What it is about kind male video game companions that male gamers absolutely HATE?
I've seen it happen with Dragon Age's Alistair, Mass Effect's Kaidan, and even lowkey KOTOR's Carth Onasi (emphasis on kind, not necessarily nice, cause dude had a bit of an attitude in the beginnning). Now I'm seeing it with Gale of Waterdeep from Baldur's Gate 3.
Men hate him! Admittedly, many women seem to also hate Gale (Though from what I'm observing, it seems to be because his romance is bugged in a way that doesn't recognize when you've rejected him, so to many it comes off as not taking no for an answer -- but that's the fault of the game, not the character). The other reason I'm seeing from women is that he supposedly doesn't respect boundaries, citing his relationship with Mystra, but... were yall listening to him at all?
1. This goddess took interest in him as a *child* prodigy, became his mentor, and then his lover??? That's sus as hell.
2. It's not like he and Mystra had personal boundaries set specifically for their relationship, and he decided to cross them, it was that Mystra has general magical limitations for magic users in general, and Gale thought he would be an exception because she treated him as special, and because his reasons for pushing his magical limitations were to restore a part of her she'd lost. I've also seen people say he downplays that as a simple mistake made in his youth, but from the actual conversation with him, it's very clear he regrets that so?? I don't get it. (maybe I'm misremembering or missing more of the story, I'm only at the beginning of Act 2)
But this post is a reaction-rant to seeing too many male creators on tiktok hate on Gale so badly it's becoming obnoxious. And their reasons are so weak, yet fuel hatred so strong. They just find him so annoying, and I guess to each their own, but I don't get why, and I don't get why men always seem to find those kinds of emotionally available, kind for the sake of being kind, male characters annoying.
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prompt list: taylor swift lyrics, eras edition
part i | part ii | part iii
Below are fifty prompts from songs featured on Taylor Swift's Eras Tour. They can be used as dialogue, within narration, or just as inspiration for fics/moodboards/fanart.
Reblog to use as a call for prompts (one pairing/character with one or more numbers) or just to save for inspiration.
midnights become my afternoons
if my wishes came true
blankets over barbed wire
a secret language
same old tired, lonely place
grinning like a devil
your back beneath the sun
stolen kisses, pretty lies
where it all went wrong
loved and left haunted
sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes
fall in love with strangers
never called it what it was
our very last kiss
didn’t have it in myself to go with grace
addicted to betrayal
how could you not know?
called it off again last night
island breeze and lights down low
all your dirtiest jokes
you’re on your own, kid
another day waking up alone
a long time coming
such a lovely bride
you live with ghosts
tried to change the ending
twisted in bedsheets
sit there in this hurt
slipped beyond your reaches
no one has to know
when I first saw you
my temple, my mural, my sky
somewhere we can be alone
used to tell me I was brave
echoes of your footsteps
where the others gave you scars
something they can’t take away
clandestine meetings and longing stares
my heroes die all alone
the first fall of snow
this idiotic fool that you made me
pretend you’re mine
tell me when it’s over
dropped your hand while dancing
all the love we unravel
your Brooklyn broke my skin and bones
the worst thing you ever heard
every scrap of you
the slamming screen door
here on your doorstep
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so a few weeks ago, @majestictortoise and i were talking about VegasPete cohabitation negotiations. because the thing is, these two spent like 3, maybe 5 days max actually existing around each other before going im going to spend the rest of my life with him. very sexy of them to do that, except five minutes after they were both on the same page about this, Vegas does his best swiss cheese impersonation and then they spend several weeks in the hospital waiting for him to heal and reaffirm that yep, this is the man i want to spend forever with. again, very sexy of them to do that, but this means that they’ve been together for several weeks but still don’t know what its actually like to LIVE with the other person, much less live together plus one Macau. and on top of this mess, they also have to face the fact that none of them have a single clue how to run a household because none of their lives have been normal.
the first hint of their coming domestic clashes is, of all things, the dishwasher.
Vegas is freshly released from the hospital. none of them want to return to the minor family compound, or have anything to do with the mafia in general tbh, so Pete and Macau had spent the hospital’s no visitors hours reviewing Vegas’s dubiously acquired real estate properties for somewhere to live. two weeks before Vegas was due to be released, Pete and Macau had picked a cozy home in the suburbs and Porsche loaned a bunch of minions to get it dusted and fitted with some basic furniture. also, as the only one of them who’s ever been a homeowner, Porsche also thought to walk through the home with Pete and make sure all the taps were working and the electricity was running and the utility bills paid. a true bro, that one.
anyways, its their first evening at home. they’re still living on takeout because no one has the energy to cook (that’s Vegas’s area anyways), but Pete and Macau insist on putting the food out on actual plates and use actual utensils instead of eating out of the cartons with plastic and cheap bamboo like they have been. they pull the couch cushions to the floor and eat there because the flatpack table is assembled but the chairs are not, and its all very sweet and lovely. Pete loads the dishwasher and when he’s done, he notices Vegas grimacing and sweetly hustles him off to the bedroom for a handjob and rest.
two days later, after a wonderful meal courtesy of Pete’s grandma (she’s the best), the dishwasher is full enough to run. Pete puts the soap in, then pauses with a frown. i dont remember loading it like that, he thinks, before shrugging and running the thing. it’s just dishes, and he has more important things to worry about anyways.
the first obvious casualty of their collective inexperience are three of Vegas’s velvet shirts. he’s been wearing all his softest clothes, because he’s been stuck in hospital scrubs for much too long, so he’s working off a much more limited clothing pile than the rest of them. the only blessing in this scenario is that Vegas is the one to load the washing machine (well, Macau loaded it, because he didn’t want Vegas to strain himself, but they did it together) so Vegas doesn’t have anyone to yell at. he and Pete fuck out the angst of course, but the cloud of three murdered shirts still hangs over them for a week.
they figure a few things out, like how you don’t pour straight bleach on a counter stain because pure bleach bleaches the counter, there’s always another corner to dust even when you got them all, don’t forget to put the trash out the night before trash collection days. life trucks along, because life does that, then a new demon emerges.
