now Arth was just being stupid wasn't I, you didn't scare me it's fine just bein..." but he'd cut you off shaking his head, giving you that frown which means 'dont give me all that rot y/n, I know you.'

🍂 "Nah," he'd say, "now don't start with all that shit now darlin, not wi me eh, I did scare you and you ain't stupid for bein scared neither... you ain't stupid at all..." "but..." when you try to argue he holds your face in both hands, your nose pressed up against his, his scruffy hair tickling your cheek as he gets right up close to you. His eyes are so intense when they lock with yours. "No buts now sweetheart, I fuckin scared you, I know I did and I'm fuckin sorry for it too... I'm the one who lost control so I'm the one who has to apologise right love, so I'm fuckin sorry yeah sweetheart, I hate scaring you an I never wanna do it again yeah... need to start using me fuckin brain eh love..."

🍂 But you hate seeing him put himself down so you're there holding his face in your hands too, looking up at him with such intensity, such stubbornness, it would be infuriating for him if he didn't currently feel so guilty. "You're not a fuckin idiot Arthur... don't call yourself stupid alright..."

🍂 For you and Arthur these scenes always end in the most loving of embraces, him holding you tight against him, you sitting in his lap on the floor, the two of you holding onto one another so carefully, so lovingly, your eyes locking as you tell eachother again how much you love one another. Your lips meeting in a desperate adoring kiss. One neither of you want to pull away from.

🍂 "Fuckin love you my darlin, don't even mean to upset you eh, I'll try harder yeah, Indoor voice from now I promise..." he says in as close to a whisper as Arthur Shelby can manage, kissing your face all over. Kissing away the last of your tears.

🍂 He always promises he won't shout at you again, you always promise you'll stop crying when he does. Both of you know that in a couple days time you'll be going over the whole routine again.

John

🌼 For all that John is a very laidback man, he has a temper on him and he has a very strict sense of morals, right and wrong (despite all of his moral activities) and when he feels strongly about something he will argue about it... and he has a temper on him.

🌼 When he loses his temper things can get messy, too emotional... He doesn't usually lose him temper with you though and so when he does it comes as even more of a shock.

🌼 He doesn't mean to start shouting at you, he already knows you don't deal well with it... Your voices have both been raising slowly as the arguments been escalating and when he finally starts really shouting you shout right back...

🌼 He didn't even realise he'd shouted until he heard your voice shouting back... suddenly cracking because you're trembling, because you've been fighting back your tears and they've just escaped.

🌼 He sees the tears streaming down your face and realises that you aren't even shouting because you're angry, your shout was one of fear. A "Stop it! Stop fucking shouting at me John fucking stop it!" Your hands over your ears as you shout at him from across the kitchen table, your eyes desperate with heartache and fear.

🌼 For a second you're looking at him with real upset and shock, like you don't recognise him at all, like he isn't your John anymore...

🌼 He feels terrible. He's gripped with guilt, a pain in his throat squeezing and aching, he's choked up by tears in his own eyes. Sometimes feelings are too big and John can't handle them.

🌼 Views himself as being the good family man, a loving, caring husband, a protective father, the man who looks after everyone, provides for them, so the idea that he could have done to his wife the one things she really can't handle, disgusts him. He's really disappointed in himself and he's determined to make it up to you.

🌼 He'd raise his hands up in surrender, his eyes full of guilt, his cheeks a little flushed as a tear escapes his eye, he's stepping away from the table, approaching you cautiously.

🌼 "Am sorry flower, I'm sorry..." his voice is wobbling but he's talking quietly now, as if lowering his voice like this is going to make up for the violence of his shouting at you moments before... and it does a little, or at least, his sudden effort to be gentle and careful calms you, lets you know you're not in danger.

🌼 He'll wrap his arms around you carefully, waiting for you to come to him, waiting for you to let him hold you. But when you feel the outline of his embrace you crumble, throwing your arms around him, sobbing into his neck as he closes his hold around you a little tighter, keeping you secure.

🌼 He'll hush you and rock you, doing his best to calm you down, all the while apologising for losing his temper.

🌼 "I'm so sorry little flower, I shouldn't have shouted at you, shouldn't have lost me temper that was fuckin stupid of me wasn't it..."

🌼 Lots of kissing your hair and your forehead. Will hold you as long as you need to calm down.

🌼 Will wipe your tears and tap your nose. Will hold your face in both his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, forehead to forehead promising you very passionately that he'll never shout at you like that again. You can see it in his eyes how strongly he feels, he's got tears in his eyes and he's perhaps crying a little too. He's talking but his jaw is clenched and the words are forced through his teeth so they come out really shaky but certain.

🌼 You catching his tears on your thumbs and brushing them away. The two of you eventually smiling at that, making a little joke about how over emotional you both are.

🌼 If you try to apologise for having cried, or if you try to joke about your tears, how silly it was of you to cry just because he shouted at you he will shake his head, cut you off all "no, no... no way flower, you ain't silly for cryin, you ain't supposed to like bein shouted at and your husband definitely ain't supposed to be shoutin at you like that neither..."

🌼 He'll be extra sweet to you for many days to come, bringing you flowers, talking particularly gently to you too. Lots of affection, hugs, kisses, holding your hand whenever he can, layering it on thick so that you know he still loves you... he knows how sensitive you are and knows that you'll still be worrying about the argument days later, so he'll do as much as he can to show you he loves you.

🌼 Once during a particularly heated family meeting Tommy shouted down the table at you for something you said, John was livid, white as a sheet with rage as he put his arms around you and stood protectively behind you. He was glaring so sharply his stare could have sliced Tommy open. Later you heard them scrapping when everyone else had left.

Bonnie

🍀 Bonnie is such a calm lad, he never shouts even when he's threatening other people. He's not the kind of man who raises his voice unless he really has to, he's usually the quietly threatening, controlled anger, spitting his threats through gritted teeth, not yelling...

🍀 It would take one hell of an argument, you'd both be feeling fragile and desperate, both of you shaking with he strength of the heartache and distress you're feeling.

🍀 Whatever you're fighting about it's been brewing for awhile so you both have so many thoughts, so many troubled feelings you need to get off your chest...

🍀 And when he does shout its because he feels a sudden panic, has a sudden fear that he will never be able to explain himself, never be able to make you understand... it's a truly desperate shout, almost a plea... "Would you just listen to me for a second love I'm trying to..."

🍀But he doesn't even finish the sentence, the second he realises he's yelled at you he feels a wee bit sick, his hands shaking and suddenly he can't speak at all. He's watching you, you're frozen, starring back at him with these terrifyingly sad wide eyes...

🍀 he can see he's just broken your heart.

🍀 For a moment theres silence, you're just starring back at him in shock, he's watching you, scared to move or say another word because if he does he's worried something between you will break. That you're both hanging on by a thread.

🍀 And when the thread snaps and you come back to life, your hand rising to cover your mouth and catch your sob, your eyes closing as your whole body shivers with the effort of fighting back tears, Bonnie watches you with this hollow weight in his stomach, this cold lump of guilt.

🍀 Swallows a lump in his throat, his voice quiet and shaky when he speaks again.

🍀 "Fuck, fuck I'm so sorry dove... don't cry, don't cry dove I'm sorry," he's speaking softly, hesitant to try and hug you because he saw the fear in your eyes and he's not sure you want him to come any closer now. "Please forgive me y/n I'm sorry, can I..." he trails off reaching for your hand, tugging you gently into his arms.

🍀Whatever you were fighting about it simultaneously ceases to matter to him and also becomes completely unsolvable...he's scared youre never going to look at him the same way again. He's supposed to be your man, your protector, the one person you can always trust and now he's let you down, he's scared you... he really resents himself for that, can't forgive himself for scaring you.

🍀"I'm sorry little dove," he'd whisper, his voice soothing, his breath brushing your cheek as he promises he won't shout like that again, "s'okay sweetpea, s'alright..." but he doesn't feel like its alright.

🍀 He'll hold you as snug as he can, but carefully too, treating you extra delicately, he's really hesitant to hug you too tightly or kiss you in case you're scared of him now.

🍀 "Don't be scared of my dove, you're breakin me heart," he says it with a teasing little smile, trying to get a giggle from you or something but you can hear the heartbreak in his voice and you know he's really telling the truth.

🍀 When you settle down a little you nuzzle into him, "Sorry Bon..." you sniffle trying to dry your eyes, caught out and speechless when he catches your hands in his and, strokes his thumbs over your palms. "What you sayin sorry for eh sweetpea? Am the one whose sayin sorry now..." he chuckles, holding your palm up to his lips and kissing your hands.

🍀 Even if you feel better quickly, soothed by Bonnie's sweetness, he won't feel better about it. The guilt will stick with him for a long time, one of those memories that comes back in the middle of the night and makes him cringe.

🍀 He's extra soft with you for the rest of the day and the morning after too, treating you like he's scared you're going to break. He speaks quietly and gently and he'll treat you with such tenderness, holding you at every opportunity, holding your hand even if you're just sitting together. Any excuse to kiss you or tell you he loves you.

