#stream of consciousness tbh

[red-writes]

one thing you know about rin is that he doesn’t get jealous often. but one thing you don’t know about him is that when he does get jealous it’s a dark feeling that simmers in his gut like oil in a hot pan. in rin’s eyes you’re so oblivious, so clueless to the stares you receive passing them off as friendly strangers but he sees it. he takes of all of the people licking their lips, their eyes staring at you with a hunger that resembles his. it makes him mad, no, actually it pisses him off. after all you’re his and you belong to him.

on the surface rin keeps his possessive streak hidden, his face remaining stoic and cold. but when he’s got you under him like he does now he lets all of that rage loose and he does it in the most obscene ways. he’ll force your head into the sheets and pound into your cunt for hours. tears staining your pillow and nothing but cries and the slaps of skin on skin fill the room. he doesn’t say much, opting to focus most of his energy on making you cum so hard your eyes roll into the back of your head. and he does. sex with rin when he’s like this is animalistic. he spits on your fluttering asshole and watches the spit roll down until it meets where his cock is splitting you open. his previous loads are gushing out of your cunt as you squirt and he fucks you through it, making you cry asking why he hates you but he’s actually fucking you like this because he loves you so much. he’ll grab your hair and force your head back only to spit in your mouth and have you swallow while big salty tears roll down your cheeks. rin isn’t proud of who he becomes when he’s jealous. he turns into a sex fiend who claims that every load is the last one but he decides that it’s not enough and starts fucking you once again. he’ll use his thumb to prod at your asshole and poke the tip of his thumb inside while you yelp about how mean he’s being.

yeah..just yeah.

[reasoncourt]

Shiv dated a furry in college. She didn’t know initially ofc. But after they dated for ab 6 months, he felt comfortable enough to let her know ab his fursona and she paid him a huge sum to pretend they never dated - extra if he pretended they didn’t know each other’s names. When roman asks ab her boyfriend, she panics and says he died and then she has to pay the guy extra to memorialise his Facebook page. Ratfucker sam probably knows, though, right? Like you’d have to assume he knows.

[pinkeoni]

S1 and s2 (but especially s1) feel so intimate and grounded and personal. I am watching these character’s lives.

But s3 and s4 (ESPECIALLY s3) feels fake and removed. I’m watching a tv show.

[lillotte17]

I just woke up, so good morning, let me see if I can string any words together in a coherent pattern. This has actually been on my mind for weeks. Slowly driving me insane.

200 years. Two. Hundred. Years. 2 HUNDRED years.

That amount of time is literally incomprehensible to us in terms of personal memories and trauma. We can barely remember anything collectively as a species for that amount of time without losing bits and pieces of it. It is more than 2/3 of the time that Astarion has been alive. Well, "alive."

I am currently in my mid thirties, it would be like if I had died when I was 7 or 8 years old and then had to try and remember everything about my personality and my family and my morality from that time period. I do remember it, of course, but a lot of it is pretty vague. A lot of things that I know happened, or that I know I did, I remember because there are other people in my life who knew me then. Astarion wasn't a child, of course, but time still has it's way with things, and there is no one in his life he knew from before he became a vampire, with the possible exception of Cazador, and he's hardly a reliable source of information. Trauma also damages memories, and he has spent more that 2/3 of his life being constantly starved and beaten, and abused in pretty much every possible way a person can be.

The main point being that it is simply not possible to make any firm assumptions about the kind of person Astarion was before he was turned. Maybe he was a horrible, power-hungry, back room dealing, lying, racist, POS trash-man who deserved what he got when that group of thugs jumped him. Maybe he was kind underneath all his bluster, and had a strong sense of justice, and he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Most likely, he was something in between. But we can't know. And Astarion probably doesn't really know anymore either.

(I firmly believe that Cazador chose him specifically to be a spawn, and possibly even orchestrated the attack on Astarion. They might not even have really been Gur. Astarion would only have Cazador to rely on for confirmation about what really happened to him that night, and having a culture of people who hunt monsters and were likely already targeting Cazador himself be the same group that murdered Astarion seems pretty mmmm convenient.)

