#Howdy is aware of his crimes- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ursa-tan · 11 months

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Part 2 of the reader "captures" the wally, where wally's friends break into the reader's house to save wally from the reader's "evil" clutches and find wally sleeping and cuddling the reader.

(I thought this situation would be funny like a comedy)

He's yours?...

Wally Darling x Fem!Villain!Reader

Word count: 2,910 Reading time: ~10 mins

Part 1, Part 2

A/N: I know that I’ve closed requests… But this was such a cute idea and I couldn’t help but write it… damn you anon, coming in here with such cute ideas! I've put this in my Playfellowxxx masterlist on account of the first part being nsfw and how this second part doesn't really make sense without the first - if you think it needs changing, please let me know!

Anyway! Hope you all enjoy!

It’s dawning on the next afternoon before anyone realises Wally is missing. The sun is already high in the sky and Barnaby is heading into the bugdega to get the same thing he gets every day for lunch – the “chilli dog” that can’t really be classified as anything but a crime against food.

“Morning Howdy,” He drawls, the same low rumble he speaks with every time he talks.

“Afternoon, actually,” The caterpillar chuckles, pointing to the town clock with one of his many arms. Barnaby can just about see it through one of the many windows of the bugdega.

“Huh, well then, afternoon Howdy.” It’s just gone twelve, but Howdy had adopted the habit of correcting the dog on his timing after Barnaby had jokingly done it once. It was a little inside joke, both of them rather enjoyed it thought.

“Indeed,” Howdy stops cleaning the counter and finally looks up at the big blue puppy, “ I take you’ve gone here for lunch?”

“You know me all too well,” Barnaby chuckles, walking up and resting his elbows on the freshly wiped counter, leaning his head into his hands.

“I know you’re routine – and I know that you’re going to ask me for that abomination of a hot dog for lunch.”

“Don’t knock it till ya’ try it.”

“I think I’ll stick to salad, thanks.”

“Same response every time.”

Howdy can’t help but let out a light laugh as he turns his back on Barnaby, starting to make the same thing he did every day around noon. They always had the same kind of conversation, the same routine. Day in day out, Howdy could rely on Barnaby to come in and keep him company for a few minutes. He also knew he could, begrudgingly, rely on Wally to ruin the apple display while he tried to look for the “best apple”.

“Go tell your little menace of a best friend to get out of my apples,” Howdy speaks, still with his back to Barnaby. He’s in the process of gathering the sauces he needs when Barnaby speaks up.

“Uh… He’s not in the apple display?” The other puppet sounds rather concerned, like he hadn’t noticed before this that Wally wasn’t present.

“What do you mean he isn’t in the apple display?” Howdy practically whips around, abandoning the half made hot dog in order of scanning the store for the much smaller puppet. Barnaby was right, Wally isn’t in the apple display. Nor has he climbed his way onto the counter to wait for Barnaby to get his hot dog. As far as Howdy is aware, Wally isn’t even in the bugdega.

“Where is he then?” The caterpillar asks, turning back around to finish the hot dog as fast as possible before handing it to Barnaby.

“I assumed he was following me…” Barnaby trails off, brows knitting together as he tries to think back on the day so far.

“You didn’t check?” Howdy sounds exasperated. In truth, he’s panicking, he’s incredibly worried about Wally, but his voice isn’t conveying that.

“I don’t usually have to! He’s never not followed me in here when I come in to get lunch!” Barnaby is starting to look panicked as well, discarding his lunch on the counter in favour of starting to look around the bugdega. If Howdy wasn’t also so worried about the little puppet, he would’ve told Barnaby off for dirtying his counter.

“I’ll keep looking around here, you go check to see if he’s spending time with Julie and Frank.” Howdy’s rushing out from behind the counter, hurrying Barnaby out the door as he speaks. Barnaby doesn’t resist in the slightest, running out to see if he can find Wally elsewhere.

It’s not long before the whole neighbourhood is searching for Wally. Julie and Frank have teamed up to see if Wally has wondered into the woods. Howdy, Barnaby, and Poppy are checking in higher up places, seeing if he somehow managed to get himself stuck. Eddie and Sally are going through everyone’s gardens. Even home is worried, squeaking and banging – while no one can understand what they’re trying to say, everyone can tell that they’re distressed.

After a rather frantic search, the whole neighbourhood – bar Wally, of course – gather in front of home.

