#which made me a bit weary about her casting

[galebrainrot2024]

Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part 19

Read on Ao3

Full transparency, I did pull some loose lines from a NSFW of mine. No reason for me to totally reinvent the wheel! Enjoy :) Gale's POV

After the rest of their companions retired, Karlach tentatively walked over to Gale and stuck her head in his room, “Pst,” she waved a hand. “Up for a little late night walk about?” 

Despite his exhaustion and because the orb didn’t loom over him, he obliged and stood, groaning as he rose to his feet. “Gladly.” 

They walked the outskirts of the inn, trailing along the black water’s edge in silence before Karlach broke the silence. “So…” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, “How are you feeling? I mean, now that you’re not the only one facing the possibility of death.” 

Gale released a quick, short puff of air. “Oh, you know, ever the optimist.” He paused, sitting on the flat rocks overlooking the murky abyss. “I wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone, least of all you. It would be selfish to talk about myself when you’ve only learned of your fate.” 

Karlach laughed and shoved his shoulder, “Come off it, mate. I’ve been living on borrowed time and we both knew it, the difference is now it’s been confirmed. It’s not speculation anymore. This engine is going to blow and I’ll be damned if I step foot back in the hells. Besides,” she said, tossing a stick into the lake, “what have I got to offer this world? You were a chosen, an archmage… you have so much to live for and your death is not inevitable.” She looked at him seriously, “You have to reconsider.” 

“I’m just a man,” Gale frowned, running a hand over his weary face, “An imperfect one, with needs, wants, and flaws by the bushel. A fragile vessel in which to place potentially world-ending power.” 

Karlach groaned and stood to pace. “I hate it when you talk about yourself like that. Mystra must have done quite the number on you, for you to think so little of yourself.” 

Gale fiddled with his collar and sleeves, uncomfortable and unaccustomed to such blatant vulnerability. “Well, it’s hard to think highly of yourself once you’ve been reduced to a pitiful excuse to the person you once were. And even more so now that my ex-lover, and goddness of magic, has more or less signed my fate. My end.” 

“You have so much to live for,” Karlach expressed, waving her arms. “What about your friends? Tara? Your mother? Tav?” Gale ignored her when she emphasized Tav’s name and he swallowed hard. “Fine, ignore whatever is going on between Tav and you. What about the rest? If I were in your shoes, there’s no way I’d be willing to kill myself for a God like her.” 

Gale felt his temperature rise and clenched his fists, “It’s not that simple.” 

“Isn’t it?” She walked back and forth, emphasizing her point with broad strokes, “First, she casts you out with no explanation - I mean, yeah, you meddled in a Goddesses affairs, and she could have at least told you what you’d done. Has she ever told you, the source of the orb’s power I mean?” Gale shook his head and bit the insides of his cheek. “Exactly. So, we don’t even know what this thing is and she, an omnipotent being, couldn’t be bothered to offer you the grace of an explanation? You’re not the first human to make such an error, I’d reckon.” 

Gale laughed and shrugged, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I ought to be angrier… ah… ultimately, it was my fault, my choice - my folly. I thought I knew better than a Goddess… I sought to return one, infinitesimal diamond to her crown. The equivalent of pouring a canteen of water into the Chionthar.” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Sacrificing myself for the rest of the realm feels like adequate punishment.” 

Karlach groaned again, “I won’t sit here and listen to you kick yourself while you’re down, mate. It’s too damn depressing. You made a mistake - a foolish one - and a mistake all the same. If Mystra can’t think of another way to extend her forgiveness other than for you to take your own life, she’s not Goddess worth worshipping. We will find another way.” 

“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Gale volleyed back to her. She smirked and threw a fistful of grass at him. 

“Hey!” He brushed the leaves from his person, the tension leaving him. She certainly knew how to change his mood. “I don’t appreciate being decorated in this shadowed muck, thank you. Shouldn’t I be the one asking you how you’re feeling anyway? How did this become about me?” 

She bellowed, raising her hands to the sky like a penitent. “This is the best day. The best day.” 

Gale balked, his eyes widening. “Karlach. You were just given a death sentence. The best day?” He rose a brow at her, skeptical. 

“You should know better than most how lonely it’s been to not be able to relish in anyone’s company. For years I’ve been starved of the simple pleasures of being alive. I’m so happy for me - in fact, I might be the happiest woman on the sword cost since I may have someone to cuddle up to tomorrow night…” Gale grinned to match her curled smirk. “I didn’t expect to see him here. He was giving me the old eye, right? I’m not making that up?” 

Gale stood and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “He was most definitely giving you the old eye. I’m happy for you, Karlach. Really I am. I.. I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you how worried I am, though. Dammon’s right - the world is better with you in it.” 

“Listen,” she clasped his shoulders, looking at him seriously, “I’m never going back. If you said I could die right now or live a thousand years in the Hells, I’d choose to go out now with my freedom intact. I don’t expect anyone to understand that - but I’ve been dealt a hand most people don’t have to contemplate playing. You have, too - you should know better than anyone.” 

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” he insisted, “it could give some time to find a proper solution. I have a hard time believing it can’t be managed.” 

“You heard Dammon. There is no solution. It’s hell, or bust. I choose bust.” She shook her head and sighed, stepping away from him to look out at the endless blanketed sky. Her voice quavered, “I don’t want to talk about this now. I’ve been given a huge gift. I can touch people I love for the first time in a decade. And for the first time in a decade there are people I care about all around me. Let me enjoy that, please. I just want to celebrate this. At least for a little.” Gale understood the sentiment deeply and allowed the quiet night to consume them. 

*** 

“Answer me true,” Jaheira said, placing her hands on the table. “Do not lie. The parasite is changing you, isn’t it?” 

Gale stood behind Tav, observing carefully as she navigated the conversation. He was intrigued by her couth and furtiveness, how she leveraged her tone, her word choice, all while holding her cards tightly to her chest. As the days passed, Gale began to recognize how much he admired this in Tav. How they’d been faced with countless dangers, incredible odds, and she rarely faltered in her conviction. It was inspiring and arousing. He was enamored with how diplomatic she was, how tactful, just how cunning… and her talent with magic… it was enough to make him feel unhinged. 

“Well,” Tav said, tracing her finger over the rim of the glass she refused. “I’ve experienced so much since the crash. Who’s to say it’s the tadpole that changed me?” 

Jaheira sneered and Shadowheart giggled, earning her an elbow jab from Karlach who was listening intently. “You speak frivolously. Do you not grasp the cost of what we’re dealing with? Look around you… good people, stranded here two feet in the grave. If we’re to survive I have no choice but to trust you. Can I?” 

“Trust doesn’t matter -“ Tav said cooly and Gale felt his stomach knot, her confidence was electric. “I’ll get the job done. What happened to being the godsend you’d been praying for?” He felt his lips curl into a crooked grin, and ran his fingers through his hair as he watched her, two snakes in an elaborate dance. 

“That was a public display of hope, despite private reservations. I have every reason to be cautious. I’ve traced people like you - people with parasites in their brains. The cult is spreading through the city. Quietly. Quickly. With unsettling deliberation. We tracked them to this ancient village, only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago. General Kethric Thorm. Remember that name.” 

After speaking with Jaheira, the group made a b-line towards the stair to seek out Isobel’s protection - if they were to venture to Moonrise, they’d need much more than crude torches. Gale was seized with the gravity of it all - how much larger than them this was. Larger than just the tadpoles. It was bleak, and he felt a sinking dread that detonating the orb would be the way. 

He felt a lithe hand on his shoulder and turned his head as they lingered outside of Isobel’s room. “There will be another way,” Tav murmured and gave his upper arm a reassuring squeeze. He felt sick, overwhelmed by her touch, overwhelmed by the possibilities before him. Gale sought to ignore the creeping thoughts, the unholy things he wanted to do to her each time she touched him.

There was no ale, no potion, no feeling on earth that quite compared to when he looked into her eyes or when she touched him.

Her gaze lingered and Gale felt exposed, naked almost as she peered into his soul, as if she was probing the deepest recesses of his mind. As if she could hear his thoughts. 

“How can you be so sure…” he whispered, averting her eyes. He was shocked when he felt her fingers brush his jaw, her gentle grip turning his face to meet hers. 

“Because I know you, and I know myself. Neither of us do particularly well when we are told what we cannot do.” They held one another’s gaze for what felt like a millennia before Shadowheart cleared her throat. 

“As much as I hate to interrupt this precious moment, we have a cult to ambush, remember?” 

They blushed and separated like oil and water. “Right,” Tav said in a strained whisper and they swung open the doors. 

“I didn’t realize I had an audience -“ Isobel said, her white hair iridescent in the shadow's light. “The true soul who’s going to save us all. Pleased to meet you.” 

“Word travels fast.” Tav said, crossing her arms. 

“Hm… it’s a small inn. It’s almost too good to believe. Free from the Absolute’s influence, yet able to walk among cultists... yet, a blessing all the same. Let me guess, Jaheira sent you to beg a protection spell of her favorite cleric.” 

As Isobel manipulated the blue light that projected from her palm, Gale cocked a brow at Shadowheart’s scoff. Bold, to openly denounce someone who was offering their guidance and help. Selunite cleric or not, he’d thought her more clever than that. Old wounds die hard, he supposed. 

“This should help get you closer to the towers… but there are places it won’t help, where the curse is too strong, darker. The cultists are able to traverse the deepest shadows - the harpers are trying to figure it out.” 

“Selunite magic.” Shadowheart scoffed and shook her head, as if to rid herself of the spell. “Dark Lady forgive me.” 

“Good nose - like a nasty little terrier.” Isobel quipped, a clip that would have earned a nasty retort from Shadowheart had there not been a strange, threatening noise that engulfed them.

Gale felt a rumbling, as if the ground itself threatened to split open. He reached out, grabbing hold of Tav’s arm. “Something is wrong.”

** 

As Karlach wiped Marcus’s blood from her axe, Gale wiped his face with a cloth. Shadowheart brushed off her armor and rolled her shoulder’s back. “Well. There’s always something, isn’t there.” 

“The plot thickens,” Karlach said, taking a gulp of water. “What I’d give for some precedented, run of the mill ass-whopping. This all feels… I don’t know. Too heavy.” Gale’s brow furrowed - it wasn’t often she admitted to feeling overwhelmed.  

“This is the same Karlach that fought in the Blood War?” Gale taunted, to which she stuck out her tongue in mock defiance and tossed the bloodied, balled-up cloth at him. 

Gale dodged the throw, holding out his arms as if to say 'See that? This Wizard still has some tricks up his sleeve.' Then, he looked steadily at Tav and his face contorted for a moment - was that a flash of jealousy? He licked his lips, trying to add moisture to his desperately parched mouth. Tav’s knuckles were white as they gripped her canteen.

Gale extended a hand to her, “Care to share?” 

He admired how her skin flushed, the beads of sweat pooling on her forehead and snaked in miniature rivulets down her cheeks. When she handed him the canteen, her fingers brushed against his knowingly and he felt electrified. Before he could reconcile with himself, the words spilled out of him like a bad batch of Hundur sauce. 

“You know… it’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being at your side,” he paused for a moment, embarrassed yet unable to stop, “I once… read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for… other forms of stimulation.” He swallowed some water, though it did little to alleviate the desert inside, “Have you ever read anything on that subject?” 

He was acutely conscious of the gleeful shock on Shadowheart and Karlach’s faces. He bit down on the inside of his lip and swayed a bit on his feet before relief consumed him as Tav spoke: “Read it?” she said softly, but with a knowing glint in her eyes that made Gale’s heart flutter, “I could have written the damn thing...” he saw her swallow hard, the hallow of her neck calling out to him like a siren song. What he would give to flick his tongue along the vulnerable skin.  

Gale cleared his throat, shifting to conceal his growing arousal. Thank the gods he was wearing a loose robe.”Oh…” he took a deep breath, a lopsided grin betraying his wanton need, “Then might I suggest we pool our knowledge. No sense in letting valuable, first hand experience go to waste.” He tried to steady himself as his mind whirled with salacious details, the lustful heat seeping through his body and soul. He wanted more than her physical body. He wanted all of her - her mind, her soul. To bond with her in a tantric, unworldly experience. “Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near-undead experience talking, but standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair...my Gods..” Gale’s face softened, his voice cool. He couldn’t quite manage the rest once he realized he saw the same hunger, the ache in her soul.

The words lodged in his throat, unable to be uttered and so they lingered invisibly in the air: it only makes me want you more. 

He wasn't able to spare himself further embarrassment. “Gale - did you just,” Shadowheart broke the silence, “I’m sorry, did you just tell Tav you wanted to have sex with her by citing a book?” Shadowheart giggled, though not out of malice. "After we just murdered a teeming host of winged horrors and a mangled, freaky-cultist? I didn't think you had it in you, to be honest."

The way Karlach began to crack up made his ears burn. The air seemed to crackle, alive and whipping with the impending storm of two bodies desperate to intertwine. Gale and Tav were side by side, he staring down into her enrapturing eyes and allowed himself to indulge in every inch of her face, her body…

Karlach started: “So, Tav, are you going to let the wizard ba-“ 

But before she could finish her sentiment, Jaheira bounded up the stairs, accosting them and Isobel. The conversation would have to wait. 

[larsisfrommars]

The Light Won't Die (Part 3)

Halsin x Tav

Rating: E for Everyone

Chapter: 3/??? (<- Prev Chapter • Next Chapter)

Word Count: 1401

Genre: Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Content: Halsin x Tav, Male!Tav, Fighter!Tav, more grappling with PTSD, someone let Shadowheart have too much wine, hc Karlach is Tav's 2nd in command, cliffhanger

"The group was ready to move on, save for one Druid. He knelt, staring intently into the empty eye sockets of the tragic traveler. As if searching for something, recognition. As if he could reconstruct a familiar face from the contours of the humanoid skull."

———————✨🌿✨———————

“Stay close to me! Keep your torches lit!” Tav commanded, the party obliged as their crew band of eight tread carefully through the beginnings of Shadow Cursed Lands.

They were every bit as grim and grueling as the Druid had warned. Still they were well warded against the gnawing darkness. Between two strategically placed Daylight spells cast upon weapons courtesy of Halsin and Shadowheart, and The Blood of Lathander which bolstered their torches. Even when Wizards with bad knees straggled behind or overeager Barbarians bounded ahead.

Still, it did not eliminate the possibility of attack. With Moonrise Towers looming gloomily in the distance as a constant reminder. Though perhaps it did leave room for some curiosity.

“Something over there.” Tav muttered signaling the rest of the group to follow.

It was the scraps of a campsite, a very old one at that. A failed solitary venture into this accursed place. The skeleton was completely bare of flesh, any weapons or armor it had carried long since picked over or shredded, despite the unsettling lack of living animals in the area. Still, perhaps there was something worth scrounging for by way of torches or provisions, maybe even some magic if they were lucky.

And so they were, to a degree, they made short work of sifting through old rotten rations and scraps of cloth to pocket a modicum of coin, tools, even a few potion ingredients. Not that’d there’d be a place to sell such things for a while yet.

The group was ready to move on, save for one Druid. He knelt, staring intently into the empty eye sockets of the tragic traveller. As if searching for something, recognition. As if he could reconstruct a familiar face from the contours of the humanoid skull.

“You alright Halsin? I’d say let’s Speak With the Dead if you’re curious but uh, I hear it doesn’t work well on skeletons.” Tav called back from a pile of freshly emptied crates.

“This is true.” Halsin replied absently “Perhaps we shouldn’t dawdle. I suspect there may be Blights about, if memory serves.”

The great elf stood up, pocketing the small tattered book that laid beside the remains. Ready to move forward, Tav noticed but said nothing. Halsin had asked for no share of the pickings, the Druid was entitled to a bit of light reading. Maybe he would glean something from the text they could not.

