#my brain is spinning

[keferon]

Haha. Hm. I’m doing things

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea Episode 10 | The Fight (Micro-expressions + Mini Meta)

Peat and Fort did brilliantly in this scene. I wanted to pick out some of their micro-expressions to analyse in more detail.

1 - Just after Mut tells Rak he loves him, he's visibly taken aback, he looks crushed and frantic and helpless - 'Why did you have to get your feelings into the open? Why couldn't we have continued to play house without me having to confront my feelings? Why?' Rak is confused and crestfallen as to why Mut has chosen to shatter the bubble they've been existing in. Why is this necessary?

2 - Mut can't help his frustration. He's decided to put all his cards out on the table, and still Rak is choosing avoidance, to deny, to hide, to escape. Mut's played along until now, but he's so sick and tired of it. His attempts to be fully transparent, always lead to a rebuttal, Rak's unwillingness to concede, to compromise. Mut's anger comes from a place of 'you leave me no choice'.

3 - You can hear the gears grinding in Rak's brain when Mut reiterates that he was never after the money. His mind is going into overdrive. He's questioning. He's thinking 'but this isn't possible'. Despite being aware of Mut feelings, he can't face them because it forces him to recognise his own. And he just can't, he's scared shitless and he just doesn't know how.

4 - Just after Mut says 'let me love you', you can see the intensity of compassion and concern flit across his face. He softens. His eyes are searching, wanting. He so badly needs Rak to open up to him fully. There's hope and vulnerability - 'please accept my love, please. I'm trying so hard, I'm trying. Give me something, anything.'

5 - Rak is fighting with himself. He's conflicted, guilty, torn that he's been put on the spot against his will. He's dealing with the realisation that he will hurt Mut, and he doesn't have the stomach for it. You can see the second he decides to muster up the courage, decides to do the cruel but necessary thing. In this moment, Rak's fight or flight response is telling him to choose himself, which means he has to hurt Mut instead. It's the only way. 'You forced my hand'.

6 - Mut doesn't often exhibit outbursts of hurt but he does here. He's incensed. Rak's callousness is insult to injury. 'Perhaps you were never capable of loving me, but don't throw my love for you back in my face'. I think Mut is also making a last ditch effort to emphasise that he's not going to change his mind. Once his feelings are out there, that's it. Regardless of whether Rak loves him back or not, it doesn't change how he feels. This is the power of his conviction.

7 - This is super subtle, but you see the light diminish from Rak's eyes. He almost goes lifeless from the inside out. He deflates. Any active turmoil that was there is now replaced by resignation, by acceptance. It's sinking in what he's done and the realisation there's no going back and he has to make peace with it.

8 - Mut's final retort is painfully self-deprecating, that little chin tilt of 'How foolish I was to think I could have nice things. You've just proved to me once again how asking for things only indicates how wildly undeserving I am. I know my place, and that's where I'll return to'.

[beetlethebug]

so i'm playing DA:2 and i'm very, very normal about sebastian vael (re: i'm absolutely losing my marbles over him) and i want to ramble about a scene i've been working on in one of my wips so. buckle up (with snippet from the scene under the cut :D)

in my mind this takes place sometime after the first part of his companion quest (the one with the desire demon). because sebastian, at least in this fic, is not only struggling with desires for power, for wealth, for control, but for hawke. and not marian--oh no, he's falling fast and hard for garrett hawke. he's repressing a lot, but none moreso than this. especially compared to my blue-leaning hawke, who has met him with a kindness and compassion that he's been starved for. he's hungry, sebastian, eager, but the chantry preaches control and self-sacrifice and that is what he will cling to.

because if he falls from grace, if he falls from the one family he has left, what will become of him?

it happens on a night when hawke invites him to stay. their adventuring ran late--the streets of kirkwall are dangerous on a good day, deadly at its worst. and it is hard to turn down hawke when he is so earnest--when there's a sadness in his eyes that sebastian recognizes when hawke off-handedly mentions how empty the estate is. how large it is. a tug at his heart when hawke meets his gaze and says, "there will always be room for you, should you wish to make use of it."

it always catches him off-guard, hawke's benevolence. the gentleness of his heart. hawke does not say much about the Maker; the templars and the chantry as a whole, yes, but never the Maker himself. Sometimes, in these moments, he thinks there is no one closer to the Maker's image. Patient, kind, selfless Hawke. Crafted in the Maker's image, with a steady hand and justice mete with wisdom. Slow to anger, quick to lend a helping hand...