“Did anyone find him?” Eddie speaks, coming to stand next to Frank. He hold their hand, stroking his thumb over their knuckles as a way to comfort himself.

“No, couldn’t see him anywhere,” Julie says next, worrying at a strand of her hair, tugging at it lightly.

“Does anyone have any ideas where he could be? Did anyone check Home?” Barnaby seems to be doing the worst, his tail swishing nervously as he continues to look around like he’ll somehow spot Wally.

“I asked, but I don’t think he’s inside,” Sally mumbles, looking towards Home. Home, in response, opens and closes its doors. Even if no one but Wally can understand them, they all pretty clearly understand that not even Home knows where Wally is.

“Has anyone seen (Y/n) today?” Frank speaks up, taking a moment from comforting Eddie to look around themself.

Their question seems to still the very air as it comes from their mouth. Collectively, everyone seems to stop worrying as they turn their heads towards Franks. No one had seen (Y/n) that day, or the previous one for that matter.

It was particularly strange not to see (Y/n) for more than one day. Much like Barnaby going to the bugdega every day or Eddie always delivering mail at the same time every morning, (Y/n) was always up to something or other. So, for the neighbours not to see her was unusual in itself. For them to not see (Y/n) or Wally was even more unusual. So much so that Barnaby immediately turned on his heel and stormed off, heading straight for her house.

“Barnaby! Hold up! Don’t do anything rash!” Eddie calls after what is now an 8 feet tall ball of rage coated in spotty blue fluff. The mailman is hot on Barnaby’s heels, followed close by Frank and then Julie.

“maybe we should think about this?” Julie calls out from the back of the line, still twirling and tugging at the strands of her hair that frame her face.

“If she’s got Wally we have to get him back. We all know nothing good is happening behind those doors,” Barnaby growls out, his voice deeper and rougher than anyone had heard from him before. The tone causes Eddie to stutter in his steps, nearly tripping as Frank bumps into his back.

“(Y/N)!” Barnaby barks, finally coming to her door and pounding a balled-up fist against the wood. The force behind his knock – it’s really more like a punch – seems to cause the whole house to shudder.

“Barnaby, I really don’t think-“ It’s Frank’s turn to try and reason with the angry hound only to get interrupted.

“OPEN THIS DOOR! THIS IS TOO FAR!” Barnaby continues to thump his fist against the door, yet he doesn’t get an answer. Sure, (Y/n) had caused problems before – snuck into the bugdega to switch out the sauces he normally had on his hotdog, stolen Frank’s butterfly collection, messed with Sally’s plays. But this was too far, entirely too far.

After a few minutes of practically howling through the door accompanied by insistent banging, Barnaby decides that he’s had enough of waiting and takes matters into his own hands; using his size and weight to his advantage, he begins to throw himself against the door with the intention of breaking it down.

“Barnaby! Stop!” Julie calls out, running over to him, trying to grab his arm and pull him away, “We can settle this like adults! I’m sure (Y/n) would be open to talking it out!”

Barnaby pauses, more in fear of hurting his friend if he were to continue his attempts over anything else. He looks down at the much shorter puppet, a flash of remorse in his eyes before he scoops her up and walks over to a tree not too far away and places her in one of the branches. She’ll be able to get down, but she’ll need Eddie or Frank’s help to do so.

“Barnaby!” She calls out, trying to figure out how to get out of the tree as he walks away and back towards (Y/n)’s house.

“Sorry Julie,” He mumbles, walking back to the door and throwing himself against it one more time. Apparently, that last push was all it needed as Barnaby collapses forwards and into the house, landing on top of the now ruined door with a loud huff.

The inside of the house is dimly lit despite it being early afternoon, all the curtains drawn and any like that was too bright turned off. The smell of cinnamon and cooked pastry fills the air, accompanied by soft swing music and what sounds like a soft feminine voice mumbling. If it weren’t for the situation at hand, Barnaby would find it rather relaxing.

The dog climbs back to his feet, taking a moment to brush himself off before storming deeper into the house, following the sound of her soft mumble. He knows he’s going to find (Y/n), he can only hope he finds Wally too. What he does find at the end of his short rampage is completely unexpected.

Wally is laying on (Y/n), head on her chest and arms wrapped as far around her as they can go. There’s a blanket pulled up over the both of them – it’s a fluffy yellow one, a teddy bear blanket. Wally is wearing a light pink shirt that appears to be 4 sizes too big, it also looks like one that Barnaby remembers seeing (Y/n) in. (Y/n) is laying on a sofa, head on the arm rest and holding a book in the air, half reading the words aloud. A record player crackles away softly in the background, playing “I will always love you”. There’s a fresh apple pie on the table, along with a few fresh apples.