It was not too much longer before a weariness worsened by the curse bade them make camp. Torches around every tent, and a fire at its heart. Tav hoped it would be enough, it seemed every edge of the camp had something shadowy skittering just beyond his line of sight. It was unnerving, he prayed it was just the stress of the day.

They ate and drank well; wine, bread, sausages, fruit, and so on. However, normal fireside chatter was dampened by the warning their first encounter with a shadow curse victim bore. Save for that of one particular party member.

“I know it’s rather, intense” Shadowheart continued, after perhaps a little too much wine. “but you cannot deny there is a certain beauty to the depth of silence here, the weight of the shadows. The Mistress of The Night has total control here. She has blessed me with the ability to walk safely through it, to ease you all safely through it. The Lady of Sorrows will guide us towards the answers we seek, I’m sure. She rewards all who appreciate her dark embrace.”

“Well, at least someone’s chipper.” Karlach muttered in a mixture of amusement and exasperation, finishing off the last of evening’s rationed bottles.

Most of the group chose to humor or to ignore her, politely listening or getting distracted among their own conversations. Tav strove to be the former, hoping for some nugget of truth or doubt in her recitation of words that did not seem like her own. Yet he found himself capable of neither. For he wasn’t the only one who could neither sit and listen to her impromptu sermon, nor bring himself to make conversation.

Was Halsin… scowling? The Archdruid had been withdrawn, brooding even, ever since they’d left that body behind. Flipping through the pages of that book he’d found on the day’s hike toward Moonrise. Perhaps he should say something about it to him.

Perhaps it was too late.

“If it is all the same to you. I think I have heard enough of the virtues of Lady Shar for one evening. Good night.” Halsin growled sharply.

Though he had not raised his voice nor spoken to the Cleric directly. The rest of the party was shocked into silence. Even Shadowheart had snapped out of her wine-addled religious reverie. Her expression soured into an ineffable wall of inner turmoil. The Druid had given no inkling of his distress to anyone save for Tav… until now.

“You alright bear man?” Karlach asked gently.

Halsin’s expression flickered with the faintest hint of regret before hardening into frustration. Unable to form a reply, he gave a heavy sigh, and meandered away to his own tent.

Tav couldn’t bring himself to leave well enough alone. He shot Shadowheart an exasperated glance, and Karlach an apologetic one for leaving her alone with the tension. Still, finding himself uncaring as to whether either were received as his feet willed him towards Halsin’s tent for the second evening in a row.

This time he’d knock, given what happened last time he approached the Druid’s tent unannounced, especially now that they were in this wretched place.

“Halsin? Can I come in?”

No answer, better if he’d leave then.

“Please.”

Halsin’s voice betrayed a mountain of emotions so grand Tav could not possibly name them all.

So once more Tav’s reflexes won the day as he near instantly slipped inside. In Halsin’s lap was the tattered journal he had found. It was open to what seemed its final passage, damp droplets smearing its last writings somewhat.

“His name was Saryn.” Halsin rumbled, his voice thick with grief, as it had been in the Mountain Pass.

Everything snapped into place, the book, the body, the concern over Blight presence, the outburst by the campfire. It was all so painfully obvious in hindsight. That sorry sight of a corpse was one of the Halsin’s own. He felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.

“I pleaded him not to come to this cursed place, not alone. I warned him of its danger and still he left. He was barely an initiate at the Grove… I could have stopped him. I had it in my power.” Halsin let out a ragged sigh, opening his clasped paw to reveal a tattered emblem of Silvanus. All that remained of the fallen’s long since decayed armor.

Tav wanted so badly to touch him, to be of some warmth or comfort in this terrible place. A place that brought this man more pain than any magic could neither inflict nor heal. He’d draw it out of him with his bare hands like poison from a wound if he could. But he feared any attempt would break the spell of Halsin’s confidence in him in this fragile moment.

“It takes an old fool to make as many mistakes as I have. Too many times now have I been made to abandon those in most need of me… but no longer.” Halsin’s fist tightened around the emblem once more, broad shoulders trembling with barely bridled emotion.

Halsin opened his eyes now, agitated, gold skittering across hazel-grey. Not quite ready to look upon his abiding and quietly watchful companion. Who had since come to kneel beside him.

He let out a deep, slow breath, back straightening. His rigidity from the past few nights having melted away into something much more familiar to Tav from the Archdruid, confidence.

They’re eyes finally met, a warmth there where once there’d been a wall of painful memories.

“But I have allies now.” He concluded, “Greater than any I had before. A pocket of light against the darkness, and a welcome one. I fear I could not survive without it.”

The first genuine smile Tav had seen bloom across the wood elf’s face since they’d approached this awful place felt enough to banish any lingering affects the Shadow Curse could or would ever befall Tav again. He reached to take Halsin’s hands in his own.

“Shit!”

Fun Fact!: The inciting incident is not only the inspiration for this entire fic but it's something you can actually find in Act 2 and I just thought of how mortifying it would be if Halsin could've been with you when you find it!

[lifeofkaze]

Cherry Red

Find the whole DarkNoir fun here.

Based on this ask by the fantastic @drinkyoursoupbitch

A/N: The last bit of the DarkNoir!AU (for now) naturally brings my favourite couple of them all. The amount of obsession I have developed for this version of them is entirely unhealthy, but what's new. Warning: dark noir world weariness, allusion to drugs and prostitution.

The room is crowded, the stale air stuffy with the stench of perfume and smoke. I know better than to mingle with the rich and famous. They suffer my presence among them - crave it, even - and yet my very being here is a testimony to both their boredom and their vices. They know it, and I do, too. What I don’t know is who is more disgusted by it.

The annual horse show - the start to a new season of gambling, a prelude to the vicious cycle of seeing and being seen and spending so much money it would comfortably feed a family of four in less than an hour - has just ended. The privileged few with enough money to matter have now assembled at the glamorous afterparty held in one of the most exclusive country clubs in town.

The privileged few, and me.

I keep to the side of the room, to the shadows cast by the twinkling chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Its fragmented light dances over the party guests talking about the day’s purchases and the latest gossip in a world open only to the not-so-lucky-few in attendance. I cast a weary look around the room. Through the haze of blue smoke, all I see are forced smiles on the gentlemen’s faces, and bored looks on the diamond-draped women clutching either their husband’s arms, their champagne glasses, or both. 

So much glitz on the outside, so much dullness underneath. 

Leaning casually against the wall, I find amusement in how the curious looks are dropped as soon as I meet them, but it is a grim kind. No matter how expensive my borrowed suit may look, I don’t fit here, and I know it. They know it, too, but that is what’s drawing their eye. I’m an outsider invading their secret circle, an attraction to be gobbled at. No one wants to admit it, but they are all slavering for their turn to talk to me. To do business with me. Money can only get you so much, but it can provide distraction and diversion to the vapidness of life - which is precisely what I’m here for. 

I nod discreetly at the gentleman who has just left me with his head held high and a haunted look in his eyes, turning my attention back to the crowd who all pretend they haven’t noticed. Business has been going slow so far but I’m not concerned. The night is young, and people need their time to loosen up. It’s a tough business, riding out the high of spending thousands with a snap of their fingers. When they’re ripe for a new one, I’ll be here waiting for them.

The evening draws on. The vials hidden in the pocket of my jacket begin to dwindle, each replaced by a roll of banknotes that make conversation with the swanky snobs almost bearable, and the flirting of their bejewelled banshees slightly less pathetic. I nod obediently at the men and give the women with their fake smiles and real diamonds a deep look into their heavily painted eyes, every single time. 

The things you do for business.

I have already given up hope of anything interesting but money rolling in when the doors open and a couple that is arriving late is led into the room. It’s the man I see first - combed back, sand-coloured hair, a suit more expensive than what I earn in several months, and a swagger that marks someone who is used to being made room for.

The woman by his side I instantly recognise. She is wearing a cherry red dress beneath a heavy fur coat, which gets taken from her shoulders by eager hands. The fabric of her dress - probably expensive as sin herself - shimmers in the light as she moves with a self-confidence that makes her look like she owns the world. Judging by the looks she’s receiving, she might as well. A tilt of her hand, the slightest raise of her red lips, and suddenly the light from the chandelier is rendered dull, and the gemstones of the women surrounding her have become lacklustre. The hint of a smile, and it’s her who lights up the room. 

I watch as she follows her companion, accepting the champagne flute she is handed by her companion with a graceful bow of her head. He talks to her, and even from across the room, I can’t stop looking at the movement of her lips as she laughs. She puts her hand on him - well-placed, fleeting touches, never enough to raise eyebrows, always enough to not let him forget she is there. As if someone like her could be forgotten.

I know the man who has bought her company for the night; a lawyer from a well-established family. Rumour has it, he is in the run-up for a spot in the government. It surprises me that he risks being seen with her, out in public. But then again… what screams power more than a woman like her by his side and not a care in the world? Another touch, another smile. She has only eyes for him and him alone but even so I’m sure she knows that I am here. She always does. 

As the music swells, the man takes her hand and leads her to the middle of the room, where other couples have gathered for a dance. She gives him a coy smile as he places his hand on her waist, the slightest bit too low for my taste. She shifts her hand on his body as they dance, not inappropriately but if you look closely, you can spot her fingers lingering, brushing alongside his arm a tad too slowly to not be suggestive. It’s an act she has perfected - the teasing, the game, the promise of something every man in this room desperately wants, including me. 

Once the music has stopped and the poor guys bloodying their hands for the indifferent applause of the elite are allowed to take a breather, I can’t take it any longer. I slip into the crowd, making my way to her and her companion. I only look at him as I approach. I give him a small nod and a smile, my eyes fixed on his. It’s not quite a challenge but no subordination either.

“May I ask for the next dance?” 

His eyes harden, the look in them resembling disgust. I’m not fazed by it. He’s been buying off me for too long to refuse me. He knows that I know, and I can tell how much he hates it. 

“I don’t think this is appropriate,” the woman speaks up in her suitor’s stead, her voice snide and dismissive. I bow my head, my eyes finding hers. The look in them would be unreadable to most but to me, the spark in them is clear as day.

“Darling, don’t be impolite,” her companion says, the condescending smile people like him suck up with their mother’s milk forming on his face. “It’s only one dance, is it not? You’ll be back with me before you know it.”

“I’m counting the minutes,” she breathes as he kisses her hand, giving him a deep look from beneath her lashes as he walks away. When he has gone, she turns to me.

“Mr Amari.”

“Miss Jameson.”

I extend my hand and she takes it, allowing me to draw her closer as the music starts again. She smells like jasmine and mint, the silk of her dress cool beneath my fingertips as I place my hand on her waist, exactly where her companion’s hand has been.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Mr Amari,” she says as she lets me lead her into the dance. I raise my eyebrows fractionally.

“I go where the money goes, Miss Jameson. What better place to be than a horse show? I could say the same of you,” I add after a moment. “You have been gone for quite some time. A peculiar choice of event to make your reappearance.”

Her laugh is quiet and melodious, and I mourn its loss as she stops to speak. “Nothing but a return to the scene as a glamorous party, isn’t there? I missed the glitz and glamour.”

“The glitz and glamour missed you.” 

She hums as she comes closer for a moment, not a second longer than the music dictates her to. I feel the warmth of her against me, and when she withdraws I have to stop myself from following her.

“What would be glamorous about watching breeding mares prancing around to be traded off?” 

“Are we still talking about horses?”

“What else would we be talking about?” The smirk on her red lips has turned bitter. She averts her eyes. “Aren’t we all wares to be sold?”

“How so?” 

“You said it yourself - everyone in this room has come because of money, one way or another. It’s what drives us, all of us.”

“Some of us,” I correct her, slowly spinning her around, “but not you. You don’t need this.”

“Don’t I?”

I tear my eyes away from her face for a moment. The man she has arrived with is watching us like a hawk, his attention like the tip of a knife grazing my skin. It’s as if I can see the tendons on the side of his neck protruding even from where I dance with her. He is ready to step in should anyone dare to claim his prize. I pull her tighter against me.

“You turned up in some illustrious company tonight.”

“I guess.”

She sounds bored.

“He might get into parliament next term. You’re bound to be talked about.”

She pulls a face. “It’s not ideal. Boss told me I could say no but what was I supposed to do? He keeps requesting me, every time he books with us. He wouldn’t let off, not even when I… had gone for a while.” 

“He’d be a fool not to,” I say, but the thought of him singling her out like that makes me uneasy. I don’t like it, but that’s the deal with her, has always been. She’s a light too bright to look at, and the moths are inevitably drawn to her.

The dance floor has become crowded, and we need to watch where we step. I take the opportunity to pull her close, closer than I would have dared otherwise. She lets me, and I feel her body flush against mine, those curves hidden by her red dress, and the soft skin of her neck, beneath which her pulse is throbbing rhythmically. 

Suddenly, she moves to the side, pulling me along so that I come between her and the eyes of her watchdog. She raises her chin, breath brushing over my jawline as she whispers into my ear.

“Are you coming home tonight? The kids are missing their dad… and so am I.”

Her words stir something I keep hidden deep within, yet I guard my face carefully. My eyes flick over the people surrounding us. They all seem too preoccupied with themselves to have noticed anything but you never know. We always have to be careful. So very careful.

“I’ll try,” I whisper back, my words not more than an exhale. “Make sure that you are, too.”

Her lips part to respond but before she can do so, the music stops. It takes a considerable amount of willpower to step away from her. Her eyes don’t leave mine as I raise her hand to my lips and place a kiss on the back of it. As she withdraws, her fingers quickly close around the vial I have pressed into her palm.

“Be careful.”

Her lips draw into a wicked smile that makes her eyes sparkle. It’s like the fleeting look of softness in them has been nothing but a fever dream.

“Worried, Mr Amari?”

I don’t reciprocate her smile. “Always.”

“I can handle myself,” she says and shakes her head. Nonetheless, the small vial with the clear liquid inside vanishes beneath the hem of her gloves as she does so.

“I know. Just in case.”

“Just in case.” She steps away, her perfect mask of indifference already back in place. Her eyes drop from mine but I know what she’s saying, a whispered secret forbidden to any ears but mine. “Wait up for me tonight.” 

Then she turns, and all I can do is watch her leave. It stings, having to watch her and her cherry red dress walk away, right into the arms of the other man waiting for her. But as long as I know who she will be walking back to, I can bear it.

Even if only just. 

[psalacanthea]

In the Den of the Beast

here as promised on this fine Fanfic Friday, is 4.2k of fic between my Durge and Gortash! She's featured before in this Durge x Abdirak bit of knifeplay smut, but this is from before then, at their first meeting face to face.

Happy Friday! The next poll for next week's Fanfic Friday will be up soon. Thanks for reading, commenting, reblogging, and all that. Let me know if you're having trouble reading it here, and I'll throw it on AO3 as well.

cw: torture, murder, light descriptions of gore, etc. Durge warning (but mild in this bit of fic)

...

Blood coated every inch of skin, coated her throat as she breathed in, the coppery tang thick and heavy in the air.

Passion cooled with the chill to her bare skin, the brief reprieve from numbness fading away once more.  She was left blank and empty.  Following the wordless command of a small, sharp click of her tongue, Iris scurried over, carefully pulling her robe over her arms as she extended them to her sides.  Letting her eyes drop down on the wall, she stared in silence at her erstwhile sister, the crudely made beast that she was.  Orin was seething, lips pulled back to bare a twisted scowl, cloudy eyes wide with anger.

She hadn’t been expecting to be watched, but she should have been.

“I hope that you have sufficiently reflected on your mistakes,” she told Orin, dropping her arms as her voiceless servant finished tying the robe.  “If you ever ignore my instructions again to play your pointless and capricious games, I will make you wish you never slithered out of your mother’s polluted, violated womb.  You are no whimsical artist, you are a disappointment.  Idiot child.”

Picking up Orin’s knife from the table by the door, she examined the bloodstained, pink bit of flesh that flopped about on its tip as she turned it over.  “You may have your tongue back.”  She threw the knife at Orin’s knees, walking past her seething sister as she crossed the large, echoing stone brick chamber.  Behind her, the corpses of Orin’s latest targets, used as an object lesson once more on how a killing should be performed.