🍀 Because he knows how upset you get when someone yells at you, if anyone else ever makes you cry by raising their voice at you Bonnie's fierce protective side will snap and he will be raring to defend you. You have had to talk him down from fights because of this.

Isaiah

🐀 He'll be so shocked when you start crying... he's seen you witness so much "worse" than shouting before... so he really wasn't expecting you to burst into tears when a drunk man at the bar raised his voice at you. He turns with a frown, brows tugged in in confusion as he blinks at you struggling to process the sight of you with tears streaking your face. He honestly didn't think anything could phase you...

🐀 For a second he's stunned but he soon snaps into action... "For fuck sake man now look what you've done!" He groans turning to the man behind your tears, "gone and made me girl cry ain't you... now I have to hurt ya..." he says with a cruel grin, as if he hadn't been intending on hurting the stupid cunt who'd been eyeing his girl up with lecherous eyes all evening anyway. "Don't get me wrong like... I wanted to anyway yeah, you've just given me a good excuse..."

🐀 Once he's satisfied he's fucked the stupid bastard up enough, he turns his attention back to you. He's not expecting to see you still crying, in fact he'd kind of been hoping he'd just imagined it, been hoping he was just going crazy like Arthur... but he isn't, and you are still crying.

🐀 And Isaiah isn't good with crying girls, doesn't know what to do about all those tears, feels totally at a loss.. especially because he's never seen you cry before.

🐀 will try to joke about it, not teasing you harshly, just making a little joke about how 'easily' scared it turns out you are... "You had me fooled mousy..."

🐀 This earns him a pretty firm slap from Ado who's jaw has just hit the floor... "Fuck sake dinlow whatre you doing making it bloody worse!" She'd be all arms crossed and shaking her head, muttering about how men these days are all the fucking stupid same.

🐀 but her slaps gotten through to Isaiah at least who is looking at you now with a somewhat more awkward smile, but he takes your hand and offers you a hug. This is the most stunted a conversation with Isaiah could possibly be and you're beginning to feel a whole different kind of anxious.

🐀 "Right for fuck sake, I've had enough of this.." Ada cuts in, "you.. give your girlfriend a fuckin hug alright," she'd say pointing at Isaiah and then pointing at you, "and you.. god sake girl get yourself a better fuckin boyfriend eh?"

🐀 "Alright Ada piss off yeah I've got her, she's alright now ain't you mousy..." Isaiah would groan, he's embarrassed by Ada pointing out his flaws but hes showing it as frustration instead. He will take her advice onboard however, he isn't that stupid.

🐀 He'll put his arm around your shoulder and squeeze you into his side steering you outside for a cigarette and some cool night air. He knows you'll be embarrassed about crying so he wants to take you somewhere quiet.

🐀 "Sorry for laughing at you doll you just took me by surprise... ain't like you is it... crying..." he'll say gently, he's sharing a cigarette with you, taking a drag or two and then placing it between your lips carefully. This is something he only does when he's trying to make you feel extra close and cosy with him.

🐀 He's quite curious about it, wants to understand why you cried, wants to know what it is about raised voices that you just can't deal with. And this curiosity isn't so that he can mock you, it's so that he can help you. He never wants to see you cry like that again so he wants to help you get over your fear...

🐀 He will offer you lots of reassurance, "you know I'm always here for you love, won't ever let anyone hurt you yeah... so even if someone does shout at you you ain't got nothin to be scared of yeah?"

🐀 He'll remind you that now you're with the Peaky Blinders you're always going to have someone near by to protect you. That men like "that cunt inside" will think twice about raising their voice at you...

🐀 Will hold your hand for the rest of the night, giving it reassuring squeezes at seemingly random moments. His affections will be subtle but constant all night and he'll make sure you feel safe.

🐀 If ever he shouts when you're nearby he'll remember himself quickly, apologising to you as soon as he can, making sure you're alright. If other Peaky lads chastise him for this he'll sock them round the back of the head no hesitations.

🐀 He's too easy going and because he doesn't want to shout at you, he avoids arguments like the plague, he'd rather just let most things slide until an issue absolutely has to be addressed because he's worried that if he gets swept into a row with you he won't be able to stop himself from losing his temper. He isn't sure yet whether this tactic is going to serve him well.

Michael

☘️ Its a heated argument, one which really give meaning to the phrase "blazing row." You and Michael are both furious with one another over a disagreement which has been stewing and bubbling away for weeks. One about Tommy Shelby and the unreasonable pressure he puts on his younger cousin.

☘️ When the row started it was because you wanted Michael to stand up to his cousin, you'd tried to encourage him to put his foot down, to start saying no every now and then when Tommy's demands crossed boundaries, but Michael didn't want to. he said you didn't understand the family, that you were sticking your nose into something which doesn't concern you.

☘️ And because you care so much about Michael you can't let go, won't back down. And because he cares about you and doesn't want you winding up in trouble Michael refuses to back down too. And thats how you end up screaming at one another in the middle of breakfast one morning.

☘️ He's so angry he doesn't notice that you aren't just shouting to match his fierce temper. He doesn't notice that you're trembling all over, that your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are wide and white - more like a deer in the headlights than a dragon.

☘️ The argument would peak with you unleashing all your fear and hurt, all your desperation into one shattering scream, "Leave me alone Michael for fuck sake leave me alone!" you shout over your shoulder when you go running off into the garden and he follows. HE doesn't listen however and it takes you picking a rock up and throwing it in his direction for him to get the message and let you go.

☘️ You run away for the rest of the day, go disappearing down the lane storming into the park up the street, finding a bench or a tree to sit beneath, hugging your knees to your chest and sobbing into your skirts.

☘️ Meanwhile at home Michael is pissed off, pacing, getting angry, damaging furniture as his temper gets the better of him. He's fuming, he can't get his head around why you ran away. Why you were so upset. . He thinks you behaved childishly and doesn't understand why you ran off like a little girl...

☘️ It takes you both a long time to calm down and when you do you really don't want to go back to the house, so you go to Polly's instead, you don't tell her about the row but you drink tea with her and wait for Michael to turn up. (Pol assures you he always comes to her when you've been fighting)

☘️ And when he does show up that evening he's been drinking whiskey and his mood is bitter and self pitying.

☘️ "Let me guess Michael my boy, you and y/n had a row... she got upset, she ran away, she..." "Came here," he smirks shaking his head with a small self deprecating smile, "hiya love..."

☘️ He won't apologise for shouting because you were shouting too, and because Michael never apologises for anything. But he will pour the two of you some tea and try to talk to you a little more softly than before.

☘️ "You worried me love, running away from me like that...gave me a scare..." "You were shouting at me," you shrug sullenly. He would be struggling not to let his temper flare again. "You were shouting at me too to be fair love... and anyway, you're not a little girl are you, you don't run away from someone just for shouting..."

☘️ You'd bristle, getting defensive, fresh tears glossing your eyes then, a painful lump in your throat when you realise he doesn't understand and maybe isn't going to.

☘️ "No," you say, voice catching in your throat, "but what kind of man likes screaming at his girl?" When you ask him that he won't be able to ignore the guilt he feels. He'll be struggling to swallow down the lump in his throat too and he'll reach for your hand across the table, brush his thumb over your knuckles as he looks you in the eyes, tries to find an unspoken equilibrium between the two of you. Something to two of you can hold onto despite your differences.

☘️ "Alright," he says finally, let's out a little sigh and squeezes your hand. "No more shouting eh how does that sound?"

☘️ When you nod your head, your smile forming slow but wide, he mirrors your warm expression and leans back in his chair, tugs your hand across the table so that you'll stand and come sit down in his lap.

☘️ "No more shouting it is then y/n," he says holding your waist in his hands, feeling closer to you at last, enjoying the comfort of your familiar shape beneath his hands. He'll point to his cheek then all, "come on love, give us a kiss eh? Forgive me?" and he'll wait until you do lean in to place a kiss on his cheek before he catches yours in his palm and steers your mouth towards his.