“’You should learn not to make personal remarks,’ Alice said with some severity; ‘it’s very rude.’,” (Y/n) mumbles before craning their neck ever so slightly to kiss the top of Wally’s head – an easy feat, as his hair is not in his signature pompadour.

“What the fuck.” Barnaby finds himself unable to move, completely rooted to the floor as he looks at the scene in front of him. It’s so perfectly domestic that, if it weren’t for his friend being kidnapped, he would find it sickeningly sweet.

“Do you mind?” (Y/n) asks, turning her head to stare at Barnaby with a look somewhere between distain and malice, “We we’re perfectly comfortable before you came barging in here.” This time, its her turn to growl as she speaks.

Barnaby looks around, looking for any kind of indication that Wally is being held captive, that he can’t just get up and leave. Yet, no matter how hard he looks, he can’t find any. Wally is just relaxing on (Y/n)’s chest while she stares down Barnaby.

“Barnaby!” Eddie’s voice comes loud from somewhere behind the dog before he bursts into the room. Much like Barnaby, he freezes upon seeing the scene.

“Oh great, you brought the mailman,” Yon grumbles, closing her book and leaning over as much as she can to place it on the coffee table, “is there anyone else? Did you bring the whole neighbourhood?” her voice is snarky as she speaks, obviously annoyed with the interruption.

“(Y/n)? Why have you stopped?” Wally finally speaks up, opening his eyes and shifting to sit up slightly. He seems completely oblivious to the presence of both Barnaby and Eddie while he looks up at (Y/n) with droopy, relaxed eyes.

“Wally?” It’s Eddie’s turn to speak now, as Barnaby is still trying to collect his jaw from its place on the floor.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eddie sounds equal parts confused and outraged, staring at Wally.

“oh… Hello.” Wally sounds like he has just woken up from a nap when he speaks, despite the fact that he doesn’t sleep.

“Can you two leave?” (Y/n) growls, putting her arms around Wally and holding his much smaller body against hers. “He’s obviously not in any danger and I’ll return him soon enough. Get out of my house and please put my door back on it’s hinges as you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Wally,” Barnaby finally manages to find his voice, deciding to walk towards (Y/n).

“He’s a grown man, he can go home when he wants to. Like I said, he’s not in danger, I’m not holding him here against his will, he’s free to leave when he wants. He just doesn’t want to leave.” (Y/n) hugs Wally tighter to her body as Barnaby approaches, refusing to let him take Wally from her.

“I… Maybe we should go,” Eddie mumbles, seemingly nervous now. Any anger he had from before has melted away after seeing Wally in this state, obviously not wanting to leave.

“See? The mailman gets it. Now get out,” (Y/n) continues to growl at them, still holding the sleepy looking Wally against her body.

“I’m not-“ Barnaby tries to step forward, tries to reach out and pull Wally from her grip. Yet he doesn’t succeed; Eddie is holding the arm he was reaching forwards with.

“Barnaby…” Eddie mumbles, looking up at the much smaller puppet with a pleading look, “Wally is his own person… He can come home if he wants to… I think we should go.”

“But- He-“

“Let’s go.” Eddie tugs at Barnaby’s arm, beginning to tug him towards the living room door.

Barnaby doesn’t attempt to fight it, just letting Eddie tug him out of the house. His foot steps are staggering as he’s finally lead out, squinting a little as the sun shines into his eyes. He takes a moment when Eddie lets go of his arm to put the door back in place – it’s not perfect, but it’ll to till (Y/n) gets it fixed.

“What happened?!” Julie shouts, still in the tree that Barnaby had left her in. He can see that Frank is still trying to get her down.

“Wally wants to stay,” Eddie is the one who responds, as Barnaby is still unable to find his words.

“He wants to stay?” Frank stops their attempts to pull Julie from the tree to turn to their husband, a confused look on their face.

“Yep, wanted to stay.” Eddie walks over, reaching up and managing to catch Julie as she shimmies her way out of the branches. He puts her down before turning back to Barnaby.

“Why would he want to stay?”

“I don’t know, he seemed comfortable.”