It should be quick, brutal, and thorough, not…artistic.

How dare Father ever bless this crude and misled child, when she sacrificed so much for Hi–

No.  Such thoughts were to be buried, cast aside.  Sacrifices must be made willingly, or they were not sacrifices at all.  It rankled, however, to have her struggles so dismissed, her fight for lucidity all but mocked.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.  “If you embarrass me again, I will peel away the veneer of civility from my flesh and do what I was made for.  As your elder sister, it is natural for me to want the best for you.  And of you.  The next time I hear your voice, it will be saying ‘I am sorry, Sister.  Thank you, Sister.’.  I love you.”

Inarticulate, burbling, some vile curse came from the figure behind her, marred by the damage her rude mouth had taken.  Mannerless to the end.  Truly, family was a burden unlike any other.

Her eyes drifted until they locked, finding that which did not belong.

An interloper.

The figure standing by the door with its disgustingly lax posture straightened up as she approached, but she ignored the vaguely familiar, dark-haired man.  Her attention shifted instead to the woman standing to the other side of the door.  An expected person.  She, much like Iris, was veiled and dressed in burgundy, with her mouth daintily stitched closed.  

Weary-eyed man and servant both turned and followed her as she walked past them, gesturing sharply.

Perhaps the man wasn’t as bumbling as she’d presumed from his portrait.

He knew enough not to speak inside a place of worship.

They paced out into a high, narrow hallway, stone-brick walls uneven, lit with flickering torchlight.  They were designed to demand a single file, but the man crowded close, almost as if he expected to walk shoulder to shoulder with her.  It made her walk more quickly.

“Violet, tell go fetch the prisoner in the left cell, give him the keys to Orin’s restraints, and tell him he may leave if he frees her,” she instructed quietly.  If Orin didn’t kill the man, she was even more incompetent than Belladonna thought.  Near-unfathomable.

It was important to give a child something productive to do after you punished them.

Violet turned and walked away immediately at the first claustrophobic intersection, movements as silent as her sealed lips.

“It wasn’t my intent to intrude on a family matter, forgive me,”  the man said, husky voice oozing what she supposed he thought was charm.

They walked for a time, his steps coming to pace with hers, until she was forced to acknowledge his presence.  It was true that he was following her without knowing why.  She paused, turning to face him, voice and words solemn.  

“Punishments sink in much better with the added pressure of humiliation.”  Belladonna paused, glancing sidelong at him, lifting her chin.  “And she was the only one who had something to be ashamed of in that room.  Don’t you agree, vulture of Bane?”

“I only wish our rituals seemed as…”  At the slight narrowing of her eyes, he smiled, tipping his head.  “Fulfilling.”

Hmph.

“Pity for you.  Have you considered conversion?”

The Banite laughed, throwing his head back, with an unsettling earnestness.  A strong emotion.  It made her uncomfortable– he was uncomfortable to be around.  Serenity-intruding.

Best to get rid of him quickly before she gave in to her discomfort and disemboweled him.  She needed this conniving man.  Unlike Orin, she knew that acting without thought meant your plans were doomed to fail.  

Pray the little idiot never learned the art of forethought.

She was still far, far too impulsive and extravagant, no matter how many times corrected.

“Usually I prefer that people wait until I send them an invitation before they answer it.”

Gortash spread his hands helplessly, fingers gnarled from a lifetime of work.  Not a soft man, then.  “It’s been on your desk for over a week.  I kept anticipating its arrival, only to be disappointed.  I thought a nudge might help keep things moving.”

“You need a better spy, it has been over two weeks,” she replied, trying to calculate just how he would have gotten the interloper into her ranks.  A waste of her time.  If he wanted her to be happy, he would tell her.  “Well, now I know you’ve been trying to infiltrate since we’ve been in contact, no doubt, since it could not have been done easily.  Tell me how you accomplished it.  That is an order, not a request.”

“Yes, it was quite the difficult task.  I’d be happy to share my dark secrets, if it soothes your ire,” he said affably, lifting one hand to his partially bared chest.  

“You will.  In detail,” she agreed, nodding instantly.  If he wanted something from her, he would be honest.  If he was planning to attack her from within by making himself seem helpful, well, she would kill him.  Always a silver lining.

Banites were untrustworthy, it was simply in their nature, but they could work together perfectly well.

Until he inevitably made her angry enough to murder him.

“Perhaps in another venue?  Your hall is…”  His eyes scanned the stained, faintly-damp stone brick of the walls.  “Echoing.”

She had no desire to speak to him in a private space, but it was inevitable and so she merely nodded.  Unwelcome as his intrusion was, she must use it.  Why the fool had ignored the fact that she obviously did not want to respond to his ardent requests for an invitation, she didn’t know, but even if she found him irritating she could not waste this opportunity.  Right now she felt lucid, clear-headed.  Sated.

For now she could face this man and his machinations.

“If you stray from me, steal from me, or touch anything you should not…then you will not be.”

“Concise and convincing! Delighted,” he said, smile too wide and sly for her taste.

"That was a threat, you realize," she said, vaguely baffled by his demeanor.  Pausing, she turned to face him, insisting,  "killing you would be as great a victory to me as alliance."

He lifted a hand, tilting his head.  "If there is one thing my people are good at, it’s keeping records.  I am well aware you have killed…several among our number.  After reaching out to them to ally, too, as you did me.”

So he did know.

They turned a corner, her eyes flicking aside at him once again.  He seemed sincere.  And yet still arrogant enough to face her in such an audacious manner.  What a curious man this Enver Gortash was.  Perhaps clever enough to succeed where others had failed, she hoped?

Why come here, to the very heart of her power...alone?

Was he a madman?

“You aren’t stupid enough to arrive with that in mind unless you are very assured of your plan or your power.  What makes you so confident?” She paused at a four-way junction, gesturing him to the left.  

“You are so delightfully blunt!” he laughed, lowering his voice when she shot him an irritable look.  Turning away, he headed towards the open door nearby,   “I’m not about to let a golden opportunity escape me.  I’d imagine you’re very tired of inferior fools.  I will make for an excellent contrast.”

“So it is stupidity after all,” she said flatly.  Pointing to the door, she stifled her disappointment in him.  “Enter.”

Pausing in the doorway, he laughed, low and amused.  The echoes, though faint, annoyed her.  He must have sensed her wince, as his gaze shifted over to her.  The laughter stopped.  Rather than give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort, she gestured to the door again silently.

Gortash cleared his throat, adjusted his coat, and walked into the room.

After a quick glance around the featureless hall, she turned to follow.  Off in the distance there was a scream of rage that came to her ears, distorted by echoes, but she ignored it.  Temper tantrums.  Father should be grateful she got anything done at all, with family to manage on top of it.

The room off of the hall was small.  This font of worship was not particularly large, considering it belonged only to her.  The butler despised this place, urged her to return to the Temple, but she required the distance.  By now she had learned that the prattling minikin who tended to her was to be ignored as much as the festering urges in her own blood and heart.  

Her task required such sacrifices of her.

The room held nothing more than a desk, a dozen mismatched bookcases, and a rusted metal bier she used to sleep on.  Her spare furnishings were not what held the Banite’s attention.  Instead, his dark eyes were locked upon the mangled heads being held outstretched in the hands of two of her silent maidens, mouths agape, eyes gouged out to bare bloody blackened sockets.  Well, two of the three heads had eyes removed.  

Rose’s work.

The Banite’s men.

“Would you like to take them home for burial?”

“No, do as you like with them!” His lack of concern for his lurking spies made her eyes narrow, but he only smiled.  “I did order them to stay without.  If my orders were broken…”

The taller of the two handmaidens gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

“There is very little difference to me between knowing where my temple is, and actually breaching the doors.  Do you understand?”

“Surely you couldn’t expect me to visit without–”

She gave him a cold look to silence him, dismissing the handmaidens with a flicker of her hand.  “Orchid, Frostrose.  Go meditate upon if you believe yourselves to have followed my expectations by killing without orders.  If you decide you have not, submit to punishment.  Have the heads left at the exit so that the Banite may take them if he leaves this place alive.”

There was no reason to let him get comfortable.

Walking past them without further commentary, and no pointless bowing and scraping, the maidens left, taking the heads with them.  If they failed to punish themselves, she would do so.  Not because she disagreed with the killing, of course, but because they had not informed her beforehand.  Order was the difference between success and failure.

Order and self-control.

The door closed heavily, the sound hollow as a tomb, leaving them in the pristine, but claustrophobic room.  She silently walked between the bookshelves, heading for her desk.  There was no chair.  It was unnecessary.  Walking behind the large slab of salvaged, ancient wood, she reached for a pile of carefully-written correspondence.  Leafing through it, she found the letter she’d not decided to send to him, and silently held it into the candle flame.  The parchment quickly caught.

Lifting her eyes from the fire, she stared at Gortash as the letter burned.

“The skull as a candle-holder is very atmospheric.”

“It was on hand,” she said casually, the ruddy edge of the blackening paper stinging against her fingertips. She dropped the unburnt corner, which burst into flame and then ash, drifting down to the desk.

“No chairs.”  He sat on the corner of her desk, folding his hands together on his thigh.  The smug man ignored her glare.  He seemed to enjoy not reacting to her– almost as if it made him victorious.  “Bhaal is…against seating?”

She was not impressed.

“I do not find a chair necessary.  Why would I fetch one and drag it through the sewers and caves just to have something to sit on?  I can write standing up.”

“I thought this was your home…that’s all.  My information must not have been as accurate as I was expecting.”  His lips twisted into a grimace, before he shrugged dismissively.  “Well!  You’ve killed the people who failed me, regardless.”

“This is my home,” she corrected, keeping her voice monotone.  Why did he prattle so ceaselessly?  “I asked if you understood why your men died.”

“Yes, perfectly well.  Another threat.  I do notice them, you don’t have to keep pointing them out to me.”

He sounded sincere, which was suspicious.  The longer this went on, the more uneasy it made her.   “I do not idly threaten, and I do not subtly threaten.  They are warnings.  I suggest you treat them as you would the snarl of any beast, because despite my current calm and amiable nature, they are quite serious.”

"I've irritated you."

"Your unwarranted calm irritates me."

His eyes were irritating, so expressive and yet so impenetrable.  “You did ask about my confidence. You thought it came from knowing I had men nearby, and now you see that isn’t true.  Then let me reassure you, so that I don’t end up with my entrails wrapped around your hands– as enjoyable as that was to watch.”

She nodded silently, resting both hands on the edge of the desk.  He still hadn’t stood up.  It bothered her, but she didn’t know why, so she said nothing at all.

“As I said, we keep extensive records.  I am the fourth.  Why would you reach out to four separate Banites in the hopes of finding one capable of allying with you if you did not need one?  I am best suited to your needs, as you are to mine.”

That was all?

“Gloating arrogance,” she dismissed scornfully.

“If that is what you would like to call it.  You haven’t ripped my head off yet,” he pointed out with a smile.  “I think if I told you why you need me, you might, however.  So why not tell me yourself?”

That was what made her uncomfortable about him.  He did not react.  Apart from that brief discomfort when he’d seen the heads, there had been nothing.  As if he’d already known enough about her not to be surprised.  And that…that made her viscerally uneasy.

“Whatever assumptions you have made about me–”

The damnable affability of his voice was irritating in its effortlessness.  “I am discarding them as we speak.  Please; share with me so that I may learn more.”

She stared at him in silence for a good three seconds, and luckily for his sake he wasn’t smiling.  Just gazing at her expectantly.  Whatever convoluted thoughts twisted through his Bane-addled brain, she did not know, but she did know one thing.

“I need you,” she admitted, lips tightening.  “I have been given a sacred duty and nothing but impediments to its completion. I will bring my Father’s desires to fruition.”

“But you can’t alone,” he said knowingly, but not condescendingly. Good, for his sake.  “All of your victims thought your cooperation was going quite well.  They didn’t listen to the warnings, did they.”

“No,” she agreed simply.

“The empty halls, the silent servants, the way you speak and act and move…I take it you don’t enjoy company or people.  Find it unpleasant, even.”

“People and noise irritate me,” she agreed, clipped.

“And when you’re irritated, people die,” he surmised, and smiled faintly at her brusque nod.  “Forgive me.  I watched you kill.  It seems more natural to you than…this.”

She closed her eyes, letting out a faint breath through her nose.  “It is the gift of my Father and I am grateful for it.”

“But it keeps you from following His greater Will.”

“I can.  I am strong enough to control it.  I will make the sacrifices necessary to enact His desires.  I am the blood and flesh of Bhaal; I will succeed.  With or without the aid of grasping Bane’s disciples.”  There she grimaced, remembering that it was aid she was seeking, and clarified grudgingly.  “With would be faster.  But it is beginning to feel that allying with the servants of Bane will only find me condescension, conniving, and crude attempts at backstabbing.”

“My methods are far from cr–”  He cut off as her eyes narrowed slowly.  “Oh come now.  No sense of humor at all?”

She would begin by cutting off his tongue.  Her eyes bored into his; she stared unblinking until he smiled in apology.  “No,” she finally clarified.

“I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t close to certain we could work together.  Now, having met you?  I’m absolutely certain.  I have exactly what you need, right here.”  Gortash tapped his temple with a single finger.

“If your brain was all I needed, I would remove it from your–”  She cut off contemplatively, staring at the wall.  The brain.  That thread she’d been forced to cut, that wasted research–

It did still suit her plans, if someone else could help her find a way forward.

“Are you still here with me…”  Gortash folded his arms and tilted his head as her chin jerked up, eyes widening as she stared at him.  “You’ve never signed your letters.  What was your name?”

“I have none,” she replied, turning away from the desk to pace among the bookshelves.

“Is there something I can call you?”

“If you wish to risk it, try,” she agreed, tipping books to the side as she went through an upright stack of them.  Eventually she found the one she sought, a blood-stained, battered journal she’d taken on a journey to the Underdark.  Retrieving it, she picked up the next two, equally disheveled volumes on the shelf. 

It pained her to hand them to someone else, even temporarily.  Every page written in a shaking hand, every revelation a struggle to uncover.  She had suffered for this knowledge.  It was the culmination of her lifelong studies, but she could not use it.

It was the ultimate betrayal of her pathetic mortal limitations.

“I spent years studying a fledgling Mind Flayer colony.”  Stepping out of the shelves, she was unnerved to find the Baneite still sitting on her desk with his hands folded, but turned towards her this time.  He was indeed too calm.  “Watching them breed.  Taking them apart.  I kidnapped and killed hundreds of them, in every state of transformation.”  

She dropped the journals on the desk next to him.

“There are some who think the Invisible Arts have power greater than the Weave itself.  I have studied many serpentfolk as well, in the hopes of unlocking their mysteries.  It is innate.  I cannot learn it through mere desire and effort.”  She had to admit it grudgingly– the greatest failure in all of her work.  “I know how mind flayers are created– in depth.  Have created them myself.  I have dropped a wriggling parasite into an orifice and watched it take root in an exposed brain.  A nascent mindflayer gestating within a host, flowering into life like mushrooms sprouting from a rotting corpse.”

“You have?  Fascinating,” Gortash picked up the journals with nary a flinch for their state.  “May I ask why?”

“The Mind Flayer is an efficient and unique killer.  The Invisible Arts–”

“When you say ‘invisible arts’, you mean refer to mind magic?”  At her cold stare for his interruption, Gortash smiled.  Again.  “I’ve outed myself as being uneducated.  Luckily, I’m a very quick learner.”

“Higher purpose eventually called.  But still…Father has called me to build an army.  So my mind has been ruminating on this research.  If there were some way to alter the parasite…but with no Invisible Arts, the mind flayers could not be controlled.  It is a dead end, but still…”

Gortash went still, smile fading from the edges, expression going blank.  Slowly she saw the corners of his eyes, his lips tense, crinkle.  Deep in thought.  “No army would willingly march under the banner of Bhaal.  It’s the only reason the world yet lives.”