“Vegasssssssssssssssss,” Macau wails from his bedroom doorway, “is the internet still out?”
“uhhhhhhhh,” Vegas says, looking guilty in the midst of scattered wires and a gutted cablebox. the three of them have been trying to figure out why the internet had abruptly gone down since last night and after the two of them had triple checked that everything was plugged in right this morning, Pete had disappeared to teach Chay how to punch stuff and Vegas had pulled out a screwdriver and pliers with a manic gleam in his eyes. Pete’s not even mad, though he does make a mental note to ask Porsche if replacement cableboxes are one of those free things or something they have to purchase.
“uhm,” comes a voice from the kitchen. “did you pay the internet bill?” Chay asks Pete, because he’s still ignoring Vegas while he figures out how he feels about the whole successful-and-attempted-kidnappings thing.
Pete, who’s never had a household bill before in his whole life, blinks. “is that what that mail was?”
Vegas, who knows what regular payments are thanks to growing up a mafia heir, but for whom household bills were but a distant myth, frowns. “i thought we agreed that thing was fake.”
“what the fuck is an internet bill?” asks Macau, because household bills do not exist to sixteen year olds.
“...something to look into then,” Chay squeaks out before fleeing for the front door.
Pete luckily has the sense to complain to his grandma about the situation during their next phone call. he is appalled to learn all those utility payments he paid when they first moved in are reoccurring monthly payments. grandma laughs at him for five minutes, but at least they now know to pay the electric bill on time.
the dishes thing comes to head after six weeks of Vegas making Faces every time Pete loads the dishwasher and Pete finally body slams him like WHAT
“mugs go at the back of the rack :) because they’re heavy :) it’s better balanced if they’re in the back :) :) :)”
it’s not a pretty argument. they fuck about it. the argument continues. they fuck some more about it. Pete picks up Vegas from his last physical therapy appointment the next day, except when Vegas tries to get in the passenger seat, Pete’s like “no no, heavy weight goes in the BACK we need to keep things BALANCED :) if you say ONE word of the lecture on the tip of your tongue I WILL make you walk”
and then Pete does make him walk. he doesn’t drive off, Vegas isn’t allowed out of his sight lest he do something stupid, so he follows in the car carefully to make sure Vegas doesn’t get into something stupid. it’s a level of petty bitch unseen before.
“this wouldn’t be a problem if you just loaded the dishwasher correctly :)” Vegas says when he’s finally allowed in the car.
“this wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t a bitch :)” Pete retorts.
they fuck about it when they get home of course, because what’s the point of domestic tension if it doesn’t fuel your sex life.
Pete finally asks Porsche to visit two months into living with Vegas. fucking out their domestic problems is fun, but he’s getting a little tired of their sex life being fueled primarily by who last forgot about the chore wheel. Porsche says hello and then excuses himself to the bathroom, only to take one step into it and hastily back out with an expression of deep alarm.
Porsche opens his mouth, pauses to rethink what he’s about to say, then asks, “where do you keep your toilet cleaner Pete?”
“my what?” Pete asks. he stares at Porsche blankly for a few seconds before hesitantly pointing at the handsoap on the sink, feeling a bit like he’s been asked a trick question.
Porsche smiles kindly. it almost doesn’t look strained. “not that, the stuff you use to clean the toilet bowl.”
Pete feels the question marks cross his face. “our toilet flushes,” he explains slowly, “it cleans itself.”
Porsche takes that in, gives a small little nod, and disappears to take a piss. “right,” he says as he exits the bathroom, “do you have a pen and paper? we need to make a shopping list.”
they write up a list--excessively long in Pete’s humble opinion, but Porsche insists they need all of it, and Pete’s not stupid enough to think he knows more than him--and have lunch before they go. Pete washes the dishes by hand because he’s still a little sore (emotionally and physically) over his and Vegas’s last argument about the dishwasher. Porsche watches him with plain faced horror.
“Pete,” he says, strangled.
Pete presses a soapy hand to his forehead and sighs so loud he rattles the window.
Porsche kindly doesn’t say anything on it, he just nudges Pete to the side, hands him a towel, and walks him through it. “you only need a little bit of soap,” he explains kindly, “fill up the basin with hot water and a small dash of soap, and you’re good to go.”
Pete wrinkles his nose at the steamy soapy water. “hot water dries out my hands,” he complains.
“we’ll pick up some gloves,” Porsche reassures, “but you need the hot water. it unsticks food better and sterilizes your dishes. the soap just helps.”
Pete sighs again. he’s starting to think anything involving dishes is a mistake.
Porsche and Pete go shopping. there’s so much stuff. Pete doesn’t know what the fuck he’s expected to do with three buckets, but Porsche insists. Pete’s even more alarmed by the sheer number of different soaps apparently required for a house. you’d think they’d have invented a universal soap by now.
“oh!” Macau says brightly, “i think i saw a tiktok for that!”
“ooh,” Pete says, immediately interested.
“absolutely not,” Porsche hisses like a wet cat, then sits them all down for a lecture on the dangers of homemade mustard gas.
never fear, they do figure out how to adult with the help of Porsche and Vegas’s growing collection of momfluencers and aunties who think his cheekbones can do no wrong. it doesn’t even take them that long, but tell that to the number of Vegas’s silk and velvet shirts that were sacrificed along the way.
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