Barnaby can hear the others ease into soft chatter about the situation as he begins to walk away. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, he’s just heading vaguely towards Home and the rest of the neighbours. He doesn’t know if Eddie, Julie and Frank are following him. He just knows that he saw his best friend curled up on the chest of the town’s biggest nuisance. Although, he doesn’t get far before a familiar pair of hands are on his arm again.

“Hey Barn, are you ok?” It’s Eddie. Ever the sweetheart, he’s desperate to comfort Barnaby to the best of his ability.

Barnaby looks around, waiting for Frank and Julie to approach, waiting to be overwhelmed with the voices that are just trying to comfort him, yet no one appears. It remains as just him and Eddie on the small path leading back to Home.

“Frankie and Julie have already headed on ahead. It’s just me and you. Are you ok?” The same question is so much heavier now. Especially as Eddie seemingly stares into his soul – almost the same way Wally always manages to do.

“Why would he do that?” Barnaby’s voice is broken, cracking, and barely above a whisper. Something about it is hollow and desolate.

“I don’t know,” Eddie mutters, now relaxing his grip on Barnaby’s arm.

“He… He’s supposed to be my best friend,” There’s so much distress in Barnaby’s voice. It sounds like he should’ve been shouting, he really should’ve been shouting. “Why would he leave? Why wouldn’t he say anything? Why would he stay with her?”

“I don’t know, only Wally can answer your questions.” Eddie continues to do his best to comfort Barnaby. Although the dog seems to be starting to whimper now despite trying to supress it.

“Maybe we should head back… The others are probably starting to worry about us now,” Barnaby mumbles over a barely supressed whimper.

“Yeah… Let’s head back.” Eddie places a hand on Barnaby’s back, agreeing. He knows the topic change is a desperate attempt not to start crying, so he won’t mention anything.

Wally turns up the next day like nothing ever happened. Granted, his ascot is tied in a different way then he usually does it and his pompadour isn’t coiled as tightly either, but he acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary. When Julie asks where he was, all he says is he was ‘visiting a friend’. When Howdy asks what he did, all he’ll give is vague answers. Worst of all, when Barnaby looks at him with a look of betrayal, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #playfellowxxx #hes such a little guy #little sweetheart #antagonist x protagonist

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sexhaver · 5 months

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Howdy friend! I feel like that meme with doctor eggman that just walked in on rouge and shadow having a spirited discussion on something I have no pretext about. But it sounds important and I do wanna educate myself if there's a lacking somewhere, genuinely. From what I understood from scrolling down to a screenshot poll and other screens, it's trying to figure out if people are automatically taking frat boys (the classic stereotype kind, btw, genuinely players) in good faith by queer-ifying them because they have been fortunately unfortunate enough to not have the life experience of being used by this type of person that will take their good faith and hurt them?

Because I do think that there *could* be a cishet aro man out there, if it's defined very explicitly as: a man (born with a penis and identifies as he/him) and likes women (including trans women) and is aromantic. Face value wise, that is.

Because the question wasn't if the hypothetical man was superstraight (and don't count trans people at all) or just pussy-seeking (i.e. looking to have sex with ciswomen and trans men who haven't had bottom surgery, is explicitly Not transphobic). Or if this hypothetical man wasn't also, say, a "friend" met at a party/tinder/hookup/through mutuals/etc that is really just an acquaintance with little of substance genuinely known...or if this man was actually what one would consider a genuine friend. Or if this hypothetical man was poly (and/or if you were poly honestly, this feels like this is being framed in a mono mindset, which is okay! But poly adds extra details to account for). Also if he was out as aro.

The point is, I am aware of cheating. I am aware of using terms to get around cheating. Or trying to justify it. But aromantizim by itself isn't cheating. Poly by itself isn't cheating. FwB by itself, or hooking up by itself, or sex work by itself, isn't cheating- if there is informed consent on both sides with all affected parties, which includes all other partners. Wanting to sleep around isn't a crime, regardless of who or where or what gender.

I know there's plenty of men that aren't allies, that are homophobic or transphobic or sexist, but that wasn't the question. You aren't making that distinction or posing a scenario, just a screenshot without any added distinction other that the consent (after it was asked for by voters). It's taking the assumption that practicing genuine safe sex ( not that bullshit abstinence thing schools and "god fearing Christians" teach), is limited to only cishetero men... And not something to practice with everyone.

It shouldn't matter my gender or background or beliefs or sexuality, since these are simply opinions and all opinions come with grains of salt, but I know if I don't add context of me being the one giving these opinions, I'll be discredited.