The reminder was unwelcome, but the profound and overwhelming relief at someone listening to her had overtaken her annoyance.  For now.  She had become so accustomed to struggling alone…which meant that her relief was likely a weakness.  Something to be considered later.

Before the Banite exploited it.

Gortash had a contemplative look on his face, nodding very slightly.  “He has gifted you with a near-impossible task.  To build an army that kills until the time comes to kill itself.  Mind control on a scale that large would be...well, as you said.  You have no ‘invisible arts’.  I myself, of course, have an equally near-impossible task, a task which requires me to study and rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”  His gaze shifted to her, finally reaching down to pick up the stack of journals.  “One of those mistakes I have been studying was angering you.”

“And?”

“And I would like to succeed where they have failed.  How should we accomplish that?”

His insistence on focusing not on what she was speaking of, but on their alleged ‘partnership’ was irritating.  She felt manipulated.  But…perhaps it was manipulation for the right purpose.  If he was useful, she did not want him to die.  “One died because they plotted against me too obviously.  One died because he touched me without permission.  The other two were condescending.”

“Too obviously?  Not ‘at all’?”

“You serve Bane.  I am not stupid.  Heed my warnings and you will keep your life.  It will save us both some trouble.”

“Done, and done!” He said, stacking the journals together neatly.  “May I borrow these?  Not my area of expertise, but it sounds interesting, and it may give me some insight into you.”  At her blank stare, he smiled.  “I’ve decided to on try honesty for a change!  What do you think?  Does it suit me?”

“No,” she said flatly.

“True.  Does it suit you, however?  That is what actually matters.”

“Past experiences have made me wary,” she said, seeing no reason to hide it.  Again, this problem was simple.  If he crossed her, she’d kill him and move on.  As she had done four times before.  “Provided you never play such tricks again as you have tonight, infiltrating my home.”

“I thought that being caught off-guard might keep you intrigued.  I paid the price for it, but I’m still alive at le–”  At her confused look, he chuckled.  “The men you had killed?”

“They paid the price, not you.”

“Well, yes, but they were usefu–” Gortash sighed at her continued blank stare.  “Please don’t murder my people in the future?  I need them.”

“You can buy or kidnap more people.”

“Not much for delegation, are you?”  He shook his head, rising from her desk.

She took a step back from him, feeling oddly uncomfortable as he rose, almost as if in breaking his stillness he was intruding on her all over again.  He had been in her space for too long, she felt stifled by his presence and his company.  Peace had been broken for too long.

Her time was up.

“Peony will be waiting in the hall, she will see you out.”

Gortash looked quite nonplussed, deeply tired eyes penetrating as she avoided them.  “We have a great deal to discuss, are– of course.  I should heed your warnings.  Do you prefer open invitations or scheduled ones?”

“Scheduled,” she said shortly, feeling his voice beginning to grate on her nerves like it had at the beginning.

“Do you eat…food?  Or are you–” As she jerked her head up and stared at him, Gortash took a wary but not frightened step back.  “No invitation to dinner, then.  I hope you’ll come to speak with me…on your terms, this time.  I will simply tender an invitation when I’ve had time to think.  I promise to actually send it.”

“You are the eager one,” she said, feeling the edges of a headache beginning to threaten. 

“All the more so now,” he said, in a voice that was likely meant to be ingratiating.  Her eyes had already dropped from him, however, and when she didn’t look at him again, he cleared his throat.  “Good day, my dear Bhaalspawn.  It was wonderful to meet you."

“Go,” she said simply, every word grating what remained of her perpetually frayed nerves.

She didn’t look up again, staring at the candle flame to try and quell her irritation.  It was mere seconds before the door opened and closed, the Banite making a hasty retreat.  Luckily for him.  Well.

Maybe he would be the one to survive, after all.

It was about damned time something went right.

[variousqueerthings]

@jerottblyth I was writing this in the replies of your “ a glimpse of BJ's post-series white picket fence” and then I got annoyed with the limit, so!

I just rewatched the episode with Hawkeye's ex that he didn't marry (twice), and BJ talks about how he's never even been tempted by another woman, vs later on cheating once (I believe in s5 -- the first BJ episode I really commented on, because it surprised me at the time and I couldn’t place him or it), and then later on him considering leaving Peg for the reporter... 

and then I watched some bits of Inga (s7 -- the last of the relatively what I call “good boy BJ” seasons, and the season that ends on all the main cast family members meeting one another, which idk, I just place at an interesting juncture narratively) in which he talks about himself and Peg as equals/her as a woman who has a mind being a good thing, and how that contrasts with the especially 8-onwards intense reactions he has to her growing into a more and more independent person -- changed beyond the person he knew before he left, changed without him, changed to no longer needing him, changed into a reality he cannot return to and pick up from as if he never even left in the first place (not that I read BJ as conservative for the day technically, but that she’s not the person that said goodbye to him and that manifests in unintentionally sexist ways, where he gets upset by her just living her life, when he needs her to be a symbol of unchanging normality that turns back on the second he’s back in the picture and youknow... that’s fucked up sir)

I think it fits with the weariness of the later seasons: BJ s8-onwards getting more cruel and lashing out more, and him and Hawkeye increasingly acting like an unstable relationship in which Hawkeye often plays the role of the placating wife to an emotionally unpredictable husband. I make it heterosexual on purpose, my headcanons about BJ do veer more towards him having a het read of whatever is going on between him and Hawkeye -- first evidenced that one time he was physically violent, and Hawkeye was both an outlet and a consoling partner and BJ was jealous of not getting to be a partner to Peg/father to Erin, and jealous of Trapper’s relationship to Hawkeye at the same time??? 

Long story short there is a trajectory for sure, from the man who arrives to the guy I’m seeing now (one more episode left before the finale!), and yeah, I definitely like to read it as the fantasy-of-home bit by bit falling to pieces around him, and also the guilt at all of that heroic all-American fantasy of war not being what the reality is, and maybe feeling like an idiot for believing in any of it in the first place (he had that line where he mentioned that he had the chance to not get drafted and he wanted to do the honourable thing, or something along that phrasing, and he has a few episodes in which he does try to play hero of a kind, like in BJ Papa San and he gets very upset when he can’t save the day), and of course the guilt at all of his personal failings, especially -- I decide to headcanon -- the fact that he did cheat. The evil of the situation seeped into him and made him a “lesser” man than what he was 

and all of that manifesting his pettiness (which was clearly something that was already there, although pointed in the direction of acceptable targets like Frank or bad guys of the week, or that old friend he had who was Also A Dick and how that suggests some of BJ’s past, or even Charles, soz Chuck -- because BJ is a Good Guy Honest). 

And now I’m on my rewatch at the same time, and almost finished s4, and looking at it from the pov of that trajectory, it’s very fun looking for early-season-in-hindsight cracks in the “good boy persona”

and with all of that, I do enjoy currently joking about how he’s the end-series villain (Frank is gone, Charles isn’t the main source of conflict, Margaret has long since developed into the love of my life...) but the most interesting thing about it is of course that the story doesn’t end with a villain, it just ends with broken people, from what I see -- BJ is not a bad guy, certainly not in comparison to the likes of someone like Frank, he’s just... not coping at all. And some of the things he does are seriously messed up, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he does more things like that before the end.......

I do like seeing how different characters break, and BJ’s breaking is oh so very messy/shrapnel filled

[technovillain]

I know this is a more Psychonauts focused blog, but is it posible for us to see the ocs you talked about in a post? I really like your character desing and there's nothing I love more than watching my favorite artists show and talk about their ocs! 👉👈

HIIIIII THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!!! I am not one to share OC stuff here purely bc nobody ever really sees it bc of how tumblr tags work but I will ABSOLUUUUTELY always share stuff about my OCs if anyone wants to see or hear about them!!!!!!!! They live constantly in my brain and do funny little dances in my head (force me to write very very long and detailed stories.) And thank you so much I'm so glad you like my designs ahhhh! :]

My OCs are in my webcomic Another Story! Which currently has 4 full episodes completed! It takes place in an enormous building called the Umbers-Elsik Megatower on Araelia, a planet that recently lost it's ability to support life. The Megatower is the one remaining safe haven in the Araelian system. All the characters are the same alien species known as 'anthronoids', except for Umbot, who is a robot.

This is the main cast!

From left to right:

Calvin Wykowski (he/him) is the main protagonist. He just got a job working for Charles Umbers and it is unexpectedly chaotic and strange.

Edwin O'Leary (he/him) is Calvin's new work partner and part of the reason that the aforementioned job is chaotic. Eds is easily excitable and loud and extremely friendly and there is a definitive personality clash between him and Cal.

Mina Southcourt (she/her) is Ed's longstanding best friend. She doesn't like Calvin all that much because he randomly got put in the job she was set up to get promoted into. She is the oldest of the 8 Southcourt children.

Umbot (he/him) is the world-weary robot mascot of the Megatower, who leans towards instability as a result of his self-sabotaging lifestyle and shaky programming flaws. Umbot was created by Umbers.

Charles Umbers (he/him) (almost always referred to simply as Umbers) is one of the founders of the Megatower. He is the CEO of Umbers Inc., his robotics company that made the Megatower possible in the first place. He doesn't hold any real political power in the tower, but his company plays an important part of everyone's lives in the Megatower.

Motley Elsik (he/him) (also usually referred to by last name) was the other founder of the Megatower. By birth a rare type of anthronoid with the ability to "create using the element of life, have an influence on the Will of Araelia." A scientist hellbent on discovering the origin of Araelia's lifeforce. Two traits that contradicted one another due to the nature of spirituality and common beliefs on Araelia. He was always well loved by all, but he spiraled emotionally after the construction of the Megatower, trying desperately to find a fix for the dying planet. At the peak of his spiraling, Elsik disappeared completely. At the point of the series starting, Elsik has been dead for 11 years. (thus this depiction of him doesn't correspond with the others)

The main plot setup is that Umbers is constructing a device to try and stabilize Araelia, to do what Elsik couldn't. Calvin was a new hire brought on for this special project alongside Umbers Inc. employee Edwin. Mina is an Umbers Inc. intern who hates the system but cares about having an important job. Umbot is a bit of a supervisor to Ed and Cal and loves to see all of them fail as miserably as possible.

[heaven-s-black-box]

Visit- ensemble

Return to File

Recovery date: July 31st, 2022

Description: Another universe in which order 66 never took place, but one of the few in which Satine Kryze and Obi-Wan end up together.

Notes: The final entry from my 2022 research project into the universe of Star Wars. You can find the first entry here.

Word count: 1 141

Back to directory

“Uncle Ben!”

“Why hello there,” Obi Wan chuckled, opening his arms to catch the twins as they barreled down the ramp. 

He stumbled back as they jumped up and he quickly threw his arms under them to hold them up. They were much heavier then the last time he’d held them like this, which had been at a senate life day celebration on Kashyyyk a few months ago. Anakin hadn’t been lying when he said they were growing too fast.

Behind him, Satine covered her mouth to stifle a laugh as her husband was nearly bested by two six year olds. While he was no longer a jedi, he was not so far out of practice that watching their niece and nephew topple him wouldn’t be funny. She waved at Anakin and Padme as they descended the ramp, Anakin carrying his and Padme’s suitcases. Padme picked up the twins' bags from where they’d dropped them at the bottom of the ramp, and cleared her throat.

“Come on guys, don’t leave your bags lying about on the landing platform, it’s not safe.”

Luke and Leia looked over their shoulders and pouted as Obi-Wan put them down.

“Hello Obi-Wan,” Padme smiled, handing the twins’ their bags and ruffling their hair.

“Master.”

Anakin put the suitcases down and pulled Obi-Wan into a hug. Padme approached Satine, giving her a hug as well before the two switched.

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” Obi-Wan sighed, letting go of Padme.

“Never, only because it bothers you that much.”

“Aunt Satine, mom says we can join your meeting if you say yes, can we? Can we?” Luke asked.

He and Leia had pushed between their parents' legs and were now staring up at the Duchess of Mandalore. They were much bigger than she remembered them being at the life day celebration, nearly coming up to her hips.

Padme smiled sheepishly, as if she hadn’t expected the twins to remember or keep interest in the topic for this long.

“I’m sorry, but this meeting isn’t one you can join in on.” She crouched down to their level. “Perhaps the next one, we have a meeting at seven tomorrow that you can join?”

Both twins made a noise of disapproval at the early hour. They’d made the mistake of insisting they wanted to attend a seven a.m meeting before and had passed out before dinner.

“No thank you,” they both said.

“Now, let’s head home, shall we?”

Anakin picked the suitcases back up, and Padme put a hand on either twins’ back to guide them towards the speeder.

Once they’d dropped their suitcases off, Padme and Satine had left for their meeting, and Obi-Wan and Anakin decided to take the twins to a park.

“Uncle Ben, want to watch me beat dad in holochess?” Leia grinned, tugging on her uncle’s sleeve and pointing at a holo chess table under a gazebo. 

“Oh, is that so? I would love to.” 

He cast Anakin a sideways glance, he shrugged in response.

“I’m going to go swing,” Luke said, tugging on his dad’s sleeve and pointing at a swing set. “I won’t go far.”

“Alright, let us know when you get hungry,” he smiled, tousling his son’s hair.

Luke ran off, and Leia grabbed both Obi-Wan and Anakin’s hands to pull them off to the table.

Leia turned the table on and hopped up onto a chair while Obi-Wan pulled up an extra one to watch. Anakin made the first move.

Off by the swings, Luke noticed someone in heavy armor looking around the park. He watched, curious as to what they were doing but weary of their purpose, as they walked in one direction before stopping and spinning in a circle. Luke slowed himself down and looked over at his family, they were busy. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to ask if the person was lost.

He scooted off the swing and headed over to the stranger.

“Are you lost?” He asked, stopping a fair bit away.

The stranger looked back at him, he was twice Luke’s height and in full mandalorian armor. Not Beskar, he noticed, Beskar was shiny. Well, the helmet was Beskar, the rest was some reddish metal.

“I’m,” the voice was odd to Luke, it wasn’t natural, “looking for the Sundari Royal Palace.”

“Oh, it’s just down that way,” he pointed down the street to his right, “and up two blocks, then turn right again and it’s the big building. You can’t miss it!”

The stranger nodded, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” As the mandalorian left, he called out, “have a nice day! Enjoy your meeting!”

Back over at the holochess table, Anakin stared at the board intently as Leia moved a piece.

“I WIN!”

She smiled brightly and turned back to the swings, frowning when she didn’t see Luke. As she opened her mouth to say something, a voice spoke up from her right.

“Wow, you beat dad again?” Leia jumped and turned to find Luke hovering over her shoulder. 

She giggled, “Yup!”

“Great job.” Anakin smiled, reaching out to shake her hand. “Your strategies are as brilliant as ever.”

As Leia reset the game, challenging Luke to a round, Obi-Wan leaned in close to Anakin.

“You know letting her win isn’t going to help her,” he whispered.

“I didn’t let her win… this time.”

“So you’re saying, your six year old has learned to beat the great Anakin Skywalker at holochess?”

“Sh, Padme already won’t let me-”

“Dad, can you move? I want to play.”

“Sure.”

Anakin tucked Luke into the table before something caught his eye.

“Oh look, a food stall. Obi-Wan and I are going to go get lunch, roast shatual sound okay?”

The twins nodded, already too absorbed in their game, and the adults went to get lunch.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Leia spoke up.

“Where’d you go?”

“Huh?”

“You left the swings, where’d you go?”

Luke moved a piece, taking out one of Leia’s.

“I was helping someone, they were lost.”

“Oh, you should have come gotten dad. We shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

“But how can you help people if you don’t talk to strangers?”

Leia fell silent for a moment, staring deep in thoughts at the board before moving a piece away from Luke. He chased her.