Maker preserve him if he spends too long looking upon hawke's hands.

so, he spends the night, dining and conversing with hawke. under the full focus of his attention--a rarity, with how split hawke's attentions are these days. there is nothing like it. the way hawke makes him feel seen. the safety he exudes. the casual way he lays a hand atop his when their discussion delves into deeper, rougher waters. the furrow of his brow when he delves into a childhood anecdote that was, perhaps, not as humorous as he once thought. hawke looks at him like he is a precious thing--something to treasure, to covet, to protect. and he does not know what to do with those feelings.

so they simmer inside, and he prays to the Maker for guidance.

of course, the Maker would not pass up such an opportune time to test his strength of will. his dreams are warped by Desire. he is left aching, desperate; flushed and aroused, mind full of steady hands and kind words and hawke. he wakes to hips rocking against the mattress, the man's name upon his lips, and shame eating him away from the inside out. what kind of man is he, to take advantage of hawke's kindness in such a way? to warp his kindness, to pervert his gentleness?

so he rises, and kneels, and prays. prays and prays and prays. wills this Desire to leave. prays for strength. for guidance. for someone to show him the path to tread. grips his hands together until his knuckles run pale, until his throat is rubbed raw. a sign. a miracle. anything.

the door opens, a curiosity drawn by the light, by the murmurs of his desperation. hawke enters, and he realizes that this is the real test. "I thought you had finished your evening prayers?" a jest, light and soft. he dare not look at hawke, lest he fall further into temptations.

"i find that it is nights like these that i need the Maker's guidance more than ever."

hawke is quiet for a long moment, and then he asks, "may i sit with you, sebastian?"

Hawke hums, soft. "Would you be opposed to company?"

"You would want to stay?" He returns his gaze to Hawke, eyes wide. Meets Hawke's tawny eyes, gets drawn into the soft curl of his grin. When he nods, something sad creeping into his expression, he forces his voice to work again. "I would be honored to have your company, Hawke." A good test of temperance. Of patience. The object of his desire—the source of his sinful thoughts—here to see how he attempts to purge them from his being.

Hawke crosses the room. Barefoot, steps soft on the rug. "You can stay where you are," Hawke murmurs when he moves to stand. "Well, with one exception." Hawke walks past him to step towards the head of the bed, pulling one of the pillows off. "I won't hear anyone else complain of the ache in their knees. Up."

He rises, clumsy, heart thudding heavily against his rib cage. He wonders if Hawke can hear it. The pillow is not tossed at the spot he was kneeling at. Instead, Hawke places it down and then settles upon the edge of the bed. He pats the spot next to him in invitation, smiling softly. "Come kneel next to me, Sebastian."

Swallowing heavily, he makes his way to Hawke. He's sure he's an embarrassing sight, stiff and awkward. His limbs feel too gangly next to the hulking wall that is Hawke; there is something nice about it too, though. Being small compared to Hawke. A doe resting in the shade of an Oak tree, nestled comfortably in the roots. Hawke watches him, and it strikes him—as it always does in these inopportune moments—how handsome Hawke is.

His eyes are always the first thing he is drawn too. Copper colored in the golden hours of the evening; dark, almost rusted in the low firelight of the guest room. His brow is especially heavy, tonight. Dark and furrowed, though his countenance would not suggest that he is troubled. Concern, he thinks, marks Hawke's brow tonight, and it is enough to make him feel flayed open. Because concern on Hawke is raw and intense; it is all-consuming, a heavy woolen cloak placed over beaten, bloody shoulders. Soaking the ache, rubbing it raw, soft and scratching and leaving him with the urge to sink his fingers in to claw and find purchase. Blood under his nails, callouses catching on new scars. Bruises blossoming, painting his skin in technicolor. A canvas for Hawke to ruin or rectify at his whims.

Compassion colors every piece of Hawke tonight. Softens the normally broad, imposing shape of his shoulders. Brings them slack and relaxed, opening his chest. And Maker's Breath, his chest. Equally broad, but gentle in shape. Rounded pectorals and belly, hiding the muscle and power that the man has in spades. Covered in dark, coarse hair; an enticing trail from his naval all the way up his chest. He wonders how it would feel against his fingers; if it is soft, in the way that all other pieces of Hawke seems to be. A surprising contrast to the rough, rugged appearance of the man.