AN/ hope these were what you were hoping for lovely, I honestly am not sure I've done your request justice but I don't think I can write much more so sorry about that :/

Taglist:

@jomarch-wannabe @zablife @call-sign-shark @marwwfairy@toddlerbodybag@mollybegger-blog@inalovesrabbits-blog @elina-777@impossibleheartflower@liliac-dreamer@everysage@itsghostgirlyo

[txttletale]

youve previously spoken about i was a teenage exocolonist and its confused politics, and i agree, and now im thinking, how would one revise the story so as to improve them?

i think the game would have to either not be so proudly About Colonialism or would have to revise its story so that the theming actually matches the events. like imaginining that my proposed rewrite aims to 1. make the game's politics coherent while 2. changing as little as possible and 3. keeping the game's intended themes, i think the things that are most dissonant and jarring are:

the game not understanding what colonialism is but wanting to very much assure you that It's Bad

the game not understanding what fascism is but wanting to very much assure you that It's Bad

the game not understanding what capitalism is &c. &c. &c.

the bizarre unexamined eugenicist elements

so let's start on the first thing. you would want to lean much more heavily on the colonists as 'refugees' rather than 'colonists' -- the game treats 'colonizing' a place the exact same way as 'living there', and that kind of sucks (a common problem when using 'Space Colonization' as a 1-1 metaphor for actual colonization). so while we want to keep the weird culty aspects of the colony's society we'll ditch most of the colonial intentionality until the Helios arrives. secondly, we need to have the planet's indigenous people, like, actually present and not secretly hiding away as supercomputers.

so, like, let's keep the Gardeners as artificial life forms dedicated to protecting the ecosystem, but let's make them biotech. let's make them giant, imposing trees that reach up into the sky, with root networks that span the whole planet. then, rather than the colony being colonialist because it straight up doesnt know indigenous people exist (because they're secret computer people), we can make a much more interesting conflict by having the colonists be ignorant (and, as the game progresses, willingly ignorant) of the gardeners' sentience. have the raids start after the colony fells one of the trees (killing a Gardener) to make room for their own expansion, maybe really lean into the nasty parts of the colonial metaphor by having the Gardener's wood be the construction material of the new wing of the colony.

then Lum arrives as part of an intentional colonization project from the Earth we fled, assumes military command as in the current story, and immediately ramps up existing exploitation and destructive enviromental practices. his administration deliberately suppresses information of the Gardeners' sentience and spreads propaganda about them being 'monster trees'. have Lum clearly backed by Earthbound corporate interests, seeing the colony as an excercise in extracting value and using fascist dictatorship (usurping elections and the council with a permanent state of emergency and martial law) as a tool to maximize that value.

instead of defeating Lum at the ballot box, you can remove him in a coup. you can keep the getting-the-councilors-on-side minigame, you can even make it a bloodless coup if you don't want to put revolutionary violence in the game (but considering how much other violence there is in there, including terrorism, genocide, and murder, seems like a strange omission tbqh). and dont make him your fucking tiktoker put the guy in Jail. hes killed people sol.

have Sym still have his humanboo interests but also hint at an internal power struggle within the Gardeners, make it clear that there is a real and thriving culture among these indigenous gigantic environmentally networked tree-ecosystem-people, make his motivations for seeking peace more multifaceted.

then make the peaceful resolution to the whole colonialism issue to integrate the settlers into Gardener society rather than the weird siloed reservation thing going on in the base game. the head of the settlement or an ambassador (probably Dys) gets to go to the big fancy Gardener meetings where they decide things, the settlement gets permission from the Gardeners to farm and expand sustainably and is integrated into the ecosystem rather than neatly separated from it. the excolonists stop being colonists and become citizens of the planet.

as for the capitalism stuff, you can just drop that from marz' character, honestly. or if you want to make it make more sense without having to get into What Capitalism Is (which i think would be outside the mission statement of these proposals), make her thing wanting opulence and excess (it already kind of us, the game just keeps saying 'Capitalism'), have her excited when Lum starts giving people the opportunity to have that, then have her moment of excitement turn sour when she looks into Earth history and realizes how destructive this kind of extraction is in the long term.

and the eugenics--i think the simplest case here while still keeping all the cool genetic mutant character tics is just to make the genetic mutations a random glitch in an artificial womb system the refugees were using to have kids in space. this lets you keep the weird and wacky stuff going on with tangent and dys without raising questions like 'hey isnt this society insanely fucking dystopian'.

that's my in-a-nutshell rewrite of the game. obvsies an actual rewrite would need to change some more in-depth things, but i think off the top of my head these are the changes to the narrative that would make the heavyhanded attempts at political commentary work for me (that said, you could also go the opposite route, stop trying to draw parallels to colonialism and fascism and keep all the weird shit as is. but i think that's less interesting and more like stuff that already exists)

[mindblowingscience]

We already knew that starfish were pretty weird. These strange, sea-dwelling animals seem to have rules unto themselves. They are brainless, bloodless, digest their food externally, and regenerate body parts, sometimes into whole other new starfish. But none of those are the creepiest thing about them. According to a new analysis of their gene expression, starfish and other echinoderms lack the architecture for an actual body. They are essentially just mobile heads that sprouted the ability to crawl, say a team led by biologists Laurent Formery and Chris Lowe of Stanford University. "From the perspective of ectoderm patterning," the researchers write in their paper, "echinoderms are mostly head-like animals."

Continue Reading.

[zeraaachan]

i wanna be your slave modern au! genshin men x yandere! reader

summary:  in which the reader kidnapped the genshin men, not knowing that they enjoy the chains and the feeling of being their captive. character(s): il dottore, childe, albedo content warning(s): dark content, yandere behavior on both the reader and genshin characters' side, mentions of blood and violence, kidnapping, animal cruelty; they/them pronouns used for reader author's note: got lazy on childe's part. send me some asks plk.

il dottore il dottore is such a strange boy. he sits alone on his corner in the classroom, fiddling with another of his small experiments on his cramped and messy desk. with a crazed grin, he pins different varieties of bugs on his little boards. sometimes it won't even be little bugs. sometimes it will be bigger, a huge mariposa or a particularly large moth. but there are also times where they'll see him pinning something living other than bloodless insects. at times it will be frogs, who'll croak as he pin it alive to one of his flat boards. at days it will be birds, innocent and harmless, yet got their wings clipped by the blue-haired boys maniacal fingers. and at some days, it will be nothing. his board will be empty, void of a poor soul, as his nails rest on his pale palm and he eyes one of their classmates. a mad grin will always settle on the strange kid's half-covered face as his eyes rest on one of their classmates, as his fingers caress his board delicately and murmur something. like a maniac, he look at another human being as if controlling a desire to pin them like one of his poor subjects.

but that is when his eyes are not on them.

il dottore is that strange classmate of them. who wears a mask that covers half of his face and hoods whatever emotion his face displays. they can't even see what color their eyes are.

il dottore is a weird kid, and it's not a personal sentiment that only they have. a lot of their classmates do. what a weird teen that often gets his stomach kicked in the hallways. the blue-hair weirdo who only laughs and shields himself with his arms as some particularly nasty schoolmates assault his body. but strangely enough, the same kids becomes missing the next day if not lose a limb. one even got a hole on their palm as if someone drove a nail on it. huh, strange.

il dottore is a strange kid, a weird classmate, but an interesting one.

when they're feeling particularly intrigued, they'll peek their head over his shoulder as his hands commit crimes against nature. curiously, they'll ask intellectual questions about his pinned subjects and wonder for his purpose on his experiments. does he see it as an aesthetic? is it for a scientific purpose? or does il dottore merely enjoys the sight of a squirming living being, struggling to live and free its bound limbs? more often than not, il dottore doesn't answer… but he murmurs something under his breath, too quiet and even disturbing to be heard by anyone.

once, they felt rather nice, elated by a certain situation that now they forgot. in their good mood, they even decided to interrupt the assault on il dottore's poor body and lend him a hand. ah, he look particularly pretty with that nosebleed. perhaps they should've ignored it for a little more while to see more. but when dottore accepted their hand, his lips contorted into something that is neither a smile or frown, with a line of blood trailing from his nose down to his chin, they thought it was worth it. especially when they saw his crazed eyes on them. it's a beautiful red.

what a lovely addition he is… to their collection of beautiful things.

they're unsure whether the blue-haired boy is simply naïve or careless. he even failed to notice that someone already tampered with his drink. not that they will care if he actually noticed. all that matters is that il dottore is like a butterfly that got caught in their web. now, all for them to take. a blue butterfly for them to pin.

they watched as il dottore slowly wakes up from his unconscious state. as his red eyes takes on his surroundings. a ribbon loosely tied to his neck. more ribbon tied to each of his wrists, binding him to the armchairs of his throne. ah, il dotttore look quite beautiful with mere laces tying him. with easy to be ripped ribbons holding him together, like a present for them. a twisted one.

yes, il dottore looks captivating. but with his mask blocking his face, how can they see his beautiful red eyes?

and so they stepped closer to their lovely subject. they can feel his gaze as they watch them. but whatever emotions brew behind those beautiful ruby eyes of him that hides behind his mask, feels far from a prey. they cannot see it but il dottore's glare feels as if a predator eyeing another predator.