And for all that he is a chaos gremlin, prickly rat-bastard, dumpster fire of a man, it is honestly pretty astounding (and rewarding imo) just how much growth he can have over the course of the game, which is only a few months, tops. (assuming, of course, that you are playing a good aligned Tav/Durge) But even before that, after the first night he tries to bite you, he is the one who immediately promises that he's not going to feed from innocents, with no prompting at all from the player. He doesn't ask to keep feeding from your PC, and he only drinks from you if you offer it. (unless you direct him to in a fight, I guess, lol) That feels huge to me. He has been STARVING for 200 years. Part of being a vampire is that he's always kind of starving, but he doesn't want to be a slave to that hunger any more than he wants to be a slave to anything or anyone else.

I'm not saying that he's secretly a good man deep down, but even from the start, the potential for him to be better was already there. Which is AMAZING because, as I said earlier: TWO HUNDRED YEARS.

Like, imagine that you know absolutely nothing about yourself except misery and torture and losing things, and it fucks you up, and you KNOW it's fucked you up, and you are terrified that one wrong move could send you back to the place that you just escaped from, and you still say, "I'm still not going to attack the innocent people around me for no reason, though. Sure, I might laugh if they manage to get themselves killed in an amusing way, but it's not going to be my fault."

[pigeonmilk-216]

House MD makes me absolutely FERAL.

For instance, I finished rewatching S3 E15, "Half-Wit", the one when House fakes cancer so he can get high (typical). And

AHHH

Everyone's response to House potentially dying is EVERYTHING. And displays both the characters and their character growth SO WELL.

Wilson, ofc, is offended that his best friend *cough* *lover* *cough* didn't say anything, and hid it. And something I think (and forgive me if this is not actually how it went down to everyone else, it's 1am and I have brainrot) is really interesting, is that beyond Wilson giving House shit for not saying anything, Wilson doesn't give any of the platitudes that everyone else gives. We don't see Wilson trying to "fix" anything or say, "House your dying, can we have an actual human connection for once?". No no, Wilson just lets him be.

Now, either Wilson is pissed and reeling from this news , and is just distancing himself (which tbh feels ooc, like House has crossed worse lines before, and Wilson deals with cancer everyday, idk).

OR you can look at the option of Wilson knows House well enough (and cancer, let's be real) that trying to fix it, won't change anything, that coming up to House and trying to "console" him won't do anything. House is House, and Wilson KNOWS THAT. Wilson knows that if House really and truly wants a conversation about it, or any comfort, House will just be like, " Yo, can we go get wasted?" and that's that.

AND THEN HIS FUCKING ANALYSIS AT THE END AND HIM FUCKING LAUGHING AT THE IRONY.

And Cuddy, I feel like, is the middle ground between how Wilson and the kids react. She doesn't go out of her way to say something, but in an almost hand-on-the- doorknob-as-I'm-leaving type way does she say something. AND THEN THEIR BANTER IN THE HALL IS FUCKING EVERYTHINGG. And her FUCKING smile as House grabs her ass (istg I can only say this in real action to this fucking show) but still dismissing him coming to the bedroom with her

Like both her and Wilson and obviously hurt, right, but they don't outright change their behavior toward House or anything, but they accept it (kind of) and don't go out of their way to change anything,

AND THEN THE KIDS' RESPONSES. ANHHH

I love Chase's moment. He's just like, "Dad, shut up and let me hug you" AND FUCKING STARTS CRYING

CHASE IS LITERALLY THE ONLY ONE WHO CRIES

He's like, "Goddammit, I'm going to lose two of my parentals to this cancerous bullshit. Tf."