There's a cord of muscle in his neck that he wishes to feel against his teeth. To take it and feel it flex, watch as Hawke's jaw tilts back. Feel the scratch of his beard against his cheeks, his lips. Run fingers through his hair—ink black, mussed and thick. To brush it out of his eyes, to smooth it back from his temples so that he may gaze upon Hawke's face in full. To watch his face take on the soft demeanor he chooses in these quiet, intimate moments. To have it turned upon him—to watch his eyes darken, to be appraised like a piece of meat or a prized gem, whatever suits Hawke's fancy—and be worthy of getting to look at the Maker's finest creation close enough to see every divot and curve of his form.

And it is not just the physical beauty of Hawke that has bewitched him; it would almost be easier if it was. But he is gentle, and steadfast, and generous. He is kind, and patient, and warm. There is a heat that simmers within him. An anger—a sense of justice—but it is so well-tempered that it never teeters into the messy, ugly sin of wrath. He is a man of the people. He is a man for the people. A champion.

He has been thinking, lately, of the tales Anders has told about the Templars. He wonders if it would be so bad for Mages if all the Templars were like Hawke. If he were a Mage, he would not mind being kept by Hawke's hand. Stern it might be, it has shown time and time again that it favors the gentlest path. He could think of no man that would not be settled by Hawke's hand.

Ironic that his heart only beats faster, entire body stilling in fright, the second that Hawke offers his hand.

"Thank you," he says softly, grateful his voice does not tremble. It is thick, however, full of an emotion he is too afraid to place. He forces his hand to move slowly, hoping not to belie both his nerves and his eagerness. He wants, so very desperately, but he is terrified of Hawke learning the secret of his unrest. The source of his shame, and guilt. Of his desire. Worries that Hawke will somehow find the evidence despite the fact that he had thoroughly rinsed, stripped, and replaced the sheets upon the bed. Prays that Hawke cannot feel the residual heat, the smell of arousal and sin that surely clings to him like a second skin. He swallows heavily the second their fingers curl, nearly shuddering when Hawke turns their hands so that he may hold it better.

He is touched so rarely that each time feels like a gift. Let alone touched with bare hands. And hands like Hawke's—gentle and calloused, warm and careful—are even rarer. There's a noise that builds in his throat—a sob, he thinks, though he bites his lip hard enough to ache and keep it at bay. Heat pools in his stomach; traitorous, sinful, and he knows that he should pull away before he taints Hawke with his filth. That there not enough prayers in the entire Chant to absolve him of this.

But it is difficult to feel like that matters when Hawke smiles—mostly in his eyes, gaze heavy. But it is a smile, and it is only for him. His thumb sweeps across his knuckles. Once. Twice. On the third, he squeezes, and murmurs, "I am glad you are here, Sebastian."

Hawke spoils him. He is not worthy of this kindness, not when all he does is warp and twist it into a perversion. His breath hitches; perhaps he really will cry during is prayers tonight. He knows Hawke will not fault him. He may ask, in that caring way he does, when he tries to take another man's problems and turn them into a burden they both can carry. When he tries to fix the unfixable, because nothing is impossible when Hawke is involved. He may even try to wipe his tears, to gentle him and tell him that there is no fault—no sin—in what he is feeling.

And the worst part is, he thinks that is what he wants most of all.

To be told that he is absolved of this. That he has done enough. That the price has been paid, and he will not be damned. That he is not wrong, or wicked, or terrible. That the Maker will find it within His heart to forgive him. That this is not even an offense that requires forgiveness at all. He knows in his heart that it is not the case. That it is a greater sin to lie, and twist the words of the Maker. Knows that this is being kept in the book with a tally of all his sins, and when he is judged it will be amongst the things that result in his damnation.

"You flatter me, Hawke." He murmurs. "Truly, some days I feel as though I am stumbling through Kirkwall like a man blinded. I do not know what I would do without you. Every night I thank the Maker for placing you within my path."

Just as he prays each night that the Maker will purge the desire within his heart, so that he might somehow be able to live with both His divine blessing and Hawke. Because he thinks, damnably, that he cannot simply have one without the other. Greed and Envy ran through his veins even as a youth, festering into something wicked he thought was beaten out of him. But they snake in his stomach now, winding up to try and sink their teeth into Hawke.