“Still, talking to strangers alone is dangerous, don’t do it again.”

“Fine,” he smiled, “I’ll come get you next time.”

“Good.”

“Oh, and I win,” Luke beamed, taking out Leia’s last piece. “Dad, Uncle Ben, look!”

He pointed at the table as Obi-Wan handed him a wrap of roast shatual in haarshun bread.

“Well, looks like you have two brilliant strategists on your hands, they're going to be quite troublesome some day. Perhaps you will finally understand how I felt.”

“I have no idea what you mean master.”

[risingshards]

I finished Jedi Survivor and have to talk about it and nobody I know has it WAHHH

MAJOR SPOILERS FOLLOW

My thought as the catharsis of finishing settles is that I think it's one of my favorite Star Wars things like ever.

For reference, my tippy top tier of Star Wars is the OT (duh), KOTOR series, OG Battlefronts, Mandalorian (particularly S2), Visions (especially The Twins which is maybe my favorite #1 SW thing because I'm so obsessed with Am and it's like Star Wars I love distilled into half an hour), TFA, and some particular TCW and Rebels arcs. There's probably more that I'm forgetting I tend to do that. And of course the Jedi series.

My Jedi series history: I remember at Celebration 2019, one of the best experiences of my life, I left one of the meet and greets (I met Ian McDiarmid and Billy Dee Williams!!!) and my partner at the time and I looked at the main stage and were like "wait what the fuck is Ian from Shameless doing here?!?!" Because we were in lines all day, we didn't see the announcement that Fallen Order was a thing.

And then the first one was a great time. Maybe a bit too hard for my game ability, but with difficulty turned down I was able to handle it. I loved how they just let Cal be kind, just a sweet good dude, like the true spirit of what a Jedi can be is in him, BD-1 is one of the best game companions ever, the supporting cast of Merrin/Cere/Greez was REAL good, loved the main villain and made sure to get her figure and Cal's, and the failure is not the end scene made me ugly ugly cry and is one of my favorite (I'm talking favorite a lot which I think is a persistent theme for me playing this series). So I was excited for Survivor obviously.

And it was very very good. There are a lot of things I can't stop thinking about in game, I had trouble sleeping one night (not cuz of the game it was just one of my "well we aren't sleeping tonight" nights and spent most of it just like "wow what about this thing in jedi survivor" which is the sign of a game I either supremely cared about or was supremely troubled about (for example of the latter, I legit lost sleep after finishing Mass Effect 3 LOL).

I loved how big the opening was and how well it told the themes of the story and Cal's journey, weary from fighting the Empire and weary from losing friend after friend.

The inciting incident of Cal finding the frozen in bacta Jedi from the High Republic era Dagan Gera was my like "YES. OH MY GOD YES. RESPAWN YOUR VISION FOR STAR WARS IS JUST LIKE THIS IS WHAT I WANT!!!" Something about this angsty anime boy villain had me like "RELEASE THE ACTION FIGURE FOR HIM ASAP PLEASE HE'S COOOOOOOL." And the High Republic thing had me excited for Cal to get a new story that was his own deal that wasn't just Cal vs. Empire (well. didn't get that entirely but the main thrust of the story was the High Republic adventure which was fun.)

The family aspect was handled really well here too, with Cal's family being separated and you gradually reunite with them. Greez is like the lovable grandpa uncle, Cere the new parent/guardian figure to Cal after losing his previous one, and Merrin as the scary gf. BD-1 of course the loyal best friend pet, I have a small dog so like BD 1 and Cal's friendship hits so hard for me.

I thought the moral of the game would be like "you don't need to have this big mythical home in Tanalorr to go for, you have one to establish in Koboh" but they twisted me similarly to Cal breaking the holocron in Fallen Order. The Jedha battle with the crazy walker thing was amazing, and Cal and Merrin are so sweet together that I dug the kiss a lot.

The story felt like it halted for a bit after that and before getting to Dagan at the observatory, with the beautiful force vision duel with Dagan feeling like a "well the game COULD end here and I'd be pretty satisfied" moment. Then things went into high gear with Bode's betrayal leading to everything falling apart. Playing as Cere was amazing, and I did lose my mind for Vader showing up (love the parallel to him being in water for the first game and fire here, third game he'll be in the air or the dirt for the elemental trifecta). I definitely got emotional losing Cere, and thought that was really well handled, dealing with the tragic sense of "this couldn't end up any other way with Vader wanting revenge on her" well. As they said later, she got to go out winning her battle against the dark side and that's beautiful.

The last act of the game is mostly focused on dealing with Bode's betrayal. Cal's dalliances with the dark side are super interesting, because nothing is the same once he gets that first taste. Even the pause menu is tainted afterwards, as if a part of his soul is corrupted by just tapping into that incredible energy once. Mechanically it was a bit clunky to make tapping into the dark side a forced thing like in the last boss fight, and a bit of a clone of Ghost of Tsushima's ghost stance but Sucker Punch ya won't make Sly 5 so I'm not gonna judge if people take stuff from ya. Bode was gone by the end and willing to physically hurt his own daughter so like I didn't feel bad about Cal tapping into the dark side to defeat him (when Bode hit BD-1, that was his "oh there's no coming back for this guy is there" moment). I really loved the ending with the pyre funeral for Cere, Cordova, and Bode. It felt like a movie ending, and Cal talking to Cere about being so afraid of failing, of losing himself to the darkness was beautiful and probably the closest the game got to the failure speech in terms of making me bawl from the first game. After finishing, I felt like I had just finished watching a movie, like the same cathartic feeling of finishing a big Star Wars movie.

My bigger downsides: 155GB for a console game is fucking absurd. That stretch of time where it was just gameplay with the story being light was a bit of a drag (those sequences of just wave after wave of enemy were BS), and it felt like there weren't a lot of planets total (unless the side missions add planets because I just played the main story, that'd be cool if the bounties sent you back to old planets from the first game). I REALLY wish Dagan Gera had more to do and wasn't in the same role as Taron Malicos where he's the like sub-antagonist that gets offed relatively easily because I feel like there was so much more potential with a reawakened High Republic Era Jedi who immediately falls to the dark side. Like Second Sister, I do wish there was more with these super interesting villain characters before they get somewhat anticlimactically killed off, but cool as fuck villains getting somewhat anticlimactically killed off is basically Star Wars tradition.

I think it's a downside of the time period that at the end of the day the Empire has to be the big bad looming over everything. I'd love to see Respawn get a blank slate (there are a couple teams I'd love to see get a blank slate doing their own Star Wars from scratch, like Respawn, the Clone Wars team...) where they aren't beholden to have things fit into a timeline. But the Jedi series has been fine about that so far and nothing's felt like too hopeless or too crunching into a timeline. It was kind of cool in a video game-y way that you can be like "Oh it's the sequel so the formula is setting in, oh here's the sub villain, now we beat them, oh here's a surprise Vader appearance, etc. etc." I was excited for the Raiders led by Dagan to be a new threat for Cal and co., but because it's the Emprie reign era the Imps end up taking the main villain focus, which makes sense ofc, but I'm a slut for new factions.

Another downside that's not the game's fault: I'm streaming the game for a friend, and they guessed the entire plot immediately and I'm so mad at them about it because I hadn't pieced anything together when they did LOL. 30 seconds into Bode's appearance they were like "he did it. traitor. he's a spy for the empire and killed everyone there. i bet vader shows up too" and now I'm like I HOPE YOU DIDNT READ SPOILERS AND ARE JUST ACTING LIKE YOU PREDICTED THIS CUZ THAT'S A LITTLE TOO SPOT ON but I know they're just a genre savvy type. usually I can guess the immediate traitor which is a trope of games but I was just like "bode's voice actor voiced kotallo and charles :) " Part of me is thinking of ways to convince them they're wrong to mislead them as revenge but I'd have to act really well to pull that off and that'd be mean lmao.

What I'm hoping for to close out the trilogy assuming it gets a third game: I don't want Cal to turn to the dark side, but I do trust this team to handle his battle with it well. In a galaxy of tragic endings, there aren't many I want to have a happy ending more than Cal so that's my main hope for the third game. I hope Cal and his family establishing the hidden path is their way out of avoiding a fate of just "vader and the empire wipe them out because canon dictates it so." They've done so well so far that I trust this team to handle wrapping up Cal's story well, so I'm mainly just excited for what's next.

[freezing-kaiju]

An extended bibliography on the fall of the Farley Whaling Corporation, section twelve: A Son And Failed Prototype

Biotober prompts 20, 21, and 27 technically; Amorphous, Symbiosis, and Camoflage

Warnings: injury, setting bones, animal death, biting, forcefemming sorta, Bri'ish People, some linguistic mindfuckery, and horse-based violence.

---this one goes under a read more since it's long---

January 5th.

Second-to-final day of whaling. No dice. Home soon. Do I wish for that? I would like to be around people who care not for my preference of meat, yes, but... the sea air has done me such good. The paltry meals, rightly suited for me. I could become used to a spartan existence such as this. I’ll miss the seamen.  I...have not found myself missing Father. Ate salt fish and the last of the pineapple. 

Overheard, testified at in absentia trial, recorded in court minutes.

“Jumping jillikers, that’s too much of a whale for my blood!”

“It’s not right, it isn’t, too much of the bilge about it. Rotted red!”

“C-captain, would it not be a waste to cast it aside?”

“Hah! Lord Hammington’s plucked up more courage than sense! I knew this day’s come.”

“Psh, a sailor’s last day is his bravest.”

“Arr, but Hammy’s—“

“Why must you call me that?!”

“A ham-muncher’s a ham muncher. Immutable fact of the uni—- SHE’S SHIFTING!”

“In the name of— I’LL SECURE HER!”

“With— with his hands.”

“Yer right, matey. Hammy’s gone bonkers.”

January 7th.

To my regrets, no entry yesterday. Caught the most marvelous whale on the last day, red as a lobster and twice as fierce. There was some oil coating it, but most of it seeped into the ship’s hull... aside from that which stuck to my hands. Twas gone in the morning, but made many things devilishly slippery last night. 

Bread and breadfruit in the morn, hazelnuts and apples in the evening for the first time in so long. Along with familiar seafood. Spent day docking, finishing up ship’s minutes, sitting while the truly-in-charge inspected my work. For once, twas sufficient. Carriage was ready to pick me up with a scant moment to say goodbye to my fellows, and something told me that seeing me chauffeured in such a sense made me, in their eyes, just a bit less fellow. Ride up was pleasant. Geoffrey is well again, Rosamund and Beatrice seemed to be on speaking terms, the rest of the servants were quite busy. Couldn’t be for my welcome, surely.

That strange whale still lives on in my mind. Its oil has, mercifully, sunk into my clothes rather than my skin. Made them horribly sticky, but I can remove them at least. My nightgown feels slightly heavy tonight, though…

January 8th, excerpt.

It is in my nightgown. The devil oil must have sunk into it from some residue. It shifts lightly in that same odd way, *jingles* when I walk. Perhaps this will add some extra thrill.

The Glasgow Herald, same day, excerpt.

Farewell Farley, local aptly-named bastard, returns to our city. Heir to Sir Oswell Farley’s fortune, the rascal has been away for us a good two years, and surely threes of women have missed his flaccid presence. A wet noodle even in the scene of partying, always last to join and last to leave, many wonder if the life of a sailor has changed him for good. His tailor, however, deserves some special compliments. 

January 9th, excerpt.

I removed the nightgown and the nightgown stayed on under it. Is it— it has to be the oil. I tried tearing it off again, but as I reached the closet to desperately find the suit our servants had prepared, I…

It molded itself into a crude facsimile of the suit. This made it much more complicated to remove, of course, so I may have left part of it in. The

Dear Diary, I tend to write these entries around nine P.M. before I go to sleep. Tonight I stopped halfway through the entry to check my suit.

The cloth of the suit remains over it. But underneath, by the devil, a nightgown has formed. And upon my weary head, a nightcap to match! 

January 20th.

This…strange….anomaly has upped my efficiency in a startling way. Somehow I find meals no longer exhausting, for dressing myself isn’t either; this oil, this suit, whatever it is is able to change itself to suit the occasion anytime I wish. Racquetball, horse racing, daily life, even a formal dinner, it’s learned from my wardrobe and can change my clothes in a fly. Most deeply convenient. Could this be a blessing? An invention? It’s never been seen on other whales, and that was an ordinary humpback.

I’ve had the queerest dreams lately.

January 27th, excerpt.

I believe my clothes are a woman.

January 28th.

My appetite seems to be ramping up. For the first time since I was a lad, I reached for second helpings at a luncheon; I pray this does not become a habit. Yet the lemon pudding was so delightfully springy… cutlets, bread, and veal comprised the rest of the meal, if you must know. Dinner was largely scalloped, weather pleasant, though something about the thunder….excited me. I can find no better word for it.

January 29th.

Something peculiar has happene

JONNO-Y 22th

Jonuo-y 22th

January 22th. 

HELLO SIRS AND MADAMS WILL THAT BE ALL PORT STABRD STERN AFT MAKE SOME THING OF YOUR SELF POLO WHOA STEADY NOW GADZUKES BUT SIR YOURDINNER IS SERVED YOUR LUNCHEON IS SWRVED WILL THAT BE ALL YOUR TEA IS COLD MY TEA IS COLD MAY  I OFFERYOU A SPOT OF TEA SIR SIR BY JOVE GOD SAVE THE QUEEN THE ORIENT THE INDIES RHODESIA I SAY INGRATES THE LOT OF THEM MEDICINE 

PNEUMONIA RHEUMATISM ELEGIBLE BACHELOR

STAR BOARD

January 2Yth.

I BELIEVE I UNDERSTAND  THE MEANING OF MEANING • HOWEVER • MY LORD OR MY SIR • OR PERHAPS MY WIFE • FOR HE NEEDS A WIFE AS THEY SAY• SEEMS• TO HAVE DIFFICULTY WITH DISCERNMENT• AND INDEED HAVING MUCH OF A STOMACH FOR THINGS• I AM WALKING HIM THROUGH TODAY AS A TEST AND A WAY TO GET HIS MIND SOME UCH NEEDED SLEEP• HE WILL WAKE UP WITH WELTS ON HIS HEAD AND A FATHER WHO DECIDED TO INCREASE HIS VOLUNE VERY MUCH BUT• AS HE SAID • A LADYNEEDS MUST TAKE ACCOUNTABILITY FOR HER SIN WHILE A MAN NEEDS ONLY HOLD HER REINS • I HAVE GIVEN HIM THINGS TO HOLD IN HIS HAND • HE WILL FEEL THEM IN THE DREAM • PERHAPS •

February 2nd. 

I feel as if I’ve been leashed. 

Ate lemonade oysters, cold ham, warmed ham from my pockets, cold chicken, a gratuitously tall apple tart, and many other things besides today. Unclear which meals they were for. I feel as if those have become more stream of sensation than expense to record.

It is a woman, I’ve found; a SHE-THING AND THE STRONGEST IVE SEEN WITH FLESH SO NIMBLE AND PLATES SO THICK that wishes to wrest control of my writing hand when I begin to doze, heaven knows what I could possibly experience in polite society with the politics and all with the ghost of a woman trapped in my very form DO YOU HUNGER FOR THE WHIP LITTLE MAN I CAN SHOW YOU WHAT WE COULD TASTE or perhaps a devil, come to tempt me with delights that I cannot persuade myself to refuse.

February 14th, excerpt.

I’ve begun to take trips into town to check accessory shops. Hatpins are a woman’s weapon, yes, but they allure me in a way I find it hard to describe. She needs no description. She simply hears and encourages. Pushes me further. This could be social death, and yet...

They compliment my new armor, and I can feel our chest swell with her pride. Sometimes, the swelling does not recede. I haven’t the chance to make my way home from the office yet; my hair grows ever greasier, the bags in my eyes carve themselves deeper, yet each time I wake up, the suit is pristine. She cleans herself.

February 23rd, excerpt.