"how pretty." they finally murmured when their hands touch the material of his mask and lifted it from his pale face. how pretty. how beautiful. as the mask that became a part of their weird classmate was finally removed revealing something that is truly worth being displayed underneath. a giddy smiled slowly crawled to their lips as they stand in front of the seated and bound dottore. they watch over him, looking at him in the eye as a pair of ruby stare back at them.

il dottore have that crazed look in his eyes, the same one that glistens when he pins his tiny subjects on their board.

however, this time it is uncertain whether it is them he wants to pin… or it is him that aches to be pinned.

childe childe is dumb, a loud dumbass.

that tall, popular basketball player who is the literal star of the team. who practically shines as he place his hands on his knees to catch his breath as sweat glistens his body. childe, that rich, popular varsity player, who always get the loudest scream when he scores on the court. who sends a playful wink to their direction whenever he successfully made a shot. who more often than not got hit in the face with a ball for being too distracted looking at them. childe, that dumb and loud dumbass, who'll always run to them like a puppy whenever the game ends. who'll present them with a huge happy grin as he takes the bottle of water and towel on their hands.

childe, that loveable but loud dimwit, who'll bend to their height so they can feed him with his favorite snack that they offered.

he's that ginger who'll take a bite from the snack they prepared for him, chew for a moment, before grinning brightly again. as usual, he'll say in his happy-go-lucky tone. "you really know what I like!"

childe, handsome but loud, charming but naïve, popular but dumb. too naïve to even notice the dark look in their eyes and the smirk on their lips as he mindlessly drink the water from the bottle they gave him. too dumb in fact, that he even failed to realize the sinister trap laid for him. what a naïve and dumb ginger.

and since childe is so dumb, they ought to protect him. he's too naïve. innocent. he doesn't know what those flock of girls can do to him. they better protect him… and hide him from everyone.

but where's the naïve and innocent part in the man before them? where's that seemingly carefree ginger on the court? how can the childe they always see at school be the same ginger in front of them, tied with blood trickling down his nose yet he only chuckles. who only laughed louder and more maniacally when they slapped him. who only cooed when they told him that they'll ever let him escape. who now doesn't look at them with innocence and a huge grin but with dazed eyes and a bloody smirk.

where's the naïve and innocent childe? where's that dumb, dumb childe?

but it doesn't really matter, doesn't it? as long as he's theirs. as long as he's tied for them to selfishly play with. as long as he's a captive protected by them.

"i think I'll be keeping you here." they murmured as they straddle his stomach, the leash of the collar on his neck tightly held by them.

but they only got the same reply. a breathy laugh, one that is hard to distinguish between a moan and a chuckle. "you really know what i like." albedo

"how smart are you?"

once, they asked the golden boy, albedo. and it's not an overstatement to call him a 'golden boy'. he practically shines, especially when he sits on the classroom's window, his sketchpad on his knee, as the sound of pencil dancing on paper fills the air. he practically shines when the sunlight grace his light locks and the sun ray kiss his pale, pristine skin. as the wind blows his light hair and he tucks a stray lock behind his ears. ah, albedo, the golden boy. he makes a picturesque scene just by sitting on the window and holding the sun's spotlight.

but albedo is more than just a pretty face. when the heavens rained talent on mortals, albedo is on the cloud, the one  who makes the rain. a talented pretty boy, who's smart enough to advance many grades but strangely enough stayed on their class.

and it made them ask their question. "how smart are you?"

albedo looked at them with his azure eyes, the cunning and beautiful eyes that hides a certain intelligence behind them. not that it is a secret that the man is practically a genius.

"smart enough," he answers them, "to get what I want."

and it made them giddy. albedo is a pretty boy, a smart lad, an interesting kid. and the last matters more than the first two.

that's why albedo shouldn't have found it strange when he felt a hard smack behind his head. the golden boy shouldn't have been surprised when as he walk home on his favorite dark, secluded road, something hard harshly slapped the back of his head. he shouldn't be shocked when he just found himself chained on a chair, in the middle of an unfamiliar room. not that albedo looks shocked in the least. he looks placid, as if he belongs there and is not taken against his will.

and they failed to noticed it.

an euphoric laugh escaped their lips, giddy on the ecstasy of having tevyat academy's golden child in their basement.

"do you want to escape~?" they cooed at albedo, the key to the locks on his chains in their hand. the key, albedo's sole hope to escape, follows their hand movements as they wave it maniacally. "then escape! that is if you're actually smart enough to do so~"

albedo watched them with careful eyes, taking on their high form as they laugh in hysteria. they laugh in triumph as they got him at their mercy, his whole body bound by cold, heavy chains. they laugh in success as finally, they got albedo.

and albedo joined them in their laughter… for this is also his victory.

finally, the days of being interesting paid enough. the many hours of sitting by the window to look particularly captivating, the way he stayed in their class when he could've advanced, the dark, lonely path he takes purposefully to go home… all of it finally paid off.

apparently, albedo is smart enough to get what he wants… chained and a captive of them.

[pearlmagick]

IRON BONDS I

pairing : harry potter x reader

synopsis : harry’s best friend likes their drinks on the metallic side, but he hasn’t a clue about them being a vampire, nor the fact that they love him. | inner angst

warnings : mentions of blood

notes : first fic !! hello everyone, sorry if this is messy + still figuring out a format i like. thank you for reading !

It was another Saturday morning of lying to everyone you knew and cared for. The sharp and unusually shiny fangs pierced through your comfortable life as a reminder that one small needle could render the whole comfortable haystack dangerous as anxiously wait for the moment the needle would decide to show itself and draw blood.

Blood.

You inhaled sharply, trying to remove all thoughts of the newly delectable liquid as you drank the almost-transparent potion to temporarily shape your bloodless skin and pointed fangs back to your old self.

Your vampirism wasn’t terribly new. During the summer before your fourth year, a vampire had lurched from the depths of a nearby forest and turned you into one of his kind. The pain of the change was unbearable, yet you couldn’t fathom the pain of losing the life you had built, so you and your family had kept your undead-ness a secret from all, except the headmaster who meticulously crafted accommodations for you.

That didn’t matter to you; you didn’t care about the metallic “cranberry juice” you drank every dinner, you worried constantly about what Harry would say.

Harry Potter was your best friend and the pair of you knew everything about each other. It was all the most cliché story: two best friends with one pining for the other while keeping a dark secret. A compelling tale it was, but when it was your reality, it felt more like a nightmare than an entertainment fantasy read.

You and Harry were sitting together at the top of the Astronomy Tower as you listened to him rant about Umbridge with snide asides about how he was leading a secret club right under her nose. You tried to pay attention but the mix of thoughts between the ticking clock until your bloody dinner, the sound of Harry’s heart beating faster with his excited lecture on the DA lessons he had planned out, and of course, the plague that caught you before the rogue vampire, losing yourself in the green eyes that you’ve caught yourself in the maze of for the past three years.

Perhaps your lack of focus was stronger than normal because, for the first time, Harry noticed your eyes look hazy as your mind crawled around to make a complex web of wandering thoughts.

“Y/N ? Are you alright ?” Your head snapped back into position with unusual speed that Harry couldn’t help but notice. “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong, Harry. You can continue, I’m listening, promise.” You pushed your pinkie to hook with his as if this gesture was the epitome of trust before bringing your hand back.

Harry stared before continuing, yet decided to keep a closer eye on your strange behaviour.

You did your best to stay as normal as you possibly could, worrying that if you stepped a toe out of your ordinary routine you’d risk exposing yourself and losing everyone, including the boy you fell in love with.

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

Gelid (Geo x My/Any MC/Reader) (Part 1/2)

TO ALL THE MANDIVIDUALS AND TO THE ANONS FROM ALL THE PLANES, I GIFT YOU PART 1/2 FOR A GEO x MC FIC.

A/N: So, essentially I'm an indecisive little bitch and couldn't choose whether to make this an 'x my MC' or an 'x reader', so it's written from the POV and mentality of my MC (Xan), but altered so that it can be read by (hopefully) any MC. :D

This is an original work, made and thought up entirely by me.

Part 2 Link: Torrid (Part 2)

You'll all get to fuck Brugmansia.

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Gelid: icy; extremely cold.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

The zephyrs were frigid, the fiery autumn leaves peppered the sepia soils of the park. 

It felt soothing, in a cruel way.

The sharp prongs of twigs jammed into your thighs, the packed soil under you felt as if it had been frozen in an icebox for weeks. Yet the discomfort held a small sense of familiarity. After all, you lived on a farm with weather and terrain similar to this, did you not?

Around you, the wind blew sharply, making the leaves rustle like a soft symphony. Despite the cold biting at your skin, there was something strangely comforting about the scene, almost like a bittersweet lullaby.

As you sat there, feeling the twigs prick your skin and the frozen ground beneath you, memories of your childhood on the farm flooded back. The similarity of the surroundings brought a sense of belonging, even amidst the discomfort.

What wasn’t familiar, however, was the feelings that a gelid soul would bring upon you. A frigid heart whose drumbeat and rhythm dictated your every move. A man of such enigmatic origins, a stoic face and a vehemently cold attitude was all you saw within the late autumn landscapes. 

His wind-swept hair amidst the falling leaves…

His piercing turquoise eyes against the darkening sky…

His concentrated, purposeful gaze as he aimed for a bullseye among the many crows who seemed to eye you insatiably.

As if they knew how little time you had left.

The silence around the grounds was deafening, with the exceptions being the chilling, suffocating grasp that the gradually-strengthening winds held over your vulnerable, light-clothed body.

You shivered, trying to ignore the warnings your body was screaming at you. To warm up, to go home, to at least get a coffee until the winds died down.

But you, as usual, neglected them. You chose your bitter self-disgust over self-preservation. Wanting to feel the touch of winter, yet becoming almost immobile at the graze of autumn.

It was pathetic. 

You were pathetic.

And you bet your soul he knew it too.

A tear fell from the sky, then a second, then ten more.

Even the cloudy skies - the shattered greys against the white cracks - were weeping over you.

Over how defenceless you felt. How you weakly cradled your legs against your shuddering torso, the gusts whipping your back and raking its wintry claws across your numb face.

It was too much. 

Being sent down to a school seen as a second home for the alleged stupid and societally inferior, being indebted to a man whose intent held more poison in his coal-black heart than a taipan’s venom…and most of all?