I'm a cis-women (so very petrifiyingly aware of that Fear/wariness of being approached at night by strangers, or followed. I don't like ANYONE strange coming up to me, regardless of gender, a woman can stab me as much as a man can rape me, but I feel like I know the mindset extreme examples being presented here so there were go).

I'm demi-omnisexualromantic. Everyone's free game once I get to know them on a genuine emotional level. We HAVE to be besties (or we have to never ever see each other again if I'm gonna sleep with you and you're not a friend, oh gOD WHAT IF I FART OR THEY'RE A SERIAL KILLER OH GOD).

I'm poly. The first thing is with my girlfriend and our paramour, since we are the "oringal polycule" is had a sit down discussion about what we agreed upon what being in a relationship is like (we happen to be romantically and sexually attracted to each other btw). It was Poly from the start and Open from the start. We are all okay and open to each other going out to bdsm clubs or kink parties or sleeping around, or if asking out cute people..... BUT we have to ask permission/inform the other partners in our polycule. There's nothing to hide and they consent. They can say no, and that's okay!! Because then!! We can have an open and honest discussion as to why (lonely, conflicting plans, insecurity, safety worries, etc). Also also, anyone new that's meant to become a fwb or a pet needs to know about and meet our polycule, and it's a one-no situation here. If *anyone* is uncomfortable, nothing goes forward.

Sex is nice, sex is great if you're a freak like me and into that sorta thing; and sexual safety awareness and stranger danger awareness and informed consent awareness is MAJORLY IMPORTANT AND CRITICAL AND EVERYONE SHOULD BE TAUGHT THIS IN SCHOOL OH GOD but in my humble opinion the execution has spiraled into something messy with rampant misunderstanding and accidental invalidation of aro-spec men, poly people, and our allies,,, as well as anyone trying to be open-minded even if they dont understand.

Telling people that they're naive and ignorant isn't going to teach them a lesson you appear to feel strongly that they need to learn, it only shames and makes them not likely to actually follow the good advice (?) that's being presented in a not-clear format.

And it also earns you a buncha people getting angry because they don't understand the question actually being asked because the context wasn't clarified or what the actual answer is in a no patronizing manner/delivery,, and I'm sure you're feeling very much harassed and exhausted for answers that have little to nothing to do with your actual question, and I'm really sorry for that because I've been there and I hate this for you because it's exhausting and dispiriting to find people who never got taught how to keep themselves safe... But I'm also happy that they haven't had to learn it the hard way *yet* and that I can still help, or even that the people I was so stressed over not having the lesson... Actually DO know the answer but just misunderstood the question or that I just asked it confusingly!!

Anyway, sorry for the extremely long ask, double sorry if I misunderstood anything you were trying to say or explained anything that you already know. But if you could clarify in your own words and time, I would be very grateful! If not, that's still okay and I hope you take care of yourself out there, friend! Also, I'm on anon less because I'm ashamed of my opinion, and more because I don't want anyone else randomly messaging me back because they don't like me for my views online and I happen to really like this account dghjfedhjfdsjk

oh my god i thought there was a character limit on anons. what am i even being asked here? i literally just woke up and opened my inbox and made this face

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zeebreezin · 2 months

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hiii its @neathyingenue!! just gonna go ahead and admit i am hazy on some of harb's details. this is an au for beverley yeah? or is it him in the future

Hello my good friend MJ Neathyingenue!! Dw about it I’ve actually been meaning to make a semi-formal summary on him so!

The Scintillating Harbinger is the Sunless Skies AU of Beverley, so yeah technically it’s him in the future (the wonderful year of 1906), but also it’s not the only possibility of him in the futures. Thankfully.

In the Sunless Skies AU, Beverley’s search in London failed due to Shaw’s machinations (and boy howdy did he do some shit). He never found his Dawnlight suitcase bomb - but more importantly, he never found out that B survived the shipwreck they disappeared in. He left London assuming his life’s work and his best friend were both lost to the waves, and threw himself into his work as a means to cope. It helps up until it doesn’t, and then he gets weird about the New Sun to cope.

Fast forward a couple years, and he’s risen through the ranks enough to be working on the Clockwork Sun personally, and rises to the Skies with the rest of the New Sequence. Surprisingly (or maybe unsurprisingly) leaving his home and the only world he’s ever known Doesn’t help Beverley’s mental health. So he doubles down on his love for the sun - this is when the idea that he’s given up everything for it really becomes mission critical.