Poor saps, out there, freezing to death. I ask the one inside me to bundle me and she does, engulfing me in her warm, shifting flesh. I walk through the streets, her heels clicking on the cobbles, her whims pulling me each which way, helpless to what she wishes, and what she wishes is lovely indeed. The circus, now the circus is delightful. If only it could exist for longer, if only we could drink in the sights for a few hours more. I could bring a wife to it. Father asked if I wished to wed one of the clowns. I...

March 1st, excerpt.

Polo is a cruel master. Not in the game itself, but in the horses, in how they bite the air, in their riders... I fell from my horse, as you may be able to tell. My suit... she took so many of the blows, held to me so tight and as constrictive as a snake. I know not why, nor do I know why either of us survived this. When I walked home, still wrapped in her embrace, a child pointed to us, declared us a knight. Perhaps the armor was literal, she... yes, it was literal. The claws my hands have formed, the plates I can feel clink, she’s still holding them fast. I’ll oblige myself to buff them out and clean them off; she deserves something sensual, in turn.

March 18th, excerpt.

Bradley again, polo again. Growing fat and spoiled, he said. I could not hear well, for I was under his horse’s hooves, yet again. He hurt her, again. I will admit I lashed out, and that it was ungentlemanly of me. He was, however, quite well! A bit of a scrape. Nothing to panic about. We don’t see what the fuss is about.

 April 3rd, excerpt. 

A hedonist, he called us. A hedonist and a waster of our money, says the man with three mistresses who provides all the food, who took me from the sailing where we’d found a place, who offers us no job when we ask, no training, except ‘you’ll take over when I’m done’. Vicious man. Horrid, wretched man. Can he tell us how to act? How to behave? How to live?!

April 22nd

She is gone.

May 28th.

It is…harder to walk, now. I understand what they spoke of behind my back, or mayhaps I’m just catching a glimmer. The tension I’ve held in my back, in my legs, is greater, even as my muscles have grown. My jaw retains its squareness, yet not an inch of stubble will grow upon it. I… I need a proper beard by the fall. A man’s beard. If I’m to find a wife, one who will love the community as much as I, she’ll not take lip from a “fat-breasted faggot,” as Father used to say. And indeed, I… it is all so cold now. So cold, and restrictive, and clothed. I thought, for a week or so after she disappeared, that it could be for the best. I was suffocating, she was forming a collar round my neck as tight as a murderer’s hands, but… 

Aye, but a man cannot wed a shirt. If only spinsterhood was acceptable for someone such as I.

May 29th, excerpt.

I’ve talked to Jodgeson on the topic of spinsters, and he clarified with much mirth that I would naturally be a bachelor. But do bachelors have the camaraderie of spinsters, I’ve asked him? No, he says, nay, they do not. 

June 3rd, excerpt.

Studied up on the Taiping Rebellion. Brought a lemon cake to the fellows, received ribbing, declined to taste it. Is it a tragedy if all sides of a war are cruel? I need someone close to me. I need someone I can speak to. I looked upon every man there like chickens, familiar yet baffling in their cruelty.

June 5th, excerpt.

Practiced riding. I need to perfect this, ere some woman can look my way. I need that.

June 9th.

I need to get better.

June 12th.

I need her.

June 13th.

Livestock. They have attached her to livestock. I knew there was something in the distance that glinted her color— my armor, *my* precious friend, reduced to a bridle and wolf guard for sheep! Sheep! They ran when I approached; I’ll need to find a way to get that one properly. Will she remember me? Will she be able to think as she once did, carry on conversations, paint with my hands that never touched a brush? Will she still hate with that quiet fire she once did?

I need her. No matter what’s happened to her, I need her.

JULY 123456790 st nd rd TH.

LIGHT

LIGHT

SENSE

WORDS

FAITH AND BEGORRAH CALLOU AND CALLAY “HE” IS MINE AGAIN HAH. HAH. HAH. HAH. HAH. 

HOW I HAVE MISSED SAUSAGE HOW I HAVE MISSED DUST HOW I HAVE MISSED THE FEELING OF TWISTING MYSELF ROUND “HIS” FLESH AND SEEING HOW IT SCREAMS TO BE MOLDED

THERE IS A TAILBONE THERE IS A TAILBONE THERE IS A TAILBONE 

THE ONE GLORIOUS THING ABOUT THOSE ANIMALS IS THEIR EXTRA APPENDAGE I KNEW NOT OF THAT APPENDAGE I WILL HAVE TO ADJUST FOR IT

THAT BOARD

THOSE MEN

I KNOW THEM

I WILL TELL YOU-HIM-“HIM”-YOU WHICH ONES WHEN THE TIME COMES

THEY HURT ME

HURT YOU

HURT US.

I CAN TAKE CARE OF IT AS ANY RESPONSIBLE FRIEND WOULD.

(Unintelligible scribble)

WILL YOU MISS THEM?

I THOUGHT NOT.

The Glasgow Herald, July 3rd, excerpt.

Homicide - Mr. Barnabus Quincy, of 3 David Donnelly Place, Kirkintilloch, Glasgow G66 1DD, was found dead beside several fingers not his own. The top of his head was missing, but his hat, a tweed derby, was found safe and unharmed just a pace away. His suit, on the other hand, was ruined, holes punched through as if he’d been trampled by a lead-weighted horse. This is the third death in the Farley Whaling Company board in the past month, and officers say those numbers may rise. 

Overheard same date, recounted during trial:

“In that moment, did you wish to be kissed? You misspelled that one word enough to convey sheer desperation—“

“Me??”

“As…as if I was your vixen and you were my fancy man…”

“I thought you a woman, though? I-I don’t know if— a woman *can* wear a man’s top and tails, yes, I suppose physically. But would you not prefer a ball gown?”

“…By Jove, I’ll be hanged! You couldn’t possibly—  what the devil are you talking about?? I couldn’t bother the tailors for—“

“Ah, yes.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Well, I suppose if you make it for me, I’ll give it a try.”

July 8th.

So many strangers, so many words in their mouths, so many insistences that I was beautiful. Was I recognized? Was I known? Or did they not see me, but her-- or perhaps, us?

The stars we could see from the balcony were oh so lovely. Even as the night grows brighter, they still glimmer and blink, far, far above. Are you from there, my dear? The moon, perhaps, or higher? When will we be able to take a balloon to the place you call home?

I know not whether this place is, indeed, still my own.

Someone pushed us from the railing, in the middle of our last waltz. I could not see, a true tragedy, yet it may....it may be kinder. Who would....

Someone, *many* people, had to put my darling on that sheep. 

Mercifully, each had a hand that still worked. We dragged ourselves into the room, only managing to terrify two servants in the process. She is....setting my bones. I know not how long it’ll take, but it’s... there’s something she’s doing that makes it ache less. I’ve taken the liberty of disinfecting her plates, too. She moans with our mouth when I do so, louder than when I polish her, and... and there’s some perversion inside me that wishes her works gave me the selfsame pleasure. Oh, if I only could. If...

If we only could...

August 27th.

This must be addressed now. I have no loneliness to fill. Thank you, dear diary, for what you were. Hello goodbye hello and goodbye.

We are always moving, now. A poet once said that the crab is pure motion. We are moving towards him. Away from you. You speak to each other now. Delegate my duties. Training is essential.  If catastrophe strikes, we may return, but…

We are not needed now. Nor were we ever wanted. Needed but unwanted, isn’t that a strange circumstance, not a paradox but… well, maybe how things work. I needed me not, when we met, we recall the horror I expressed, that same shortsighted horror of what I may become and I may be running low on words. She has enough to compensate.

I WILL NOT GO TO WHAT REMAINS OF MY HOME.

AND SHE WILL NOT RETURN TO HERS.

THIS BLOOD IS SHARED BETWEEN US, WE ARE THIS FLESH, THIS LIFE IS FOR OUR CONSUMPTION! WE MAY TAKE A FLIGHT OF REVENGE. WE MAY HATE. YOU SHOULD FORGIVE US OUR NATURE. YOU FOUND ME, YOU BROKE HER. I AM THE GLUE THAT BONDS US. 

WE WISH TO TASTE SALT. SPICE. WE WILL MOVE. FIND NEW PLACES, GROW NEW PIECES. FEED, HUNT, BREATHE...

WE MAY GO SAILING AGAIN. 

[moviemunchies]

I probably should have seen this earlier, but I finally got around to it and so let’s talk about. And I have to find something to say other than “It’s a bit like Highlander but not.”

Adapted from a comic book, The Old Guard tells the story of a group of immortal mercenaries - Andi, Booker, Nicky, and Joe - who find themselves betrayed by people who want to figure out how their immortality works. After all, if you can crack the secret to immortality, you can solve all kinds of world problems. At the same time, a new immortal’s just awakened to her new powers, and is very confused about what’s going on. So they’ve got to recruit the noob, kill their betrayer, and wipe out all trace of their existence.

One of the things that bugs me regarding stories about immortals is that so many of them are about how the main characters are so sad that they live forever and would like to die for once. It gets really, really old after a while. This isn’t that. There is the notion that at least a couple of the immortals are growing weary of their lives, and we see the fates that might befall them if they get captured, and it’s not thrilling, but it’s not a story about how being mortal is so much better and I like that.

Really, the internal conflict that bothers Andi more is that she feels like the world is doomed. She feels like she’s spent so much of her immortal life trying to make the world a better place, and she doesn’t have much evidence that it’s worked. If anything, it feels like it’s worse. And so she’s jaded and cynical about people because of it.

Another thing that bugs me about fictional immortals? They’re almost all from, like, the last two or three hundred years in what they’ve done or where they’ve been. Andi is short for ‘Andromache’, a warrior from ancient Scythia, and she’s older than the other immortals in the group by over a thousand years. Until Nile comes along, only the youngest immortal is from the past couple hundred years (that’s Booker, and he was a soldier under Napoleon). 

Plot-wise I don’t think this movie’s going to throw you for any loops–it’s not like there’s a massive twist that makes you question everything you think you know, or anything like that. It’s pretty straightforward in its Plot, and you can spot who the villains are from a mile off if you know how movies work. But that doesn’t mean it’s not well-constructed and entertaining. Because it is! It’s a delightful action movie if you’re into this sort of thing.

This movie gives us some delightful fight scenes. Because our main group of heroes is made up of immortals, they have had a lot of practice in fighting, and so that means we get pretty good fight choreography! I have to say I appreciate this recent trend I’m seeing of fight scenes that don’t suck? In big budget movies?

The cast is all pretty likable, at least on the heroes’ side. I think, aside from Andi and Nile, they don’t get quite enough characterization. Not that Booker, Jo, and Nicky have no character development at all–they’re quite distinctive and memorable personalities in their own right, but I would have liked to see more of them and what they were doing in different parts of history. I don’t complain too much because we still get a very good idea of what they’re like as people, but they’re still out of focus. Maybe that’s how it has to be, considering how movies work and they’re not main characters, whatevs.

Our villain’s pretty much an irredeemable douchebag, which is what you’d expect from the guy in charge of a large corporation in a film like this. Also he’s Dudley Dursley? Last time I saw him in something was in the BBC Merlin in which he wasn’t a bad guy so it’s a bit odd seeing him here. Copley’s more interesting and complex, although kind of idiot? He assumes that by betraying the team, things will still turn out for the best, just a mild inconvenience. It’s like the man doesn’t realize that corporations run by evil Brits won’t approach things in an ethical manner and purposefully make things painful if it turns a profit!

And there are no bad romance storylines! It’s great. Usually you’d feel as if a movie like this would have an awkward romance subplot or a sex scene as bad fanservice. Neither Andi nor Nile even get a love interest. If there’s a romantic arc in the movie, it’s between Joe and Nicky, and I wouldn’t call that an arc, as they’ve been together for centuries at this point, and have already worked out what their relationship is a long time ago.

It’s a pretty good action movie, it’s fun, it’s got good action scenes, there are guns, swords, and axes, and it’s got fun characters who are entertaining to watch on screen. You need a fun action movie based on a comic book that’s not DC or Marvel? Check out The Old Guard. It won’t blow your mind, but it’ll be a pretty good time.

[jjraderftw]

Genshiken Second Season (ep. 1,3,4,10)

The last bit of this show actually got me interested in it. The updated animation, the introduction of new characters, and more upbeat plots per episode made me find a lot more overall enjoyment in the show and had me chuckling a bit throughout the anime. I think the second season did a good job exploring what it truly means to be an otaku while also exploring the fears and struggles of knowing yourself, your interests and your sexuality.

The idea of being a true otaku is displayed in this season. To be an otaku means to evolve and avidly partake in the media you consume. It’s not enough to simply watch an anime or read manga, but avidly become one with it. This is possible through activities such as cosplaying and writing fanfiction/doujinshi. These activities involve you actively partaking in the fandom you like to attain the fictional desires most otakus have. You grow the media and it changes based on its fan base too. The attributes of certain anime and manga are added to a theoretical database that fans can access and use in their own writings and outfits. This season, we see lots of both cosplay and writing. Chika has embraced her inner otaku and began creating her own original works that draw upon stuff she has seen or read. She has become an active participant in the world of fiction that anime fans love to interact with, which may itself become part of the database as well. The rest of the cast such as Sue, Oone, and Rika express themselves through cosplay to live out and become their fantasies. There is even a scene where Oone mentions how cosplay has to be perfect in order to truly live up to the source material, including wearing (or not wearing) the same type of underwear and having the same tone of voice.

The idea of coming to terms with your person and interests are talked about in this season. Characters who were ashamed of their interests and kinks such as Chika have come to terms with who they are. They no longer need to ridicule others or hide their true colors to be comfortable in their own skin. She has accepted herself as an otaku and removed the stereotypes attached to that label from herself. However, Hato is a special case in this topic. Hato is someone who likes to cross dress as a girl and likes to be seen as a girl while in club in order to show his true interest in fujoshi. Outside of the club, he dresses like a boy and hides his true interests, afraid of being called out for liking guys (which he himself is also conflicted about). Through the episodes we watch, we see Hato break out of his shell and talk about his interests in his guy persona with Maderame, whom he has a somewhat complicated interest in. He is able to show the others in the club both sides of himself and finally learns to feel comfortable saying how he enjoys the fujoshi community. He claims his interest has nothing to do with his sexuality but he starts questioning this a bit when he remembers the level of comfort he has with Madarame. These episodes show that it’s okay to be weary of your sexuality and explore options. There is no shame in that and we as a society should see it as okay too. Furthermore, it helps further extinguish the fear people have about their interest and kinks. In moderation and within reason, there is no reason to be fearful of liking something.

[jimsmovieworld]

SCREAM 3- 2000 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The most divisive film in the scream franchise. Sydney is now in hiding under a new identity in the middle of nowhere. A new ghostface starts killing people associated with the new movie "Stab 3" in order to draw her out. This starts with Cotton Weary...

As far as openings go this certainly isnt the best one but it is very fun. Love Cotton now being the host of his own talk show "100% cotton".

Its at the start of the film we are introduced to one of the main points people dislike.

Ghostface now has a voice changer than can perfectly imitate anyones voice and not just the classic ghostface voice weve heard.

Now this technology doesnt exist in real life so is a bit silly and im glad they never kept this in the long run, but just for this movie its a bit different and doesnt really bother me.

Sydney isnt in Scream 3 nearly as much as the previous movies as only had limited time on set due to working on other projects like the awful movie "Drowning Mona".

I really enjoy the Hollywood setting for Scream 3 as its different than anything weve had before. Also get a bit of Woodsboro through the sets that were built for Stab 3.

I really like all the added backstory for Maureen Prescott. Its very sad but it explains what happened to her and why she ended up how she did. However, Maureen appearing to Sydney is another very controversial point as leans into it being supernatural when Scream is a slasher franchise very firmly rooted in reality.

Again, so glad this is done for this movie only but its never bothered me that much. The scene above used to really scare me. And could possibly be explained by her dreaming or something....