These stupid feelings you held for a guy you knew would never look at you the way you wished.

Of all people, your heart selected the one it could never have.

Maybe that was fate’s way of making humour out of you.

Your body kept agonising itself, its ornery, fearful demands for heat were getting more vicious and demanding. 

You were being selfish, you knew it. But was it so wrong to want to focus on the ache of your body, rather than the gaping hole within your restless heart?

You used to snort and roll your eyes when people stated the sheer brutality of heartbreak, or the alleged pain that arose from how people knew their ‘crush’ would squish their heart into a bloodless pulp; leaving it exsanguinated and cold, numb to the colours and sounds of the earth.

You now understand. 

You understand the grief and pain you now wish you never had to feel. If you could’ve unpunched that stupid fucking kid and never gotten expelled, you’d have never seen…him.

Never felt your heart squeeze and skip every time you laid eyes upon him.

His beautiful face, his pallid skin—anything with him made you feel fuzzy and warm, so unlike him.

You brushed against his hand once, felt the frigidity of it, its slender structure, its size. 

You hated the cold, resented the feeling of your body constantly shuddering for warmth even when you were snuggled under layers of blankets and clothes.

Yet you touched winter himself, and you couldn’t get enough.

Now you sit in the midst of a rainstorm, small spheres of ice pelting your skull, as if God himself was trying to tell you to leave.

You didn’t. You knew you would never feel winter’s caress again, so you may as well feel its slap. No matter how much it stung.

Something hot trickled down your numb cheek, searing the cold skin with a sudden, brief burst of warmth.

Even the broken shards of the sky were a source of sorrowful comfort for you.

You and your hurting heart. 

Another hot droplet slipped down the icy rink that your face had become, your body serving as an immovable statue; the chills had long since usurped control over you. 

Your heart pounded, trying to pump warm red blood into your glacial, pale flesh; the onslaught of parky, frozen tears falling alongside the sheer brutality and strength of the wind-whips. Through their alliance, you remain covered under the overbearing weight of boreal blankets and sharp sheets of winters’ hiemal essence. 

“MC.”

You froze, your despair placed on a sudden hold as you temporarily ceased your despondencies.

You knew that voice.

Of all times…why does he have to see me like this now?!

You shut your eyes, praying that he wouldn’t approach you. 

Alas, like you expected, he did.

“What the fuck are you doing.”

You didn’t respond. Hell, you fucking couldn’t. The words all slipped from your mind as soon as his regal face came into view.

Your heart started pounding harder, almost as hard as the intensity of his gaze was; his icy blue eyes analysing you, seeing through you, through all your woes.

Surveying how stupid you looked, probably.

His face was taut, steely, gelid.

“Look at me.”

His voice sounded strained, maybe even a smidge melancholy. With trepidation, and a twinge of guilt, your eyes met his.

He knelt down in front of your huddled form, his hand gingerly cupped your frozen cheek, smearing your searing tears across it with his hand - the one that yours briefly grazed against. His other one seemed to be occupied with putting his signature violet hoodie on you, his cold hands now brushing against your body, tugging the soft garment down so it would cover as much of you as it could.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

He swiftly scooped your numb, shivering body up, his voice laced with an ornery concern and, if your throbbing ears were to be believed, fear.

You were so dazed you didn’t even register your head was pressed against Geo’s thumping heart.

You had to force yourself to not instinctively lean into his chest, to try and glide your flopping hand across his torso, tracing any ridges in his flesh.

Why, despite possibly being on the verge of death, do you solely ponder what his torso would feel like?

Perhaps I’m simply too lucid to function.

You let your head relax against his forearm, the firm flesh serving as a pillow for your head, his body bobbing up and down as he moved, slowly coaxing you further and further into a blissful, serene nap. 

Alas, as you felt his heart pound against your ear, you felt a surge of heat flush into your body. Endless waves of summer’s scorching rays tearing through your body, slowly chipping at the rapidly-diminishing chills that had been wracking your dangling body.

“‘m sleepy…” 

Your voice was soft, fatigued, exhausted. Within your darkening peripherals you saw Geo’s face go slack with…panic?

No, he’s not the type to panic over such subtleties…especially not over me.

“Look at me! MC, MC, c’mon!”

Your head doesn’t move. Hell, it can’t. No part of you can.

You feel unbearably hot, as if your body was being steamed in a red-hot vat of tungsten.

You can’t comprehend much other than the heat, but you notice the stark absence of the broken grey sky; your eyes resting on a sleek black mass. 

Maybe it’s Geos’ car…epic.

“I…feel…hot.”

You mumbled, the urge to remove your garments becoming increasingly stronger with each passing moment. Unfortunately, you couldn’t even move, much less remove your clothes.

But goddamnit you were fucking melting!

You felt limp, your figure now flaccidly slumping on a cold seat, before your head was moved to face Geos’.

“MC, whatever you do, don’t fall asleep, stay awake for me okay?”

His voice sounded fraught and tense, yet still held its soft, quiet authority. One you were willing to do God-knows-what for.

Two frore palms left your face, and you mourned the chill, wanting him to sap away all the stifling heat that had wrapped its fingers around your lungs and heart.

You peeped down at your wraith-like hands, the white a blinding contrast to the dark of the cushioning. Your head again falls slack against the plush seat and you barely manage to turn your head towards the window.

You wanted to see Geo, gaze upon him, see his ethereality under the incandescent lights of the vehicle, but you knew he wouldn’t approve.

Why did he even carry me…why is he trying to save me? I’m trying to fucking kill him…his life is in my hands, and he’s saving me.

Yellows, ambers and red lights all flashed across the glass like fluorescent bulbs, your eyes barely distinguishing where they came from or where they vanished off to. Your vision was still getting darker, and you felt hotter than an egg in a frying pan.

Soon enough, the fiery lights faded, as did the remainder of your sight.

You only felt the blazing heat inside your skin, clinging to your appendages and clawing at your cooked brain.

“‘m sor…ry…Geo.”

The final thing you recalled before succumbing to the temperature was you slouching forward, your head smacking against your knees.

[merakiui]

Now about that Stuck in a room only getting out by fucking prompt… I saw that tag, tell us more about Fatui Scaramouche PLSSSSS

Can you imagine him trying to fuck you with the intention of killing or incapacitating you!!! T_T sex so good it sends you to Celestia (literally). His stamina is endless, so you’re definitely going to be in for a long day.

I think he’d be offended that anyone or anything could ever confine him in a room. How dare this strange, mystical force manage to be greater and stronger than him! Worst of all, he’s stuck with you. >:( maybe you’re just a subordinate, an unimportant underling overseen by the Lord Harbinger, but since you’re with him he might as well put you to use. Scaramouche demands you find a way out or else he’ll give you a way out (death) if you aren’t fast enough. You hurry to try every idea that crosses your mind, desperate to get out before he loses his patience. If the fear of upsetting a powerful Harbinger doesn’t kill you, then he certainly will.

When it becomes clear that nothing is working and words on the wall finally appear, Scaramouche scoffs. This must be some joke. The only way to get out is to be intimate? Please. There must be another way. You’re inclined to agree. No way are you going to strip yourself bare and vulnerable before the Harbinger who has been so ready to strangle you since you first became locked in this room. But time passes and nothing substantial occurs, save for the unbearable stuffiness of the room. Scaramouche doesn’t seem affected by it, but you are and it’s so difficult to focus when you’re sweating buckets in your clothes. So you start small. You shrug your coat off, maybe your shoes and socks next. Scaramouche rolls his eyes at you; you’re so weak.

It isn’t until you have no choice but to render yourself half-nude that the atmosphere…changes. It’s subtle; you don’t notice Scaramouche’s eyes on you until you turn to look at him and he’s staring right at you. He turns away, scoffing about how you ought to stop ogling and use your brain to think of a way out. You’re too busy trying to keep what little dignity and pride you have left intact. Maybe Scaramouche is going insane, but he’s actually communicating a little more. Sure, most of it’s violent death threats and grumblings, but you can at least share his complaints. This room is the worst; both of you can agree on that.

It takes a while before you’re both staring at the wall again, considering the message. You investigated the entire room twice and there’s no sign of any clues that may help you escape. Your key is printed in bold lettering on a wall. There’s no other choice.

So now comes the arduous undertaking that is broaching such a topic to Lord Scaramouche. You expect him to decline right away, as he’s done so for the past few hours, but surprisingly he grabs your wrist and shoves you onto the bed that both of you have avoided ever since you became trapped.

“I’ll kill you if you touch me.” Though he says that, he’s the one with his hands on you, bloodless fingers curled tightly around your wrists to keep them pinned above your head.

You have no choice but to obey. He’s your superior and you’re just the unfortunate soul who happened to be thrown into this situation with him. Although you don’t miss the way he looks over you as if you’re something worth appreciating.