AND HUGH LARUIE'S ACTING I CANT

YOU CAN SEE HOUSE REALIZING THAT, "oh shit, they really care and this is really going to hurt them" LIKE WHAT THE HELL. MY HEART, FUCK THIS SHOW WTH

And I love how Cameron is shown in this episode, over the first three seasons, we can see her kinda of coming to her own, and learning from House, so instead of like, backing down from helping House she just fucking kisses him so she can steal his blood. Like. YES CAMERON. GET IT.

AND AGAIN

HUGH LAURIE. YOU CAN SEE HOUSE'S HESITATION, WEIGHING THE PROS AND CONS BEFORE KSSING BACK.

And tbh I feel like House is low key proud of Cameron for a moment in a "she is taking after me" type way.

And Foreman trying not to care, but caring the whole time, and HIS FACE WHEN HES TELLING HOUSE HE DOESNT HAVE CANCER. LIKE. JXNKSCVJVXFBJKBFVSKJ

And I just love everyone's reaction five seconds later when they realize

"House is an addict. Right. Fucking this was a sham, fuck"

AND THEIR FACES ARE EVEYTHING

Cameron is crestfallen, outraged. Foreman is slightly pissed but completely nonplussed almost? Like a I should have expected this/this is such a House thing, which is why I dislike the man. And his sarcastic response is EVERYTHING And, Chase, oh Chase. He's so disbelieving and hurt. Like my baby I'm so sorry.

And House like really understanding how much this hurt them, and kinda of being a fucking TOTAL IDIOT and like slightly scared I feel but arrogant enough to just fucking like. Trying to blame so he doesn't feel guilty (he does) pushing them away so he doesn't have to face consequences (he's spiraling) and and after Wilson (finally) talks to him, having to stop and THINK about how fucking miserable is he really (he's such and idiot) and just AHHH

AND THEN HIM FUCKING GOING INTO THE RESTAURANT AT THE END?????? ITS A FUCKING CRIME THAT WE DON'T SEE THAT CONVERSATION BETWEEN HIM AND THEM. LIKE SIR, I WANT TO THIS POTENTIALLY EMOTIONALLY CHARGED MOMENT. LIKE

And honestly, Ilove how House interacts with the patient in the episode, it's on par with the boy who had autism earlier this season. Like the piano part is what really intrigues him, but still goes forth to give him his life back. Idk, just felt special.

Okay, um so thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Idk what happened.

[lady-harrowhark]

I would love to hear the megatheorem

It's not ready for full publication and won't be for a while tbh, but like, maybe before the end of summer? If I'm being optimistic? It will definitely go up here when it's finished, although probably in parts because it's an absolute beast, currently weighing in at over 25 pages and nearly 13k words.

Here's a sneak peek at the table of contents though 😎⚔💀

Also I'm just now noticing that I have "Empty's as Good as Clean" from the draft version of the poem instead of the published version as a section title, whoops. Pretend that's on purpose. Maybe it's a nod to the like, three hours where we thought @torbooks was speaking to us in code. That sounds like both a regular thing to happen as well as to reference, right?

Some segments have stuff I've pulled in from things I've posted here before but off the top of my head I don't think any of the sections are fully anything I've posted here. That is to say, as the draft currently stands, every section has new analyses in addition to anything pulled in from previous posts, though I'd say most of the sections are things I've haven't posted. I believe the sections that have the most pulled from "old" content are Lyctorhood Lite, Resurrection vs Waking Up, and A Cavalier by Any Other Name, which would all be under my "tlt meta" tag - I'll tag this one for ease of navigation if you want to poke around.

But don't worry, when it's ready, I will make sure everyone is subjected to my theories.

[eulaties]

i've seen many people criticize how movie snow is seemingly portrayed in a better light, so much to the point where people are actively defending his actions on tiktok, but like isn't that the whole point of his character? movie snow is meant to represent his outer-facing self, the part of him that is primed to be socially acceptable, charming, handsome. meanwhile, book snow clearly shows us his unfiltered thoughts, and how much of a manipulative, conniving bastard he is. i came out of the movie theatre liking and appreciating snow as a complex character, while when i read the book i just wanted to throw rocks at him. on surface level these perceptions of his character may seem contradictory, but when viewed holistically, they show that the movie and book versions work to actively complement each other; the characteristics from movie and book snow are, in actuality, just different parts to the same person. furthermore, movie snow may not be as obvious about his true self as book snow is, but if you pay attention to his microexpressions, pauses, etc. you'll be able to see all the times his mask (imperceptibly) falls. most people won't, however, and that's part of the storytelling—snow attempts to deceive us, the audience, just like how he deceives everyone else in the story.