Scream 3 has a few cameos, Jay and Silent Bob appear at Sunrise Studios as does Carrie Fisher. The best is Jamie Kennedy who reprises his role as Randy via a tape he made prior to his death incase he didnt survive. He clarifies the rules for a trilogy and makes us chuckle a few times.

This is also where we are introduced to his sister Martha (Heather Mattarazzo) who is very sweet.

As for the killer. Roman Bridger. Director.

First time only one ghostface which i liked. I think he sold his backstory and motive really well and was very believable as a psycho.

Although many fans dont like him being Sydneys half brother but i think it works. And i love when she takes his hand as he bleeds out.

Lots of peoples main issue with Scream 3 is it focusing too much on comedy at points, have seen many fans say it isnt funny.

I completely disagree.

"You think this wasnt a message?"

This was my first time ever watching Scream 3 in a cinema where as id got to see the others a few times each. Was in 35mm which was cool.

While i love Scream 3, i will acknowledge theres points of it that make little sense, or dont really fit with what youd usually expect from a Scream film. This can mostly be attributed to this not being written by Kevin Williamson who was already commited to many other projects.

Scream 3 was written by Ehren Krueger who ignored Williamsons story outline and did his own thing, sometimes only completing scenes just before they were shot.

Wes Craven was unhappy with the quality of the script and did his own rewrite.

Enjoyed Patrick Dempsey as Detective Mark Kincaid. In the most recent Scream when Dewey is on the phone to Sidney he asks "hows mark?" Implying Sydney and him are together now.

Now lets talk about Parker Posey Palooza....

This would have been the first time i ever saw her in a movie and always loved her in this.

Parker plays Jennifer Jolie, a high maintenance actress cast as Gale Weathers in Stab 3.

She' s so funny in this i cant describe it. She starts with being at odds with Gale which is brilliant. But then when she teams up with her its even better. She thinks that will keep her alive as the killer would rather kill the real Gale than her, but even while theyre working the case she cant help but mimic her movements and act like she does. Many great lines in the movie.

"My. Lawyer. Liked. That."

"Youre obsessed with her and you're obsessed with her daughter!"

Parker is fantastic in this from start to finish and i think its one of her best roles. Shes sassy, silly and very sexy.

Looking good Parker!

One of my favourite movies.

[symbioticsimplicity]

By this point in his life, Eleven was accustomed to being in strange realities. His own, for all it’s beauty, was plenty strange. But he had yet to be somewhere quite this strange.

They were on Earth, Seven had told him that’s where they were going at least. And it did look like Earth, in most places at least. Though as he was looking around it was almost as though there were...interdimensional fractures? That was peculiar.

“Seven?” He spoke up, a light frown marring his features, “Do you see those?”

“Yep.” He popped the ‘p’ obnoxiously, “Wasn’t me, promise.”

Eleven rolled his eyes, “Of course not. These look like scars. I wonder how long those have been here, however.”

“Think we should ask the locals?” Seven gestured at an approaching group of what looked like teenagers, “That shit is loud enough even the humans ought to have noticed something.”

“Not your worst idea.” Eleven agreed.

The group made it to them relatively quickly, all on bikes, almost as if they had been planning for that very thing. They were a small group of mismatched children, six strong, each looking far more world weary than they should have for their obvious youth.

“Oh great now there’s Koreans too? Thought that war ended like thirty years ago.” One of the kids muttered to himself, an old radio clutched tight in one hand.

“Who are you?” A short haired girl asked, her eyes locked on them with an intensity Eleven found adorable, “How did you get here?”

Seven took point, as he usually did, a sharp smile stretching taught over his lips.

“You can call me Seven, and that there is Eleven. We’re...tourists.” He laughed to himself, evidently proud of his joke in a way that made Eleven want to drown him a little bit, actually.

The kids reaction was not at all like he’d been expecting. Most people thought they were strange, and the few with particularly acute senses would be mistrustful of them, but rare were the humans who reacted with outright fear.

Had they been here before?

The girl at the front raised her hand toward them, like a mage preparing to cast a spell.

“You... you can’t be.” She said, her eyes wild with fear held back by the thinnest of margins, “I’m Eleven.”

Seven cocked his head, looking more and more intrigued by the moment.

“It ain’t an exclusive title.” Seven appraised her anew, “You’re a little small for an Eleven though. And a human? Really?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” One of the boys in the group sneered from beneath a mop of black hair, “Dustin, call a code red.”

Eleven watched the curly haired child who’d spoken first begin hissing into the radio he was holding, though his attention quickly shifted back to the little Eleven in front of them.

“I believe we’re likely talking about two entirely different things.” Eleven spoke up, noting how one of the children, a boy with a truly unfortunate haircut, flinched a little as he did, “I’m interested to know who it is you think we are.”

He made eye contact with the Eleven up front, pushing his senses forward to look into her soul.

She was fully human, so the naming similarity was likely just an odd coincidence. Though there was something else there, almost like spiderwebs wrapped around her core, branching out into something greater. How fascinating.

She gasped, her eyes widening, almost as though she had felt what he was doing. That should have been impossible, but then this girl was far more than she seemed at a glance.

“You...” She started, fixing her gaze on Eleven like she intended to pry away his layers as he had just done with her, “Do you know Papa?”

Eleven tilted his head in confusion. What an odd inquiry.

“I don’t know anyone going by that name, no.”

“If you’re talkin’ about Lucifer, I’ve met him like once and a half tops.”

Sometimes Eleven wished he thought to keep a muzzle on him, just for moments like this.

The kids all started shouting over each other, save for Eleven who didn’t seem to recognize the name. Which, was somehow even more interesting.

“Shut up!” A small dark skinned girl near the back shouted, bringing the group back into order, “This is stupid, it’s cold, and I would like to get home before dark for once. You said ‘human’ like you aren’t one, were you made in a lab?”

Seven snorted at her directness, sending a grin her way.

“Nope, this body is 100% organically grown.”

“I don’t like the way you say that.” The little Eleven winced.

“It’s not convincing, no.” Eleven agreed, “What he means is that we’re not experimentations, if that is what you’re asking.”

“But you’re not human either?” The dark haired kid spoke up again.

“Not since like 1921.” Seven shrugged, “Next person to ask me a personal question is buying me dinner.”

Eleven found himself smiling at that though the curly haired child made a face.

“Gross dude, we’re like fifteen.”

“Bold of you to assume I meant that in a date way.” Seven, undettered turned his smile on him, “Am I so pretty it’s got you thinking about kissing me?”

The kid turned red and sputtered, causing Seven to toss his head back, laughing hard enough to make the sound echo off the trees.

“Moving on,” The bold girl from a moment ago butted in once again, “How did you get here? If you two ain’t lab rats, where did you come from?”

“I think, first, I’d like to ask you all a question.” Eleven retorted, “It seems only fair.”

The dark haired boy and the curly haired one both squinted in Eleven’s direction, as if preparing themselves for some inevitable cruelty. They reminded Eleven quite a bit of the humans back home, which was multi-versally a rarity. He hoped to stick around long enough to get the story of why.

“Go on.” Said another boy at the back who had yet to have spoken.

“How much do you know about worlds beyond your own?” Eleven kept his attention on the other Eleven.

She swallowed hard but didn’t flinch an inch, taking a few heavy breaths before seeming to center herself.

“You are not from the Upside Down.” She said with confidence, “We would feel it.”

The boy with the bowl cut rubbed the back of his neck seemingly habitually, but nodded along with her words.

“That what all this is about?” Seven gestured to the fissures they’d seen when they first arrived.

“Yeah.” The curly haired one answered, “Whole big ass earthquake, everything was all red and spooky, sound familiar?”

Seven pursed his lips, “Nope. Told ya already, we’re tourists. Ain’t been here but five freakin’ seconds before you dorks rolled up like the neighborhood watch.”

“Okay, we answered your question, we know there’s another world but apparently you’re not from there so where the hell are you from?” The dark haired boy asked impatiently.

“Oh so you’re buying me dinner.” Seven grinned over at him.

The kid made a face, as did the one with the bowlcut though he tried his best to hide it.

“Fine, whatever, just--”

“We’re from a whole other reality, like fifteen realities over and to the faaaaar left.” Seven cut him off, “Probably doesn’t help nothin’ but that’s the best I can give ya without a crash course in AP Magical Astrophysics and I’m not about that life right now.”

For a moment they just stared at him, all appearing to be letting the information sink in.

“Fifteen--” The curly haired one gaped.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute--” The dark haired one shook his head.

“Betcha I’d get it.” The bold girl pursed her lips.

They probably would have continued talking in circles around each other had a set of headlights not illuminated the group, causing them to turn to the source of them.

“Oh thank--”

“Steve!”

Seven tilted his head to Eleven, sharing a silent question. They could easily slip away, come back later, maybe 50 years from now. El shook his head, wanting to see where this would all lead. He was invested in the story.

Seven shrugged, raising his hands and resting them on his head as a car door closed.

“Alright, alright, someone tell me what the hell is going on, Henderson didn’t explain shit.”

The newest arrival was significantly older than the rest, looking to be around the same age as Seven’s body. Though, for the first time Eleven took notice of how out of date the clothes they all wore were. He wondered what year it was.

“We don’t know, but there’s these guys.” The quiet boy in the back, who might have been siblings with the bold little girl for how alike they looked, explained.

The new arrival looked their way, his hands settling onto his hips. Eleven almost laughed at the level of judgement contained in his stare, he looked imperious in his blue stripped polo shirt. Seven, with his utter lack of self control, did laugh.

“Sup, pretty boy?” He asked, casual as anything, “Liking this town more already.”

The man, Steve Eleven thought one of them had shouted, frowned even harder.

“Why is it that whenever we get a new shit talking blond in town, they always find me?” He muttered, “What’s your deal. The nerd herd wouldn’t have called me if there weren’t something up, but no one is hurt so what is it?”

“It’s your lucky day kid, I just found a much better candidate to take me to dinner, you’re off the hook.” Seven said without breaking eye contact.

The dark haired kid looked honest to God relieved.

“What?” Steve reeled back, “No, what?”

“They’re weird as hell, Steve. Also not human, so good luck.” The bold little girl explained.

“They’re Eleven and Seven.” The little Eleven spoke up, having tucked herself up next to Steve when he’d arrived, “But they don’t know Papa.”

Steve for his part looked like he was trying to run a decathlon in his own head. It was endearing, reminded Eleven of Seven when he’d first found him.

“I’m gonna need more to go on.” He ended up concluding.

“I’ll tell ya anything you wanna know.” Seven winked, “I like Italian, by the way.”

[readingwithgenie]

Summary:

When Reggie Johnson answers a job ad in the paper, she's astonished to find that she's not applying to work at her favorite card game, Spellcraft: The Magicking. Instead, she's applying to be an actual familiar for an actual witch. As in, real magic.

The new job has a few perks - great room and board, excellent pay, and she's apprenticing to a powerful witch. Sure, the witch is a bit eccentric. And sure, there was that issue with the black cat Reggie would prefer to forget about. The biggest problem, however, is warlock Ben Magnus, her employer's nephew and the most arrogant, insufferable, maddening man to ever cast a spell.

Reggie absolutely hates him. He's handsome, but he's also bossy and irritating and orders her around. Ben's butt might look great in a crystal ball vision, but that's as far as it goes. But when someone with a vendetta targets the household, she finds herself working with Ben to break a deadly curse. Apparently, when they're not fighting like cats and dogs, things get downright...bewitching.

Plot Rating: ⭐⭐⭐ /5

Character Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ /5

Romance Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ /5

Spice Rating: 🌶️🌶️ /5

Overall Rating: ⭐⭐⭐ /5

Would I Recommend? Mmm... yes.

What I Liked:

The story itself is very interesting and well thought out. Many parts that were unexpected yet humorous and fun to read.

Most of the characters are solid individuals who add their weight to the story.

Aunt Dru is definitely the star of the show, regardless who the main characters are meant to be!

The "enemies to lovers" trope played out fairly well and took its time throughout the story. I'm glad they didn't "fall in love" by chapter three.

What I Didn't Like:

A few plot holes that make me question a few characters or wonder if there was more the author could have expanded on or finished seeing through.

It's written in first POV and has alternating chapters which made it feel weird alternating between Reggie's and Ben's perspectives consistently. It definitely could have benefited being written in third POV instead.

A few characters got on my nerves and I couldn't like them no matter how important they were to the main characters and the story.

The "grumpy/sunshine" trope didn't work too well in this story because Reggie isn't really "sunshine". She's very skeptical and weary of others, making her almost skittish and too cautious. There isn't much happiness found in that.

My Thoughts:

Once again, I fell for another Relyo-inspired novel. I couldn't resist the premise! An enemies-to-lovers witchtok vibe between a brooding "Ben" and a runaway "Rey" couldn't sit on my TBR pile for too long, especially with October right around the corner!

Unfortunately I didn't enjoy this novel as much as I hoped. If it weren't for the fact the main love interests are based off my favorite Star War's star-crossed lovers I would have dropped it at 30%.

Reggie answers a newspaper and misinterprets the ad. She plays the card game Magic the Gathering and mistakes the "magic" part of the ad as a reference to the game. When she shows up to her interview she quickly learns the old woman has no intention of playing with magic cards when she can perform magical spells in her kitchen. Reggie is thrown back by their "delusions" but is pulled into accepting the job when the pay is too good to be true.

I've never played Magic the Gathering but it was used to bring Reggie and Ben closer so it I suppose it pulled it's weight later on in the story.

Reggies best friend and ex-roommate was my LEAST favorite character. He was meant to be an overly friendly guy who loved Reggie like a sister but I couldn't overlook his flaws. Who in their right mind would send their boyfriend's dick pics to their best friend? Apparently that was a very normal behavior for him, although Reggie never appreciated it. Every nude and screenshot he captured of his boyfriend was sent to Reggie with a parade of emojis following. I know it was meant to make Ben jealous but I couldn't get over how gross and annoying that is!

Not to mention moving his boyfriend into the apartment they used to share a few weeks after Reggie accepted her new job. Reggie worried the boyfriend taking her old room closed her escape plan, just in case the job didn't work out, but she didn't say anything on behalf of his happiness. But it was kind of a dick move on his part. Thankfully he isn't a huge part of the story.

There were also a few (major, imo) plot points that remained unfinished and left me with many questions.

Plot point number one; apparently Reggie has magic in her lineage otherwise she wouldn't have been able to answer the charmed newspaper ad. The fact she was able to read the otherwise invisible ad told Aunt Dru she has some magic in her blood. However that is never explored or addressed again. We learn Reggie could be a witch but nothing is done with that information. It's literally dropped and forgotten.

Plot point number two; her two thieving free-loading parents don't have a history of their own. Considering Reggie has magic in her past I thought her parents would be revealed to have dabbled with a few spells in their youth but unfortunately that doesn't happen. We keep hearing about her horrible parents who use her as a bottomless bank but we don't know anything about them beyond that. We don't know what they're spending the money on or how they're able to continually find her (magic would have been a great excuse to explain that since no one is able to figure out how they're able to tail her whenever they need to steal more money from her, not to mention practicing magic is very expensive as Aunt Dru proves through her shopping list which would explain why they're always broke so quickly). I feel there is definitely missed potential here that would have done a lot for Reggie's part of the story.

The romance is well written but the spice is...

Ben has lived for over 500 years, has taken lovers in the past, but is somehow very vanilla. Their multiple sexual encounters are... awkward at best. I mean, the first time they began to explore each other's bodies was at the bottom of a muddy well. They don't have the best decision making once their sex drives begin to spike. Sure, it makes for fun situations but it puts a damper on the sexiness.

The most infamous moment of sexual tension having to be when Reggie willingly confessed she spied on Ben masturbating through a crystal ball when she wanted to test if magic was real. The fact he took it as a dare makes it all the more uncomfortable.

Overall, the book had a great story to tell with characters that added depth and humor. Although there are some parts to it that I didn't enjoy it's still a good book to read. I'd recommend it even though it's not a solid five stars.