Scaramouche fucks you as if he intends to break you. He has your face pushed into the mattress so you won’t have to look at him. He’s so adamant about that. Don’t look at him. Don’t touch him. Don’t speak to him. Just let him get this over with. But it’s been three rounds now and he doesn’t seem like he intends to stop. You think you may have heard the click of a door unlocking, but it’s hard to approximate when you’re burying your head in your arms and muffling your cries and moans. You feel like an animal in heat, so tacky and hot and insatiable. Maybe it’s the thrill of doing something so intimate with someone who could end your life that has you begging for more. Or maybe it’s because a part of you genuinely enjoys this rough treatment.

So far, he’s fucked you in positions that won’t let you look at him. So you definitely surprise (and alarm) him when you turn over on your back and embrace him while he’s still buried deep. Scaramouche swears he’ll rip you to pieces, but you don’t miss the way his arms cage you possessively in return. You don’t know this—how could you, after all?—but you’re the first person to ever hug him. He hates that he enjoys this. He hates that he’s on the verge of softening up around you. And all because you had the courage to hug him! He’s a mess, but then you’re more of a mess, bruised and bitten bloody. Scaramouche promises both you and himself that he’ll kill you when this is over. But when it ends and you’re both free, he finds he can’t let you go, nor can he give you a brutal death.

You may have escaped a barren room, but you’ve just found yourself in an even bigger cage. And unfortunately this one is far more perilous than a simple room.

Of course it’s a different story if you happen to be a Harbinger as well. :)

[i-have-41-protons]

You have no idea of the sheer terror I just felt. After hearing Kevin’s voice for the first time. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY “strange, bloodless desk”???????? I DONT LIKE YOU WHAT WVEN IS YOUR VOICE NONONONO FUCK OFF IM GETTING SO MUCH UNCANNY VALLEY RESPONSE AHHHHH

[elentarial]

Fëanorian Week Day 1-Ash

It isn’t until the moment he realizes he cannot tell Ambarto’s bones from the rest of their dead that he knows the meaning of loss. The concept is still foreign, despite Alqualondë, despite finding Grandfather Finwë on the steps of Formenos. 

Even as he stares at the charred, soaked remains, it all feels like some cruel nightmare. It is said that the Fëanturi possess a terrible sense of humor.

The body only looks like Telufinwë in the same sense that a half-finished painting looks like its subject. His freckles stand out against the bloodless pallor of his cheeks in a way that isn’t right- where the flush of adolescence has always lent his skin a certain rosy sheen. It looks nothing like the waxy wanness of death.

Now, his body is lost in the flecks of ash that float up from the burning ships, and all they have left of him is drowned in frigid seawater and an angry, disillusioned mirror image who calls themselves their brother. Nelyo breathes ash and a sense of dissatisfaction.

There is a part of him that can not accept his youngest brother’s death.

He finds himself expecting Telufinwë to come bounding up the shore at any moment, bow in hand, wild-eyed like he’s never been gone at all. He can envision him apologizing to their father, wincing with the same sheepish embarrassment any of them can muster whenever they disappoint Atar.

He finds himself frustrated, seeking out Telvo’s face among the crowd of their followers.

He finds himself wanting to comfort the twins when difficult questions arise, but there is no longer a set of twins, only a singleton.

He notices his absence more than he ever realized he would, and with every passing day that the loss doesn’t grow more real, his gut begins to creep lower and lower with the realization of how deep his affections run for his younger brothers.

Sometimes, he lays awake, composing conversations, even entire scenes in his mind.

He envisions Telufinwë responding to Atar’s death- the shock way his mouth would slip open, the fall of his eyebrows, the sorrow in his tree-bright eyes. He sees his lips turning up hesitantly, fearful but also hopeful.

“What now?” he’d ask, face full of uncertainty, “You are Noldoran. What do we do now?” 

He tells Telufinwë about how they should try and deceive Morginotto and hears all too clearly his skepticism.

Telufinwë would question Atar’s word as well. He’d be nervous, yes, but never afraid, bold in a way only the very young can be.

He knows Telufinwë would stare over Curvo’s head with his eyebrows pinched together because it is strange to have to look down to meet the eyes of his superior, even if Curufin is only one step closer to the throne.

In his mind, he watches Telufinwë imitate Tyelko’s crude language and even cruder behavior, although he looks over his shoulder still as if their mother might be watching. He laughs aloud at the thought of it, startling awake Kano.

He pictures Telvo smiling at him when he finally loses his temper with Curvo’s scheming, sees him turn to his twin with a giddy smile and whisper,

“That took long enough, didn’t it?” 

and then laughs softly when Pityo’s sharp smile matches his own.

He sees and hears and feels his youngest brother respond to so many new things in Beleriand.

There is so much left to say, but ashes are all that remain of all of them.

@feanorianweek

[obikinwhore]

“I never knew my biological father,” she tells Luke. Leia glances at his too-blue eyes and has to look away, his goodness blinds if you look at him too long. "But I know that he wasn't good."

"What makes you say that? If he's your father then he must have been." The laughter in this voice dies swiftly when she doesn't join in as she usually would. She hates that she did that, that she sucked the light out of him with the starving darkness that encompasses her now.

"I know because there's times I feel strange. Hungry and restless and angry. So very angry like there's poison boiling underneath my skin. It feels like a part of me, like I must have been born with it".

Or of it, she doesn’t say.

Luke softly touches her hand where she didn't notice her bloodless knuckles or her nails cutting into her palms. "My real mother and father were never like that you know? They were calm and understanding. My biological mother, what I remember of her, was kind. Sad."

She looks up at Luke through tears and into the beaming blue of his eyes. His handsome features full of sympathy and it's hard to tell if the tears are burning her eyes or if staring at Luke straight on is.

"You're not a bad person Leia. What the empire has done, what they continue to do? They're the ones that are evil. You're not wrong to be angry with them." He pulls her into a hug and it's a relief to close her eyes and sit in the darkness and his embrace. "We will defeat them Leia, don't lose hope. We'll get justice and free everyone."

But she knows that she doesn't just want freedom from the empire, she wants revenge. She wants them to choke, to scream, to beg her for mercy. The truth of it makes her feel her father even more, like the squeeze of a phantom hand on her shoulder. 

[darkearthsuggestions]

Thank you for the kind words, and apologies for the delay in answer-- Each result can be found below! Thought it would be nice for any others with the same question to find this answer.

The Shadow

Something walks behind you, nipping at your heels. You know the shape it takes, though you cannot see it. You think you know. Its edges look like yours, but clean and concise, close-cut lines articulated into iridescent air. Turn around and catch it-- and it slides away. Your shadow shines and you are blinded. You half-hear it whispering words that stick to your skin like mist and evaporate under your gaze, but they shake you. Even their echoes are true. It knows you. It wears your skin. It is more you than you are. Are you the chaser? Are you the shadow? Which, really, were you rather be? Walk backwards if you must. You must keep looking back.

The Moth

What a lovely light-- what a shining thing, just outside your reach. But you were given legs to walk, so really, you are blameless. Adoration, exultation, fluttering bark-winged joy. Never mind the dark beyond. Never mind the aching wings. Never mind the part of you that curls inside the cocoon, husked and rotting in its acid desire-- why should you always be the moth, and never the flame? Where is your lantern? Where is your light? But you were not made for that. You love to love. Never mind. Never mind.

The Hidden Rot

Something in you is wrong. Deep and curling. You know it will show itself one day, a slick fuzz slinking across your tongue, blackened, pitted teeth. There is no sign of it now, of course, but it is there. It eats away your depths. Has it hollowed you already-- is that why you feel so shallow, sometimes, so sick? You can see it in their eyes when they smell it. Everyone knows. Your curse does not hurt, and you wish it did, because maybe then you would know where it was. Until then it is everywhere. You cannot tell anyone, but you cannot step too close, lest it spread. You cannot forget the rot.

The Waxing Moon

Of hunger. Of envy. Your curse pricks along your skin, calls your nerves to attention, electric soldiers glaring in the moonlight. You know what you want. You can taste it. You have imagined a hundred times what it might be like for those hungers to be filled. But you know what you would have to become-- what you have secretly always been, under the tight-stretch gauze of your sun-time skin. It may have been a wound that made you, but the tooth left behind looked strangely like your own. Swallow your hunger tonight. Maybe all you need to change is ache.

The Turning Heel

Bracken crushed beneath your foot, waving the spiderwebs away-- a new path to leave for others to follow. How bold you are. And then the heathen-faced oak, again. And then the scum-scoured pool. Another try at breaking ground-- and the oak grins with its leaves. Your feet turn so slowly that you cannot notice, but you are back on that same path again. Your curse lays in cycles and cycles and cycles again. You will always end up here. You can never stop walking.

Dessication

Sandal feet in sliding sand, the light's hollow teeth grazing your skin. Others join you, but they flush and sweat and swim through it all, strange, foreign fish under this shared glare of sun. They feel so strongly. They weep, and you lick your lips, the chapped edges smarting under your tongue. You do not know the last time you felt like that. When they tell you of the sunset, you wonder what oils have set their canvas aflame-- all you see is another cooling night. Your curse is a shallow life. A dry mouth. Bloodless cheeks. What are you missing? What do they know? Where do they find all this water-- and why can’t you ask them to share?