[whitmore]

charlie slimecicle slash lore very clearly knows codeflippa isn’t juanaflippa somewhere inside of him. the specific avoidance of questions with codeflippa points us in that direction and is further confirmed by the direct questions he asked juanaflippa today during dia de los muertos— are you safe? are you in a happier place? he’s not in any level of denial barring performative, he’s just willing to settle for a codeflippa rather than no flippa at all, and that’s paraphrased but he’s said something very akin to it out loud. plus today he realized that if the missing eggs don’t have ofrendas they’re likely still alive, and i think to some end even after really processing that his current flippa isn’t the original juanaflippa, he’d still want her around emotionally to cope with the possibility of bearing witness to everybody else’s real egg reunifications. mariana isn’t around, his entire family was fundamentally gone at one point. he doesn’t want to have nothing again. and if codeflippa leaves, he’s left with nothing. again.

[throttlegainwell]

If he weren’t such a consummate loner, she’d wonder if he’s just grateful for any attention at all, still disbelieving that he’s allowed to have this contact and not willing to push his luck. But that’s not really Jonathan, so she scratches that one off the list. It’s always possible that he just genuinely is content to do whatever she wants—that he truly doesn’t have strong opinions in any direction. But that strikes her as kind of sad, too, in its own way. And Jonathan is full to bursting with desires and needs, deep down where no one can touch them and disturb the carefully compartmentalized system where he’s got them locked away. So it can’t be that either. Besides, this is the same guy who’d gone on a one-man mission to find his little brother. It’s not like he doesn’t think for himself. Nancy wants to try something different in bed, before Jonathan leaves Hawkins. It doesn't go quite the way she hopes, but Nancy isn't easily discouraged. [Part of the please don't wake me series.] Rated E. ~13k.

[phonydiaries]

finally reached the brotherhood why are they kinda. why. why are they. um.

[painted-bees]

I don't script any of my cortes comics lmao I spontaneously draw a panel or two, and then figure out the specific dialogue on the spot. Rinse and repeat. It's all just vibes based in the scene I see in my head 🤣

[tathrin]

This doesn’t feel nearly complete enough to be worth posting a whole entry on AO3 for, but I don’t know what else to do with it so...have another fic-snippet, tumblr folks.

This one is set in the Undying Lands shortly after Legolas and Gimli break down the doors of heaven with the power of their love arrive and is inspired by this weird idea I had once about elves and food. And also, unintentionally but unsurprisingly, by Tamora Pierce’s Realms of the Gods.

❧ Ever The Taste of Ashes In Our Mouths ☙

Legolas took a bite of the apple and was so startled he spit it back out.

"What—that—!?"

"Ah!" Angmeril looked torn between amusement and apology. "I had forgotten. Yes," she said, "things taste…different, here in Aman."

Legolas held the apple out before him and stared at it, as though it might be about to transform into some strange and treacherous shape. Gimli looked quickly back and forth between his stricken face and the fruit.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Legolas shook his head, apparently beyond words.

Gimli looked down at the plate of food in his hands and slowly, carefully, eased it back onto the long table.

"Do not be afraid!" Angmeril told him. "You can eat it. Just—perhaps eat less than you think you want, to start with? The taste can be…" Her smooth, beardless face did something complicated as though she were struggling against some terrible weight to find her words. "Overpowering," she said at last.

"Overpowering," Legolas repeated numbly. "Yes."

Gimli looked at the apple in his hand. The archer's fingers were gripped as tight upon the round red fruit as they had ever been upon his bow.