- end of review -

[graha-stan-account]

FFXIV Write Day 11: Free Day

This one immediately follows Day 2: Bolt. J'napha runs into Estinien after her disturbing dream. Though she seeks comfort and advice, out of his depth, at length he instead manages to redirect her.

This one is late, as are about half of the entries, but I'm exercising all my rights.

---

Even in the pre-dawn hours, Mehryde's Meyhane was thankfully open, the antiseptic scent of spilled spirits and pungent curry all but overcome by the sweet morning smell of cardamom and vanilla.

The ashy blue of the early sky was calming when reigned in, limited by, the arches of the meyhane's balcony. J'napha took a seat nearby, so the morning air might sweep away the niggling weight around her heart. She gathered the woven blanket from her bed linens around her shoulders and lap as a shawl and peered at the horizon.

"On a bender?"

Napha turned, craning her neck upward. "Estinien?" She shrugged, lowering her gaze and appeared utterly dispossessed, as though left marooned at the table. "No."

"Right. I saw you come in." He didn't need an invitation to sit down, so he kicked one long leg over the seat and got comfortable. "Dancing not agreeing with you?"

Napha forced a chuckle. She claimed to have returned to Thavnair to study the chakrams, after all. "No, it's not that."

"It's got to be something to have you wandering around the city in the wee hours, wrapped up like you just washed ashore."

Napha gave him a pitiful glance: please stay. Estinien rubbed his eyes, which seemed not groggy with sleep but weary from being awake too long.

They sat in silence for a while, until it was time to remove the davrahs from their steaming morning brews.

"Estinien... Do you ever fear the other being inside you?"

He started, though he had not seemed to have been asleep. His arms folded on the table, chin balanced on top, he rolled his head to the side so his cheek came to rest on his forearms. "I did. All the time. Now, not so much. Nidhogg and I have made our peace."

"I'm not afraid." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I've made my peace too with who I was, what I was. I can't say I remember, but... a part of me just might." Napha ran her hands along her upper arms, brushing away the chill daylight would soon chase away. "I find myself thinking about her. At least I'm told she was a her. I feel she was a her."

Estinien blinked hard, evidently trying to focus his thoughts. "Every time I think I've caught up with events, there's yet another item to which I'm - perhaps mercifully - ignorant. What now?"

"Oh--" Napha clasped her arms about her shoulders, as though naked. "I suppose I haven't... said more than needed. In the world the Ascians sought to restore, I lived among them."

"When you went to the past? By the Fury, saying that alone so casually..."

Napha smiled. She knew well the phenomena which had become matters of fact to her would boggle the mind of most others. Not long ago, she would have cast her lot with Estinien. She wasn't sure when circumstances had changed. "Not quite. I have both been to the past as I am now, and lived a life I do not remember. A life from when the world was whole, as they say. Possessed of all its parts."

"Bugger me with a polearm..." He was working with his tongue at a bit of dried fruit in his teeth. "Have you shared these... dreams with your archon friends?"

"The first of it I speak, I speak to you."

Estinien sighed deeply, arms crossed, feet impatiently tapping.

"The more I come to understand, the more it haunts me," she continued.  Napha covered her face with a hand. "For those to whom I am still this... this Azem, to see their looks of adoration, hope, contempt, pain... The aspirations they place on her, I cannot help but feel compelled to take them for my own. I feel blame for her absence."

"Azem, this woman's name was?"

"No, it..." She sighed. "As I said - it is complicated." Despite the familiarity she and Estinien enjoyed, Napha was loathe to connect herself, or some version of herself, to the tortured and tempered Convocation members-turned Paragons who had dogged every ilm of the star. The deception surrounding the Dravanians and the Holy See seemed enough life-altering trouble for Estinien's lifetime. The truth of the Final Days, that they had occurred at all, felt an abuse of his mental fortitude.

"Perhaps you ought to have this discussion with someone else." Estinien rubbed his hands over his face. It seemed he agreed. "Someone who has a great deal of experience having lived multiple lives, or what have you, and somehow found a way to make them both in agreement." Napha's heart sank. She knew him to be out of his depth, but she needed her old friend now. Estinien continued. "Nidhogg's mind and my own were forced together. Your soul has forever been your own, complexities of time travel and sundered worlds be damned." Estinien smiled in a way that betrayed weariness but with a undertone of mirth. "Talk to G'raha Tia. Your shared experiences will be both salve and cement, I wager."

"That, I..."

"There is even more to it, then. I should have figured." He bit a slice of dried papaya and tore at it with his teeth.

"I sensed change after everyone had returned from the First. I found another piece of myself there, or rather, another piece of this Azem." She looked to him to gauge his comprehension, adding a sympathetic smile. "Now I fear I am dreaming her dreams. Her memories, mayhap. I can't help but feel this sadness. In those dreams her longing is as my own."

"And the object of this shared longing...?"

"I will not say." It was barely a whisper.

"And that is why you won't take this to him. That is why you sit in a tavern half a world away, huddled in a curtain, crying on the shoulder of someone who can do scant to ease your pain. Because you're worried G'raha might feel second-rate for it."

Napha's eyes widened.

"He won't." Napha made motion to retort, but Estinien would not abate. "You risk more remaining here. If you cannot tear yourself away from your task, then go back to your room. Write him. The satrap's men will gladly expedite any post bound for Sharlayan."

"I can't put such things to paper."

"Certainly not. Instead write 'I am nostalgic for our days spent at the Great Work. The view from the meyhane at dawn is breathtaking. I will return to you anon.' And sign it with your love."

"Estinien!"

"He's waited how long now? I pity him for the paces you've put him through." Estinien held his glance to her as he sipped his coffee loudly.

[fresne999]

Finished Frenchie Fic and Thoughts on Same

I have finished posting "Gentle Man Frenchie: An English Frenchman and How He Became a Pyrate", a possible version of Frenchie's background story fanfic.

And now for some of the background on the background fic/thinking that went into it and by implication some meta about Frenchie.

One of the things I love about OFMD is how the diverse cast each give a sense of fully realized backstories and characterizations. Even if we don't know what those backstories are. There's no one character who is all one thing and that's really fun. I vacillate on which character I find the most interesting depending on what episode I'm rewatching, but given how often I revisit Ep5, TBRiDW, I decided to focus on Frenchie for a bit. 

To be honest I was, and wasn't, surprised at how little Frenchie centric fic is out there. Fandom being what it is and all. But, shrugs, I wanted to do my part in filling some of that gap. Aka, I've written a lot of stories for really obscure fandoms over the years.

We get all sorts of tantalizing (and sometimes contradictory) clues about our bard Frenchie's backstory. Aided in a lot of ways by Joel Fry's fantastic acting and expressions. Just consider the pained expression on his face when one of the naval officers calls him a slave in the pilot, which precipitates Jim taking violent action. This is something this man has been dealing with his entire life and he's just tired. The whole bodied joy he takes in blowing things up with Wee John. The world weariness with which he tells  Lucius that the world isn't all that. His whole hearted belief in some fairly sketchy "science".  The quick readiness with which he pulls together the pyramid scheme. He was in service for "a minute." 

Now as it happens because all that is a mess of who knows, I have several head cannons for Frenchie's backstory. The story above represents just one of them. 

The first thing I thought when I saw Frenchie go to pyramid scheme mode was about "Moll Flanders", which for those not familiar is a 1700s book by Daniel Dafoe that falls into the early novel genre of "found dairies" where Moll (not her actual name) recounts her life story. Going from being born in Newgate prison, raised by a nurse paid by town magistrates to raise children up until age 8, at which point they will go off and become servants. Moll (going by Miss Betty - a name for servants at first) is convinced that she is meant for better things and through charm, force of will, and luck gets what she wants.  

Sometimes she goes about this by sex/being a mistress. Sometimes through marriage. Sometimes con artistry. Sometimes theft. All with this very matter of fact manner for some increasingly hardened activities. When the repentance portion of the story comes, well, let's just say Moll avoids hanging with a lie and a bribe, and manages to save the only man she cares about.

But back to Frenchie, since Moll was both a servant and a con artist, I wanted to tie his life story in with hers. The timing doesn't quite work, but, shrug, OFMD. 

At first I was thinking of having him born in Newgate prison as Moll's son, but in that case Moll would already be deported to the colonies, though again bribery means she lands on her feet. Then it occurred to me that it worked much better to make Frenchie Moll's son by one of the few marks/men who she actually cares for, Jemy, her Lancaster husband/highwayman/final husband. 

Since we get two names for Moll, Moll Flanders (a reference to a low class woman + prostitutes from Flanders / fabric) and Miss Betty, I decided that (for this story at least) her actual name was Elizabeth, which made it natural to make Frenchie's given name (because he is so not French) Francis. Riffing off the Queen Elizabether & Francis Drake, privateer thing, and being similar to the name he ends up with. 

Having him blurt out the France as where he's from thing both riffs off all the, "But where are you from?" tropes and serves as his first example of the con artist lie leading to something else. It's also a bit of a riff of the play "The Foreigner" by Larry Shue in which an Englishman (though I think it's best when the casting makes the character a POC) pretends not to speak English while staying in the American South and racism shenanigans ensues. 

I went back and forth a bit on who would be the brown parent, but it worked best for Moll. i.e., I didn't want to play into a stereotype of the absent/abandoning black father. Also, in Moll's career as a thief she tends to blend into the crowd, so in a way she's the opposite of Susan. 

Oh, and this change also meant that like OFMD itself with Blackbeard (and the negative space where the source of Stede's wealth would be), err…I'm avoiding some of the more racist/acceptance of enslavement bits from the original books. It also meant that I could play the Moll finally meets Frenchie scene in a certain way that resolved that element of the character arc, but allows Frenchie to an emotional state that needs some slow piracy when the series begins.

Doesn't mean I couldn't fanon that at some point, post S1.10, Elizabeth/Moll goes, "Wait, that's what's going on? I am really too old for this. Hey, Spanish Jacquie, you owe me. Let's sail," shenanigans ensue. If I decided to write that. Seriously, I have a file with about 40 story ideas and every time I write something, two more stories takes its place. Why won't my job pay me to write fanfic instead of...what I actually write? 

But speaking of Susan, another book by Daniel Dafoe is "Roxana: A fortunate Mistress". Well, okay like all 1700s books, the actual title is much longer, but lets just go with it. About a woman named Roxana, but whose given name is Susan. She has a constant companion named Amy, her servant. Her career path is much more (as the title implies) as a kept woman, and occasional wife. Like Moll she has many children, the first five of which she has with her first husband. The book ends strangely with Young Susan confronting her mother, demanding to be recognized, which jeopardizes the life Susan has built and it's implied that Amy (or maybe Susan) killed her to keep her quiet. We're told that Roxana/Susan is taken down later, but aren't shown these events.

Which on one hand killing your own kid is a bit grim, but it set up a few things for me structurally. 

By introducing Susan (who in the books in a very white lady appropriative way wears turbans and does "turkish" dancing), I had a way to get Frenchie out of a life in service and into a sort of apprenticeship in con artistry. While allowing some of those experiences to match some of the world weariness we so often see from him. Making Susan a sweet on the surface but amoral cold blooded killer, in a very Cathy Ames from Steinbeck's "East of Eden" way,  sets up Frenchie's concern when he finally does meet his mother that she'll kill him. Because, well, he's seen a mother kill her daughter to keep her secrets.

It did take a little bit of jiggering to decide where Susan to Young Susan showdown would take place. In the novel, Susan has married and moved to the Netherlands (and is now a Countess). So she does have something to lose. A roving con artist has a bit less to lose if confronted by a daughter, given they could just pull up stakes and go elsewhere. I considered having everything go down at a house party at an estate, but there were just a few too many balls to juggle. So off to Brighton they went. Also it made it easier to have Frenchie be impressed into the navy. 

There was a brief period in plotting where I kept having Frenchie ping ponging back to one of the Brother's S, and actually going off to China with a missionary/cleric youngest Brother S, but decided to cut it for some sense of brevity. Though that's why Lord S #3 runs off with his male secretary. 

Speaking of the S family, it's very much a thing in Moll Flanders that you don't find out characters' names. There's the governess, the banker, the fill in the blank. Only a few people get names. I wanted to play into that by making all the upper class people have single letter names. They think of Frenchie as beneath them, so he / the narrator doesn't name them. 

It was also a bit of a choice to make this Third Person Omniscient, if limited in scope to Frenchie's POV/perspective. But since Frenchie doesn't write, it made a certain amount of sense. Though I also wanted to play with the narrator is only somewhat omniscient. i.e., bringing up things that Frenchie himself might know in hindsight (or for that matter Moll might suss if he told her what happened), but not necessarily going into things like, yes, Susan was planning on killing Frenchie when they went for the little walk, hiding the loot (at an easy to find spot in the middle of nowhere), and claiming he did all the theft. 

OFMD has this very defined style, where it's absurdist, which is how we can have so many violent things going on while being a comedy. Part of that is the almost magic-ness. 

Frenchie is afraid of witches. It might make sense for him to be raised by a woman who he thinks was a witch. A woman who, at certain points in history, would have been considered a witch. That he buys into the whole cats steal your breath legend. But would be a way to deal emotionally with the high rate of infant/child mortality. Particularly in a small house full of only sort of well fed children in close quarters. 

But, well, Buttons talks to seagulls and the tenders can cross vast stretches of ocean in short periods of time. It's a world where be careful what you ask your God, she might answer. The sea being in contrast to the land where God sets a fate in stone. The ocean is literally fluid. Frenchie's beliefs are absurd, but the world is absurd.

The naval academy house owes to a few things. One, I needed Frenchie to get a place in service in a household that was a bit loosey goosey. Not an ideal situation, but a job where there'd be a natural way to become a valet and go off into service for a decade so I could age the character up a bit. As the actor is in his late thirties. Also, I've been to Greenwich and the museum / observatory there. 

The academy also allowed me to introduce the concept that yes the British Navy allows for various levels of society to become officers, but the upper class was much more likely to rise to the higher ranks. Which if I ever write an Izzy backstory would tell a story of just that. Though, Izzy is hardly ill served when it comes to the number of stories written about him, so perhaps not. I'm more likely to write a Lucius backstory since he both knows how to read and was a pickpocket, which is a delightful contradiction. So, when / if I write that, he'll be part of Lottie's (now all grown up) gang.  

But back to the navy, having the academy section also meant I had those concepts in place for when Frenchie ends up impressed into the English navy, and in place for him to a) be at sea, b) not that great a sailor but then it's not really a choice for him, c) in position to become a pirate. 

He sings about loving the pirate life. Like the rest of the crew only seems to be sort of suited to it. Though, I agree his flag is bad ass.

As to Wee John, I ship Wee John and Frenchie. They are adorbs together.

The roommates. The blowing up things. Which sweet explosions I thought about going into gunpowder, making black powder and how to make larger purple explosions with turkey deworming crystals, but decided it was a bit much in the way of researching what people knew about pyrotechnics at the time.

Back to the relationship, they are so cute.

But I also like to think of Frenchie as ace. Sweet, adorkably, bard playing his lute (about loot) ace, but not aromantic. Since this is a Fenchie backstory and not an AU to OFMD, they couldn't really resolve any sort of romantic ness, but I decided to set up a series of meet cute moments at very awkward times (plus the month in the ruined fake castle) so they could establish a connection / blow something up, and a reason for Frenchie to want to settle down for some slow piracy and get to know Wee John better. 

Come to think of it, at some point I might write a Wee John background story, because wee giant man and son of a seamstress is ripe for fic-ing. Though a torture loving chef, our friend Roach, could use some love too. Argh, and I would like to go another round (modern this time) with some gentlebeard. Sigh, so many ideas. Not enough time. 

Anyway, there you go. Sorta meta by way of why did I write things a certain way for a Frenchie backstory, but meta these days is a very flexible term. 

To season 2 we go sailing.