And then the Clockwork Sun starts glassing/Dazzling the senior engineers. By the time it’s Bev’s turn he’s kind of a mess. Insert the fic I just wrote here, where he manages to stall out his own death with a combination of blind faith and mastery of the Correspondance, binding bits of metal to his glassy side to make it usable. However this has horrible effects on his sanity and overall health, he’s in constant pain and isn’t even really aware of that fact anymore due to being high on that sunny supply.

In my mind, Beverley’s become to the Logoi as the Clockwork Sun is to a Judgement. He’s just stuck in a (somewhat) human body. Right now at least. That’s part of why everything on his ship is - effectively - bound to live in time with his machinery.

Now with insane levels of… everything, he doubles down into his work of making Judgement Light powered weaponry, a speciality that gets him Victoria’s attention. Bev even starts bending the trapping of Other Judgements to make his weapons of mass destruction like the Icarus looking ass he is. For stellar service during the Winchester War (read: war crimes), he was awarded both the Victoria Cross and a dubious position of importance. Legally he’s a captain (despite having way more functional power) of a research Locomotive, the Deliverance, not a war engine. He just… has permission to test the creations on board on enemies of the empire! That’s all!

He’s also still dying due to the damage to his body, but he doesn’t really care he’s got other things to worry about :)

The actual story of him involves his encounters with Shaw’s son, Everett, who he… really doesn’t like, considering his history with Shaw in this AU.

That’s the TL;DR!

#zeeposting #officer beverley #the scintillating harbinger #tw body horror #fallen london oc #ok there we go!!!#lore #long post #OOOPS

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animentality · 5 months

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(Leaps in askbox now its clear) Howdy! I'm curious about your opinions on the companions, like initial thoughts and now that you've clocked in an unhealthy (affectionate) amount of hours? We know what you'd change but how about everyone as is? Thanks!

Alrighty, I can finally answer this one...

Ok.

Man. This is gonna be a long one.

We're gonna start with the shorter opinions first.

Minthara:

I have not done a run where Minthara was alive in Act 2. I literally know almost nothing about her.

I think she's hot and has the sexiest voice of all the female characters, but I know nothing about her story, other than she was a lesbian with Orin. I do wanna try and romance her, but.

Who knows if I'll ever get around to it.

Minsc:

I get that he's a fan favorite from the old games, but I kind of hate him. He feels like fanservice, and I didn't get a nostalgia boner for him, so he does nothing for me as a character.

I honestly kill him. Not out of malice, just more out of, why even have him be here?

Plus I tend to go through the entire game without swapping my party members, because I'm pretending it's a real dnd campaign.

And I ain't changing my team comp for this weirdo who only shows up at the very end.

Sorry to his hamster when I kill him, though.

Jaheira:

She's ok. I don't hate her, but she doesn't do it for me. I don't get why she's Russian. And apparently the only Russian in the whole game.

She also feels like fanservice.

Plus she fucking drops ice storms on everyone's goddamn HEADS when they're already in Hunger of Hadar, and honestly?

We have beef. I let her die sometimes, for that crime specifically. I also skip her house, because it doesn't have good loot, besides the scimitars, and I don't play races or classes that use scimitars. like ever.

Halsin:

I like Halsin generally, he's inoffensive to me, but his "romance" is so bad. It's shallow, it feels tacked on, which it was, and everyone knows how much I HATE how little his sexual trauma is focused on.

I romanced him twice, and both times, I was underwhelmed and kind of shrugged him off.

He should just be a fling option like Mizora. He shouldn't have become a "romance" option. It's fine for him to be a big buff bear hippie that you can fuck, but a companion?

He's got nothing to do with Act 3. It's a detriment to his character and the game, tbh.

Ok, that's the smaller ones out of the way. Now mains:

Astarion:

I got into BG3 for Astarion.

I fully admit it. I saw a scene of him screaming at Tav for blasting him with the sun beam from the githyanki creche, and it was funny as fuck.

Neil Newbon is highly charismatic, and truly elevates a character I don't find that physically attractive. His personality and enthusiasm shine through, and his voice acting is superb. And I am a sucker for angst and redemption and themes of abuse and breaking free of toxic relationships. And darkly, I admit. I do like the more twisted nature of his backstory, the way he had to use his body to survive, has a bad relationship with sex, and was tortured repeatedly. As anyone who reads my writing knows...I am a disgusting sadistic pervert.