Galadriel drifted over. Gimli noticed her at once, of course; even here in the Blessed Realms, her presence was like a sunrise. He turned towards her like a flower moving to face the morning's light.

"The Queen of Greenwood speaks the truth, Lockbearer," she told him. Gimli did not see the grimace pass across Angmeril's face at Galadriel's use of her long-defunct title, but he knew it was there; it was always there, when anyone referred to Legolas's mother by anything but her own unadorned name. "Nothing here will harm you, but until you are used to the bounty of Aman it would be prudent for you to exercise moderation."

"I know not why I am surprised, my lady," Gimli said, bowing over a warm smile, "to find that the food here is different than it is in Middle-earth, when even the light itself shines so much more brightly than it ever did at home."

"Different, yes," Galadriel said. "This is almost—almost!—what fruit tasted like before the Fall of the Two Trees," she told them, and her smile held a sadness so ancient as to be almost unfathomable. "All food since then," she explained in answer to Gimli's startled look, "has tasted a little of ashes and loss to elven tongues. Even now, I can taste the trace of ashes in the fruit of Aman—but less, so much less, than that which is grown in the ravaged soil of Middle-earth. Ah, but you," Galadriel continued, cupping a gentle hand around Legolas's cheek, "you have never tasted food from before the Fall, have you child? So you would not know."

She drifted away, leaving Legolas staring after her with wide eyes.

"Well," Gimli said, "I'm going to find out."

He took the apple from Legolas's unprotesting hands and bit off a hearty chunk. He almost choked on the sudden explosion of taste upon his tongue. "This—but this—!" he cried, rather incoherently before managing to swallow. It was an apple, yes, but an apple such as he had never dreamed of before; or an apple, perhaps, that was the very essence of every dream of apples distilled to its strongest, purest essence. He had never tasted the like, and did not know if he would dare ever to again for fear of how it sent him reeling.

The sound of Hobbitish laughter helped to ground him again, and he turned to find old Bilbo walking up, his smile bright and his small eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ah, the first taste! You'll never quite forget that shock, lads," he told them. He looked up at Angmeril. "What did they start with?"

"Apples."

Bilbo's grin broadened. "Apples! That's a very good one. Apples, yes I like that. A splendid choice. Poor Sam, the first thing he put in his mouth when he got here was some of Frodo's potatoes. I thought he was never going to stop crying, thinking that Frodo had so outpaced him in the cooking department!" The old Hobbit chuckled. "It was quite a nasty trick to pull on him, although utterly unintentional of course. He can still barely eat potatoes without grumbling about it."

Gimli laughed and clapped Bilbo on the back. "Well, given that one bite of an apple was enough to nearly knock me off my feet, I'm not sure I'm quite up to Samwise's potatoes yet—but tell him that as soon as I can get myself settled, I'll be more than happy to taste his efforts and delight in them. It has been far too long since I've eaten Hobbit cooking!"

"I can see that just by looking at you, Master Gimli," Bilbo retorted. "But we'll soon get you sorted-out, never you fear. You and your longshanks there!"

Still chuckling, the Hobbit ushered the dwarf away to one of the other tables, no doubt eager to watch him sputter over some other overpowering delicacy of the Undying Lands.

Legolas turned to his mother. "I—I never realized—!"

"That the world you lived in was full of ashes?" Angmeril said gently. "Yes, my little leaf. Ashes and regrets—but joy, too. Was there not joy, too? Bright as Aman is, it has never held the sort of joy that Middle-earth did for me, ashes or no ashes." She clutched his shoulder, her worried eyes fixed on his face. "And you were happy there, weren't you? We tried so hard to see that you were happy."

"Of course I was happy, naneth," Legolas said, sounding almost indignant at the question even as he wrapped his arms around her. "How could anyone fail to be happy under our trees?"