Dispersal

You had a home once. You've seen it in the broken glass, heard laughter on the wind and remembered the way it used to move you. It's not yours anymore. You couldn't stay. But there must be another one along this road-- there must be a place where your skin could grow soft again, where you will be tumbled and ruffled and fall gasping in the joy. You know how it would feel, how your chest would fill like a glass of wine, heady and reeling with ease. You have walked with others before, but it wasn’t like that. It would help if you knew where you were. It would help if you knew what to do. It would help if you had the words to fill your ragged howls-- a pack to teach you the tune.

Warren's Wend

Over and out and down and out and in-- the warren winds and writhes and wends another net into the earth, another untraceable shape of your own clawing need. You must always find another tunnel. Another mouthful of dirt to stain your tongue. And when you think that you are done, the smell of smoke to set you off again. You need to keep digging-- because something is chasing you. You need to keep digging-- because when you dig, you do not think. And down and out and on itself, weaving the turgid air. The surface is never nearer. The dogs are always close-- they could not turn back if they tried. You are the rabbit. You are the snare. You dig.

The Sculptor's Skin

You've always been soft. Bruise easily- wear down quick when cold eyes grate against you. This is your curse. Every finger that brushes your skin, every breath, to help or to harm, lingers there. You wear them. You change. You are clay under the sculptors’ hands and you cannot help but let yourself be shaped. With every thumb that leaves its spiral behind, you feel yourself move farther from what you used to be. It's hard to remember what that was. One day you will be something else altogether, pinched and molded and mended until you are nothing true. Barely even human. And then you will change again.

The Lantern

You hold it up so high that your arms ache. You strain to hear above the winds for the calling of your name, but all it carries is a low and painful moan. This is your light. One day people will come to it, like you have seen so often, those swinging lamp smiles and rolling laughs. You know that a spirit with lanterns in its eyes cannot help but be adored. It hurts to hold it for so long-- the long wick nips at your palms-- but you know that this is in you. You are good. You have the heart of a king. You have to be something But it must look easy, or they will not come-- those who are seen always look so easy. Your arms tremble. You raise the lantern higher.

The Dream

You know that there is more than this. Haven't you seen it before, don't you remember? Last night, or the one before-- the lapis lazuli and how it crumbled in your palms, the way it turned to beetle wings and bluegrass fields, and how the sun burbled to the ground. Your breath is shallower with your eyes open. Even the light is thin. Your curse is the vivid dream, a world that is always richer than this. You cannot take anyone there. It is not real to them. But to you, walker of waking-dream, you know better. And what is here, for them, is so little. It will never be the dream. There is always another world-- and even in this shallow echo, you can hear it sing. What is another day awake, when asleep, you can have the sky? Lose yourself in the certainty of story, song, and sleep. Why bother with waking at all?

Poor Man's Prophecy

How is a prophet meant to live? When you can see the threads of fate and watch as they fall into folly's knot. You can see the mistakes a year away. You know best how to weave them. When it comes time for your own hands to work, you know they are naturally clumsy-- you know they ache; you know why; you know what would make them whole. You know why you choose to keep weaving. You know why you know why you know. No one can help you because you already know-- what can they say that a prophet has not already weighed? What new stones can they turn when you spend your nights watching the butterfly's wings? Some things do not have easy answers. You know this too. And yet still-- you hurt. You will always hurt. You know.

[presiding]

dishonored chaos thoughts. usually, when you discuss a person's actions, you do so in terms of intention, behaviour, outcome.

when the dishonored fandom talks about high chaos corvo, or low chaos corvo, the reader is to infer the intentions & behaviours this aligns to. high/low chaos is a useful short hand to discuss AUs: it conveys a similar set of outcomes in gameplay terms, given the achievements pushing certain behaviours (eg. ghost/clean hands, & the necessity of a second playthrough encouraging behaviours you haven't explored)

but. although there's a broad scope of behaviours (because there's lots of choices in-game) that the outcomes (chaos levels) could refer to, I think we often underrepresent intentions in all this.

strange, because revenge is such a core theme. for instance, compare your headcanons for vengeful & high chaos corvo, vs. vengeful & yet, still low chaos corvo.

or, go the other way, and corvo is merciful & low chaos... vs. merciful & high chaos. this could be anything - assassin returns from jail and sees the world has turned to shit, gets powers which he takes to mean that his mercy need not be bloodless.

fun, right?

[shamefilledsnzblog]

Relief

So, B/aldur's G/ate gave me brain worms, and the only way to relieve them was by tormenting the pretty, bratty vampire.

Female T/av (a tiefling in my head, but insert your own if you like) with the kink , spore allergy, inducing, and a lot of buildups. Enjoy!

For all its dangers, Tav mused, the Underdark was beautiful. A strange, unnerving, decidedly fungal sort of beautiful, but beautiful all the same. Unable to sleep, Tav sat outside her tent, gazing out over the landscape of craggy rocks and softly glowing mushrooms. With no sun or moon to know the time of day, it was hard to know whether it was time to sleep or not, but for most of the party, exhaustion had set in, and they had retired to their tents, leaving the camp quiet and still.

Well, almost still. Tav’s eyes picked up movement, and immediately brought her to full awareness. She reached quietly for her weapon, preparing herself for whatever might be prowling in the night. A Duergar, a hostile Drow…

… A vampire.

Tav relaxed, but kept her eyes fixed on the movement by the most distant of the party’s tents. Astarion had set up as far from them as was safe, claiming “if I have to spend one more night listening to you all snoring, I may find myself forced to silence you”. And yet, with nobody snoring so far tonight, the vampire was still awake, and skulking off into the dark.

Tav rose to her feet, weapon still in hand, and followed quietly. It was far from unusual for Astarion to steal away at night when the day had provided no opportunities for him to feed. Often the morning after they would wake to find a conveniently bloodless boar or deer to add to their camp supplies. But the Underdark offered no prey that could be tackled alone. At least, not without great risk. If it was blood Astarion had left in search of, Tav had plenty to offer.

She tracked Astarion to a small clearing nearby, and to her surprise, found him sitting on a large stone, one elegant hand raised to his face. As she drew nearer, Tav saw his shoulders shake with a great, unsteady breath, and heard a quiet sniffle. Tav felt her heart sink on his behalf… Had he really felt he needed to creep away in the night to cry?

Another sharp, unsteady breath, another damp sniffle, and then…

“I can hear you skulking about, you know. Is even a moment’s privacy too much to ask?”

Tav stepped from the shadows, drawing closer. Up close, she could see a watery sheen over the vampire’s red eyes, and she had to fight the urge to reach for him and offer comfort, knowing he would likely reject what he saw as pity.

“I was worried for you. This isn’t a place to go wandering alone. I thought you were going hunting, and thought I ought to…”

He cut her off with a sudden hiss of breath, waving a hand at her to silence her. Puzzled, she watched as his eyes closed, and his elegant nose wrinkled with a sudden, sharp sniff. His breath hitched, once, twice… His lips parted, revealing just the tips of those lethal fangs. Another deep, expectant breath, and…

“Damn it all! You scared it off!”

Tav blinked, baffled.

“You came out here… to sneeze?”

At the mere mention of the word, Astarion’s nose twitched again, and he rubbed it angrily. His breath snagged on another series of useless hitches, and he gave a frustrated moan as they came to nothing.

“These blasted spores! I’ve needed to sneeze them out all day, but I c- I ca-hhahh… Hhahh… Damn it all!”

Tav came to sit beside him, torn between sympathy and amusement, and… Well, the less she thought about that little effect, the better. Astarion heaved a sigh, continuing to rub at his long-suffering nose, and gave a huff of irritation as she rested a hand on his back.

“And now, on top of everything, I have you as witness to my misery. This place gets more wretched by the hour!”

Tav took hold of his wrist and gently pulled his hand away from his face.

“You’ve really been fighting this all day? No wonder you’ve been in such a mood! Stop rubbing, you’ll only make your nose raw. It’s already well on the way.”

It was true, his nose was now a shade of pink that Tav struggled not to see as rather fetching. She watched as it wrinkled in irritation, nostrils flaring with a hopeless sniffle, and quickly turned her mind to a solution, before she could get too swept up enjoying the problem.

“Let me help. You’ll have no peace until you can get a good sneeze out.”

Even mentioning the word set Astarion into another bout of desperate hitching.

“HHh! Hhah… Hh! Hh! Hhn… Ugh! Whatever you mean to do, kindly get on with it!”

Tav tried not to squirm. What did she mean to do? She felt about in her pockets… A folded letter, an empty poison vial, a handful of dried herbs… A feather, picked up after a memorable encounter with some harpies. Taking it from her pocket, Tav turned to face the suffering vampire, and as he turned to face her too, raised a hand to cup his cheek, steadying him. She couldn’t help but lightly brush his nose with her thumb, testing its sensitivity. Not much testing was required.

Astarion almost pulled away, his nose twitching, nostrils flaring, dragging in another desperate breath.

“HhhhHHAH! Damn it all, if you’re going to do this, don’t tease, get to the point!”

“Alright. Hold still.”

Mouth dry, trying not to squirm, Tav raised the feather. It was a small thing, fluffy, and it fluttered with each unsteady breath as she brought it to Astarion’s nose, and gently began stroking it beneath his twitching nostrils.