That being said.

I no longer like Astarion. Well. No. I like Astarion.

I don't like his fans, or his rhetoric. Astarion has the better writing of BG3, but the lack of nuance from his fans annoys the shit out of me, and overexposure to him as a character, since Tumblr and TikTok are obsessed with him?

No me gusta. I don't hate him as a character, but I can't stand to see Astarion is so perfect posts. He's not, and that's the whole point. He's awful, but you people don't appreciate that. I don't want to see Astarion x Tav headcanons. And I especially do not care about the BookTok crowd being obsessed with him because they just like a dommy vampire, and disrespect his narrative with absolutely no self awareness.

BookTok Astarion is SO GODDAMN BORING. They really just reduce him to a hot dommy vampire daddy, and that's why I never take BookTok recs. Pure garbage.

So. TL;DR - I got BG3 for him, but overexposure to his fans made me be significantly less interested in him. It's a good thing. If I was obsessed with Astarion, I'd be forced to interact with his fans. Thank god for Gortash... I'm free of that prison.

Lae'zel:

I loved Lae'zel the minute she was mean to me.

She's hot as fuck, like seriously, so hot, her neck makes me sweat something fierce, and her voice is sultry and raspy and hostile. just how i like my women.

But I admit...she's too fucking meta. gameplay wise, she's probably the strongest companion you can have for DPS...so I admit...I've had her on my teams so much, that I am sick of her.

And again! It's not because she's badly written. I actually think her character is really strong, and really awesome. I also think her arc is amazing, going from this devoted cult member to basically saying I'm going to fucking kill a god.

I actually teared up a little at the creche this one time, when I had to beg her to stay, and she was like, you knew I had no other path to follow, but this one, or something like that.

But.

But I have beaten the game with her in my party like three times. I've had her in my party on Honor mode like...a million times.

So, tl;dr - I love her to death, but gameplay wise, she's so strong that I can't play her anymore.

Shadowheart:

Ok...I admit it.

I don't like Shadowheart. I find her boring visually, because she's just this generically hot white girl. She was designed to be the companion that all straight cis white men would want to see naked, and that's fine but uh.

Does absolutely nothing for me.

I don't care for her personality either. I don't like her lines, all coy and vaguely condescending. I don't really like how mean she is to you, and it's different from Lae'zel, because at least Lae'zel came from a warrior culture that doesn't put much value on flowery language. Lae'zel makes sense.

Shadowheart is an amnesiac who's just mean to you because.

I also don't care for her story, at all.

Don't care about Shar's Gauntlet or her kidnapped backstory. Don't give a shit about her parents. Don't care that she's scared of wolves or that her hand hurts.

I like the overarching thematic bridge that her character exists on, specifically that the gods will demand everything of you, and will hurt you for their own amusement.

But as a companion...no.

I have never been interested in romancing her. I never have her on the party, except to get that achievement.

I also don't like clerics. I think they're kind of weak, tbh. They're heal bots. They're really only good for spirit guardians, glyph of warding, and removing status effects. Just don't care for that. I'm an all dps team, we have no room for healers.

TL;DR: I don't think Shadowheart is interesting design wise, story wise, or gameplay wise.

Karlach:

I loved Karlach the moment I saw her, I fell deeper in love with her the second I heard her voice, and I knew I would die and kill for her, when I saw her excited "I love you" confession scene.

Seriously.

I have said this before, and I will say it again.

Out of all of these characters, romanceable or not...

I would only marry Karlach in REAL LIFE. I'd never date a man like Gortash or Astarion. I might be friends with Gale, but he's too smart to be my boyfriend.

But Karlach. She brings the wife energy. She could throw me over her shoulder and bash me against the concrete, and I would say thank you, ma'am.

she's also so fucking fun to play. barbarian options in bg3 are so goddamn funny. you can intimidate everyone and just break shit. it's great. you can also constantly throw people AT PEOPLE. And it's great. She's way more fun than Lae'zel because of it.

No notes. Top tier character design. My wife.

But also FUCK the developers for only giving her two fucking quests, one of which is a FETCH IT quest and the other is just a lame boss fight.

And FUCK THEM for only originally giving her an ending where she either dies or becomes a mindflayer. WHY.

And the Avernus ending still annoys me, because the ENTIRE PARTY should be there too.