Angmeril thought of all the stories she had heard of the Greenwood since she had been forced from Middle-earth's shores, all the grim whispers and dark tales brought over the Sea after her about Shadow creeping through the trees and driving her people ever farther from the rotten heart of Dol Guldur, the dark citadel that laired like a great and terrible spider in their woods; she thought of the steady trickle of wounded elves sailing to join her here, with their stories of constant battles against fell creatures and fouler things that her people had been forced to fight without her; the battles that her son had grown-up knowing as the only way of life there was. She thought of her Thranduil, desperately trying to hold the Shadow at bay and keep their people safe in the heart of that darkness; thought of her family left behind, beyond the reach of her love or her protection, ever fighting against the dark that had driven her from them. And she thought of her people telling her also of Legolas laughing in those dark trees, unafraid.

She smiled. "I truly do not know."

{ read more legolas and gimli fic on AO3 here }

p.s. please feel free to reblog if you liked the fic. I know a lot of folks are new to tumblr right now, but trust me: that’s not just an acceptable thing to do on this site, but a lovely one. Whenever you see a post you like, consider reblogging it to share it with more people.

[akorah]

One of the most bizarre experiences of 2024 has been experiencing devastation, and not having to go through it alone. I've internalized all of the stressful and traumatic experiences of the last ... forever, and this weekend I discovered that I have to unlearn that. When I broke down crying out of nowhere, twice, my significant other didn't even hesitate to drop what he was doing to hold me in silence. It was lovely and weird and something I'm deeply unfamiliar with.

I ended up apologizing at one point because I'm not sure how to accept support, and this man just responded that we'll figure it out together.

In related news, the absolute fucking worst days of my life brought me into a community I love, and that community introduced me to a man I love. And when things went to hell on Friday, he stepped up in a way I could never have imagined a year ago.

[slusheeduck]

Bonus Chapter: Late Night Thoughts

A continuation to this chapter

Bhaalist murderer defeated and handsomely rewarded by the Facemaker for their bravery, the party made it back to the Elfsong for a well-deserved night of drinks before heading to bed. As per usual, Falerin was tucked up against Astarion, out like a light—had he shared a bed with someone who needed sleep before he was turned? It made trancing a damn nuisance, not being able to be flat on his back, but admittedly, when he did manage to trance around Falerin, it kept the less-pleasant memories—and the nightmares—at bay. Plus, he kept the bed warm, so the pros outweighed the cons.

Tonight, though, was different. There wasn’t any hope of a trance with the way Astarion’s brain was spinning—and there wasn’t the tadpole to blame for that. He stared at the ceiling overhead, lost in his thoughts as Fal breathed lightly against his neck.

Husband, that had been his lie earlier today. Husband. The word kept repeating in Astarion’s head—it had been ever since Fal had said it. It wasn’t an unusual lie; he’d used it himself plenty of times when he’d been spotted with a mark.

Oh, dear me, looks like my husband’s had a bit too much to drink. Don’t worry, I’ll get him home just fine.

Oh, yes, my wife, isn’t she lovely? No, you can cancel the room she ordered; we just had a bit of a spat, but we’re all made up now.

So there was no reason for it to stick like it did now. But stick it did, and despite Astarion’s best efforts, at about hour two of staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think about it, he realized that, damn it all, he was going to have to think about it.

He couldn’t recall much from before his turning, but he did know he’d always wanted to get married. He’d had the usual daydreams of a dashing, princely sort—very Wyll-esque, his imaginary childhood spouse was—coming to whisk him away from danger before being married in the morning. Embarrassing as it was to admit it, those had stuck with him even after Cazador had dug his claws into him. Nights spent in the Kennel wishing for a Drizzt Do’Urden kind of hero to come break him out. That year in the tomb begging any god that would listen that someone brave and strong and good would open the sarcophagus and pull him out to safety, to a life where he could be safe and cared for.

At the same time, he’d known it was a stupid, foolish thing to wish for. He wasn’t made for love. If he had been before—and he doubted that, going by who he was now—the centuries of surviving had hardened his heart into the shriveled thing it was now. Any spouse was a tool, a means to an end in getting away from Cazador. He was cold and cruel, he knew that about himself. Anyone who didn’t see that was an idiot—just look at all those victims down in the basement. Some of them, many of them, had tried to love him, and he’d delivered them to the most hellish existence anyone could imagine.