[wolfienation]

MARVEL YOU'RE NOT FUNNY I NEED THE NEXT EPISODE

[tackyink]

Spoilers for the last part of Lucanis' personal quest

We were in the middle of combat and Illario shouted at Rook "You chose the wrong Dellamorte!" WHAT. wHAT???? (°ー°〃)

[starry-teacup]

holy fuck what

OK i guess i will continue to macrodose birds

[juraorbi]

coming back after a year of not posting art with a shitpost,, hello jayvik nation

[thesociallyanxioussociopath]

Something something, living rent free in my mind and such, anyway I love them.

[xa-el-an]

I have to finish 12 battle maps by Saturday for the session 0 of the campaign :D

[bo-kryzze]

I was so unprepared for them to drop the season 6 teaser trailer today. APRIL 8th!!!

That's sooner than I thought it would be. I'm so happy!!!

[dusknoir-whump]

Speaking of which I have a great idea for some stuff I'm going to do...

Expect some oc stuff with with nothing related to fandom obey me stuff, but a new oc I've been thinking of with relations to things like SCP but more of a character writing experiment for an eventual book character I'm planning.

It'll be a short story where specifically one of the scientists that have them being studied as an anomalous entity dealing with them while their manic. Specifically the symptoms with becoming increasingly violent and aggressive with their treatment and instance of superiority to an extensive degree. They also shows no issues with the experiments other than anger. The scientists can't break down their spirit and they just see it as all the more reason to destroy and consume a few of the workers or do their own little experiments on their captors. They're considered an extreme threat to everyone in this state. Also maybe have angst because some of the workers literally are forced to work there and can't leave.

Basically the whumpee becomes the whumper while still getting whumpee.

[onefey]

you're going about your normal day when, suddenly, surprise! you've been pokémon mystery dungeon'd!

unfortunately, due to budget cuts, the pokémon assigning quiz has been canceled. instead, you must spin THE WHEEL, assigning you a random, unevolved, non-legendary and non-mythical pokémon. you must now go on some sort of world-saving adventure as this pokémon. good luck!

tell me in the tags what you rolled, and how you feel about it - for bonus points, you can spin the wheel again for (or just take your pick of) a pokémon to be your partner.

bonus rules:

you're not shiny unless the wheel tells you you're shiny

take your pick of regional forms and evolutions (for example, if you roll vulpix, it's up to you whether that means normal or alolan vulpix)

apply whatever logic you like with regards to gender

have fun and be yourself!

[hehhehehehhehhhh]

Gay sex

when gays poop, do they feel pleasure and moan and shit. I'm not trying to be rude I just want to know. does it feel like that really smooth good shit that happens once in a blue moon, or better???

[lylahammar]

Randomly thinkin about Chilchuck today, and how he tries sooooo hard to self sabotage

like for example, other half foots on the island think that he's a greedy asshole who only cares about money, and he does nothing to try to disprove that

but then there's this omake at the end of book 9 that shows that people treat half foots fucking TERRIBLY and chilchuck started a union to protect them

and then in the bicorn chapter, he doesn't want Marcille to keep digging into his personal business so he tells her he CHEATED ON HIS WIFE

but he just COMPLETELY fuckin lied about that and made himself sound so much worse than he is bc he's afraid of being vulnerable with people and would rather everyone believes he's a shitty person so he can keep them at a distance

and the thing that's memed so often is that he refuses to help with fighting most of the time because it's not part of his contract

but if you take this lore into account (not gonna add those particular images to this post simply bc I've used them in so many posts already LMAO) along with this tidbit from the world guide:

then it's like. yeah he has to keep his weight low so if he gets killed or severely injured and has to be healed, that could be really dangerous for him. and even if he was healed at that point he'd end up being a burden to the party after that point, he would be too dangerously thin/sickly to be able to help.

Like, Chilchuck has so many things about him that APPEAR to be character flaws, but every single one of them has a very reasonable explanation. He just leans into the mischaracterization bc he's emotionally withholding and can handle people thinking he's an asshole more than he can handle opening up to anyone. he's such a well thought out and interesting character

[lonesomenecromancer]

havent posted anything isat related in a while. have this

[h0nkshroom]

thinking about. numbers