It was torment to them both. Astarion gasped and trembled, and a tear streamed down his cheek from the sheer irritation. His lips parted, fangs bared in a snarl of pure agony, and he unthinkingly reached for Tav, his trembling hand coming to rest on her thigh. Unable to keep from squirming a little now, Tav quickened her movements, brushing the feather back and forth with quick, ticklish flicks.

“HHhaahh-HhAA! Hhh-HH-Hhhn… Hhm? HhAAAH-AH.. Damn it to hells, it’s worse!”

Tav swallowed dryly, and moved her hand to the back of his head, preventing him from pulling away. His nostrils were beginning to look rather damp, and if she didn’t go in for the kill, the feather was going to end up quite useless.

“Bear with me. It’ll be over before you know it.”

A quick flick of her fingers, and she poked the feather into one delicate nostril. At the unexpected intrusion, Astarion gave a terrible, flustered snort, and for a moment Tav was sure he was undone. Tears now streamed from both eyes, his nose wrinkled and wriggled desperately in an attempt to purge the dreadful tickle, and his breathing was too desperate and erratic to even form words. Once, twice, three times he seemed on the point of no return, and his hand gripped her thigh like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

And then it was fading again. His eyes barely opened enough to give her a desperate look.

“… Hhh-HhAhh.. Please!”

Too determined now to even feel the flush on her cheeks, Tav worked the feather deeper, twitching it erratically, hoping to find that one spot that would bring relief. Quick, pointed twitches, seeking out the weak point in that long-suffering nose, deeper and deeper…

A sudden, flustered sniffle drew the feather deeper still, and it was done.

“HHHHRAASCHH!”

Tav drew back her hand in shock, the feather coming with it, as Astarion lurched forward in another desperate sneeze. And another, and another.

“HHRAAASHOO! HHhhhHSHOO! Hh-HH-HHSHOO!”

They burst out of him, one after another, the floodgates open after a day of torment, and all Tav could do was sit and watch, a steadying hand on his back, as he hitched and shuddered and sneezed as if his long-suffering nose could never be satisfied.

“HHRASCHH! RrrASCHOO! ‘SCHHOO! H-HHRASCHOO! HHh… HhhHH!”

“That’s it, get it all out… Gods, you were fighting this all day?”

Astarion’s face was a picture of misery, tears streaming down his cheeks, lashes damp, nose red and streaming and twitching and relentlessly sneezing.

“HSSCHOO! HRAAASHOO! Hh-HH-HHARASCHOO!”

Tav lost count of how many sneezes burst out of the poor vampire, but it was a display the likes of which she had never seen before. By the time the sneezes finally began to slow, she was almost trembling, her own breath decidedly unsteady. Forcing herself to remember that it wasn’t her own relief she was seeking, she rubbed Astarion’s back soothingly as he shuddered with breathy, increasingly exhausted sneezes.

“Well done. That’s it, just relax and let them happen. Feeling better?”

At last, with a final, exhausted “Hhahhshoo!”, Astarion let out a shaky breath, and opened teary eyes. He gave an extremely hesitant sniffle, as if worried he might set himself off again, and gave a deep sigh of relief.

“Well! That certainly scratched an itch! Erm… Do you happen to have…”

He gave a series of rather wet sniffles, one hand belatedly coming up to block his face from view. Shaken from her daze, Tav hastily searched her pockets once again, coming up with a handkerchief. She pressed it into Astarion’s hand, and turned away to give him a moment’s privacy while he put it to use.

After a series of wet, desperate nose-blows and sniffles, Astarion mopped his streaming eyes, and turned to Tav with a somewhat embarrassed expression.

“You do have your uses, don’t you, darling? Thank you. And… Ah… If we could perhaps keep this little moment between ourselves?”

“Of course,” Tav replied, a little too quickly, hoping the flush on her cheeks wasn’t as bright red as it felt. “I hope you feel better? Having to get all of that out for so long must have been maddening!”

“Ugh, you’ve no idea! Felt like every breath I was inhaling pure pepper, and with no relief in sight!”

Freed from irritation at last, he finally turned his attention to her properly, and his lips curved into a smile.

“And speaking of relief… Well, well… You look as if you could use some yourself, darling? That little episode certainly felt good for me. It would be unfair if I didn’t offer a little satisfaction in return.”

His hand was still on her thigh, and he raised his other hand to gently brush a lock of hair behind Tav’s ear, before lightly pulling her closer.

“My, my… So worked up, over… this?”

He leaned in to kiss her, lightly enough to leave her wanting more, and as his nose brushed against hers, it twitched with another sniffle. Tav couldn’t hold back a moan.

“I really did just want to help…”

“And you did, my darling. Now let me thank you for it.”

Another kiss, and the hand on her thigh crept higher, slender, dextrous fingers setting to work on her belt. Breaking the kiss in order to breathe, Astarion leaned in to murmur in her ear.

“Just promise me one thing?”

“Of course.”

“Who knows how long we’ll be trekking through this spore riddled hellscape? Just… Promise me you’ll keep that feather close?”

[dailyrothko]

I do not understand the appeal of this artist. Could you clarify for the ignorant? Because first glance, I’m thinking wow, this dude sure did paint solid color squares. I saw one of his paintings in person at UMMA in Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA and it was like… big red canvas. Cool. What’s the meta here?

I don't think it's ignorant not like an artist, we don't all see the same way. Some things I came to later, like Van Gogh who I was biased against and I considered florid. Perhaps Rothko is just not for you and that's, of course, fine.

I think that the knock on him being simplistic though, is misplaced. Rothko is subtle but that's not the same thing. I would challenge anyone , and this is not directed at you specifically, but anyone to think about how thy judge art. Is the only good art where you paint a dog that looks exactly like a dog? Is the only good painting complex looking? It would be a strange would if we used photorealistic standards. There would be no room there for anyone from Monet to Jackson Pollock.

I think Renoir is a terrible painter. I think he's bloodless and quaint. I think he paints empty vessels of people and he doesn't paint that way on purpose. But he's a very popular artist, so someone likes it.

Nearly everyday someone shows me their "Rothko". I have never seen one that looked anything like Rothko. Rothko had a way of layering thin paint and feathering the edges to make colors transmute beneath each other and seem to float on the canvas.

Part of the reason I think Rothko jazzes people up is because he's so famous. But Rothko wanted to paint not make million dollar paintings. That part of the picture is something rich people did to it.

Maybe someday you will see a Rothko that does something for you, perhaps the way I eventually loved Proust. But if that day never comes, I say in all sincerity, that there is so much great art out there of all kinds I think it's a glorious thing to love any of it. Every artist from the dawn of time was just was looking for a way to express themselves.

Rothko had one answer, his own. You may find another that suits you more. The important thing is the glory of love and the endlessly shifting notes of beauty we all see somewhere. It's why bears looks at sunsets.

[maggacammara]

UM if ur still taking them … I would love to see 34. Bauble .. for whom or whatever < 3

Bauble

“Take your pick.”

Lying before Gale was a veritable cache of fine jewels and precious metals, ranging in color from bloodless opal to sanguine ruby, and each one hung from a tiny metal hook. The candlelight in Frey’s tent sent a warm glitter across the collection. Before the decision managed to overwhelm him, Gale caught sight of a pair of amethyst cabochons framed in silver. When he reached for them, however, a hand stayed his.

“Just not those ones,” Frey said in a stage whisper.

Gale raised an eyebrow.

“You’re only taking one, see,” he added, his tone normal, if slightly exasperated. “These two are… bonded. They can’t be separated.”

“Which two might be separated, then?”

Frey’s face lit up to be handed the choice he had clearly already made. He at least put on a show of indecision, his hands wavering over this pair and that one, before he settled on a rather simple set of jade obelisks on gold hooks. He eased one off of its velvet cushion and presented it to Gale quite seriously.

Gale feigned uncertainty. “Well, green is certainly most flattering on you, my love, but I’m not sure it suits me.”

Frey simultaneously basked in the flattery and rolled his eyes at Gale’s performance. “Let’s just try it on, shall we?” he said, beckoning Gale to sit on a low cushion near the makeshift vanity.

Gale obliged, sinking to a seat despite his knees aching in protest. Frey stood beside him, clearly reveling in every second of being slightly taller, and brushed Gale’s hair back from his ear. In the ornate mirror they had looted from some derelict mansion, Gale saw the scene reflected, watched Frey slip the symbol of Mystra out of his pierced ear, and felt—nothing.

No, not nothing. Physically, the sensation was so subtle as to be mistaken for an evening breeze, but as he watched his beloved’s hand close around that token, a strange sense of relief flooded Gale.

It was quickly replaced by the sharp pinch of Frey sliding a new piece of jewelry into his lobe with no warning. “Ow!” he said, though he managed not to flinch away until the earring was securely nestled into its spot. Frey put an arm around Gale’s shoulder, half apology and half I-know-you-already-forgive-me, and met his gaze in the reflection.

Both of their eyes went to the earring, the pale green dagger that stood out marvelously against Gale’s warm skin, that shone softly in the low light and was, indubitably, quite flattering.

“You made a good choice,” Frey whispered, squeezing his shoulder. Gale felt no urge to correct him.