Falerin’s face nuzzled against his neck, bringing Astarion back to the surface for a moment. He looked over the half-drow’s face, hand reaching up to brush his fingers through his reddish hair.

Fal wasn’t a dashing hero, not remotely. He was odd; he couldn’t use a sword to save his life; half the time it seemed like his mind was back in the Feywilds. He’d been the perfect victim, falling immediately for Astarion’s honeyed words and flirty looks—lucky for him, all Astarion had wanted was an ally, not his dues for his master. What’s worse, he knew now that Falerin had known exactly what sort of person he was, and he fell for the bait anyway.

And yet…he was kind. He was fun. He thought of him, cared for him even when he’d been at his prickliest. He hadn’t protested when they stopped having sex. He still offered his neck whenever the thirst got too great. For fuck’s sake, the man had made a date out of killing Bhaalist targets because he knew Astarion would like it—a date that turned into more do-goodery, granted, but it’s the thought that counts. He’d never tried to make him into a cuddly, soft lover; he met him where he was, accepted him thorns and all.

I was just telling my…my husband that I was sure we were going the right way.

It was a silly lie. A quick bid for no explanations. It wasn’t that serious.

So then why did he feel giddy as a godsdamned school girl as he played it in his head again?

He hardly knew the man beside him. They’d been thrown together by chance, became lovers by manipulation, and had fallen in love by pure bad luck. Yes, yes, they threw that happy ending line back and forth, but did they actually believe it? Wasn’t it just something to get the both of them through a horrific experience that they very well may not survive? Astarion wasn’t nearly as experienced in the relationship part of trysts and dalliances as he could be, but he was fairly certain that marriages needed to be built on something stronger than trauma bonding.

And, for all his theatrics and fripperies and nonstop quips, Astarion was, at heart, a practical sort. Maybe not when it came to planning things—but there was always someone else who could deal in the details around--but in day-to-day life he was quite rational. Love was a fickle thing, as was he. Did he really want marriage when it came to Falerin? Did he really want to have this, nights in bed with a half-mad warlock curled up to him, forever? Certainly setting up shop in Neverwinter with him was a good way to start fresh, but marriage was so…definitive. After all, marriage wouldn’t just mean having a husband. It would mean that Falerin would his husband. His. Something…well, someone who could be wholly his own. Not belonging to him, per se, but…but where he could point to him and flash a ring and say, “See him? He’s mine. Aren’t I lucky?” It was so trite and possessive and old-fashioned. Did he really want that?

Gods help him. He did. He wanted it more than anything in the world, barring his already-achieved freedom.

He lifted his hands to press the heel of his palms against his eyes, swallowing down a groan as the realization hit him. The jostling was enough for Fal to stir beside him.

“All right, love?” he asked thickly, lifting his head.

“Yes. Just thinking,” Astarion said, hands dropping back down.

“Hard work for you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Astarion looked up as Falerin laughed, a pillow crease still on his cheek. He swallowed, then pushed himself up to kiss him. Fal returned it immediately, mouth soft and lazy from sleep. Astarion’s hand went to the back of his neck, holding him in place. It was warm and earnest, and he could feel the anxieties of his thoughts melt away with each press of their lips.

He did want this. Forever.

He pulled back after a moment, staying quiet as he pressed their foreheads together. Falerin’s lashes brushed his as he blinked, and he reached up a hand to stroke Astarion’s cheek.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked softly.

“Mm. More than all right. You should go back to sleep.”

Fal’s lips turned up. “It’ll be morning soon enough. Might as well stay up.” He brushed his thumb over the corner of Astarion’s mouth. “Do you want to go watch the sunrise?”

Astarion opened his eyes, meeting the purple and black of Falerin’s gaze. “It’s a ways off.” He laid back down, pulling Falerin down with him. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a nosy bastard, that’s why.”

Falerin chuckled, and he settled himself snugly against Astarion, nose grazing his jaw. “All right. Let me tell you about how I simultaneously impressed and terrified the wizard I apprenticed under with a modified wall of fire spell—that I cast in his kitchen.”

Astarion smiled, giving a thoroughly contented sigh. “I’m all pointy ears, my love.”

Casual Banter Master Post

[sammyloomis]

actually im not done about this

this is literally verbatim what tyreen says at the pyre of stars and i want you to read it and tell me this is a) someone who hated their brother and only saw him as a means to an end or b) someone who is making calm rational non-self destructive descisions after the death of said brother

“When Troy and I were kids, we’d stare up at the night sky and dream of becoming stars. The brightest in the galaxy, Troy always said. So we left this place behind. Went to Pandora to become Vault Hunters ourselves. We’d open the Vault of Vaults and become the biggest stars in the galaxy. They seem so small now, our dreams. Not befitting a god. Now I’m gonna devour every last star in the universe, one by one. Until nothing shines but me.”

also, through the whole next cutscene, tyreen keeps saying stuff like “you kept us here” and *the universe should have been ours” like shes STILL including troy even though hes dead

from the point troy dies right until the end of the game, every time tyreen calls to taunt you she not only sounds more distant and tired, but actively malicious too. previously, when troy was there and adding to it, it felt almost fun and goofy, but after that shes very clearly lost whatever fun she got out of this, now shes simply out for blood and is going to take everyone down with her

actually, the more i think about it, the more i feel like she starts acting more like troy after he gets mayas powers

like, after he kills her and gains something that puts him on par with his sister, not only is he more outgoing and making rash descisions, but he even outright tells you that tyreen thinks this is all just a game but he wants to kill you right there and then so the raiders arent meddling as much

tyreen thinks the vault hunters attacking them is a fun thing to raise viewer count, troy thinks they should eliminate the threat while they still can, troy dies, and suddenly tyreen isnt joking anymore

but anyway, tldr, the calypsos care abt each other v much albeit in weird and unhealthy ways, theyre far more interesting than jack ever was, and people who woobify troy while condemning tyreen for the exact same thing should take a good hard look at that mentality

and to anyone who would be like “uh well if you listen to this echo log you can clearly tell tyreens manipulating troy” blah blah blah, actions speak louder than words and i hope ive explained why tyreens actions (and also words) after troys death show that she cared about him very much

[septembersghost]

did not sleep at all, but rather laid in bed agonizing and cycling over terrible things in my head, feeling my heart start to beat faster and faster with anxiety until i felt like i was running a marathon while lying perfectly still. cried, got up after all this at 8:30 to get ready to go to the dentist, cut myself because i'm too tired for fine motor skills. mom drops me off at the dentist, ascend to the second floor with another lady to find that the office is locked and closed because they moved, yet somehow didn't inform patients that they moved. having no way of contacting my mom (upon reflection, i could've gone to another business in the building to use a phone, but i was exhausted and panicked and ditzy), very kind lady introduces herself and offers me a ride to the new location since we're going to the same place. i think, if i can't trust the older women of the world, i can't trust anyone, and it's only five minutes away, so okay, i don't want to seem ungrateful and turn down a ride, we laugh about how nuts it is that patients didn't get this information. dentist is fine except my pulse ox is too low (BP was normal, oddly enough). i call mom from the front desk to inform her i am not where she expects me to be (to much confusion), and explain when she arrives. get back home and find the car that was worked on for two days last week is rattling and the engine seems frighteningly hot and it smells very bad and there's almost no oil because it is leaking, so now we don't know if it's safe to drive, except mom has a very important cancer screening tomorrow that she's been waiting for for two months (really longer than that because it's something she needed to do much sooner, but everything was in crisis last year, so she didn't), and we don't know if it will risk burning up the engine. i want to be put into a cursed repose for twenty years (/ever /permanent)