FUCK YOU LARIAN. Why do you hate Karlach???? You're monsters. She's never done anything wrong, and yet all you do, is wrong her.

Bullshit.

Wyll:

Ok.

Hard truth time.

Wyll is the hottest male companion.

Like.

No cap. Everyone who says Gale, or Astarion, or Halsin-

Incorrect. It's Wyll. He is literally so hot, with the white eye and those sexy throat scars. Hrrrrrrr.

Also, controversial opinion. I actually like his devil form.

I think it makes him even hotter. I do wish he had wilder hair, though.

That being said...

He's horribly underwritten.

I went in, thinking, he's so kind and nice and hot...and then I was disappointed by how little they gave him.

He, like Karlach, got hit with the cut content curse.

And it's so ugly.

And gross.

And honestly, I suspect it's racist.

But yeah.

I think he's really sweet and I like romancing him and all. But they didn't dedicate any time or effort to his romance, and I hate that. But not him. Never him.

TL;DR - my first impression of Wyll was wow, he's hot, I wanna know more about him, and my last impression is, wow, he's so hot, I hate that he has nothing going on because Larian simply didn't bother to give him shit to do.

Gale

Alright, I left Gale for last, because he has the MOST complicated relationship with me.

So I initially missed Gale, because my friend failed the strength check to get him out of the portal.

So for a while, I didn't even know he existed.

Then I started to see more of him on Tiktok and Tumblr, and I was like oh...ok. So...we missed him. Damn.

So I decided to try romancing him fairly early on....only to find out...

I absolutely despised that when he dies, he killed me with necrotic damage.

That pissed me off. In the early days, when I was new to the game, I think I once had a whole team wipe, because Gale and Lae'zel went down, and then Karlach went rampaging, set me on fire, and then died to Gale's necrotic...which is funny in hindsight, but it was annoying at the time.

The eating magical items thing was mildly annoying, but that was far worse.

I pretty much never ran Gale for a long period of time.

As the Dark Urge, I'd often kill him, in fact, just so I wouldn't have to deal with his Arcane Hunger.

And honestly, initially, I kind of disliked his personality too.

I think the first scene I ever saw of him was when you tell him he's ok in bed, and his response is like, I guess I'll go kill myself.

And honestly, I thought he had incel vibes because of it. Then add to the fact that he's rude to you, no matter what, when he needs his third item...and also add that to the annoying gameplay, PLUS the fact.

That I was rocking Sorceror and Warlock for most of my early runs, so didn't need a wizard...I said, no. No Gale.

I don't like Gale.

BUT.

Here's the thing, right?

I got into Gortash... and then I stepped away from Astarion. Started being obsessed with the Dark Urge...

And then I noticed that all of my Durgetash friends were super into Gale, and I didn't get why...

But then weavewithshadow specifically alerted me to the fact that... there are Gale and Gortash parallels...specifically, that they're both brilliant, scruffy, are blinded by ambition, can't appreciate the things they have, and keep chasing after things they can't quite reach.

And then I was like...ok, maybe I've been harsh on him...

So I did his romance...and I felt bad.

Because he's actually very sweet.

And his voice is reallllly lovely when it's soft and fond.

He's a poet...and then I felt bad for all the times I had chewed off his arm.

And honestly, with experience...I now know what to feed him. Mostly garbage magic items like Komira's dumb locket or the ring of color spray from the harpies' nest, or those dumb boots that electrify the water you stand in.

Plus, I'm smart enough to know how to keep Gale alive now, so the necrotic thing isn't an issue.

So.

So. TL;DR I had a very complicated relationship with Gale, first with his mechanics, then with this random out of context scene where he's kind of nasty to you. But I came around, and honestly...right now...I like him more than Astarion.

All he wants to do is...live.

And I relate to that.

And his romance scenes are nice, and he has more of an arc than most of the other companions, Astarion aside.

So there you go, anon.

This took forever to write.

Thanks for the ask, though.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3

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swoonbots · 1 year

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Various Writing Ideas For Welcome Home

(that I'm probably not going to write so are free to grabz just tag me so I can see it -Mod Comet)

Neighborhood Polycule Fic where the human reader is the one who teaches everyone about romance and it ends with everyone being in a relationship together. (I actually have a few scenes I mind for this. Julie pulling the reader away from a party to get more kisses. Wally kissing Howdy out of the blue because he doesn't quite understand that it's not socially acceptable for that)

Neighborhood reacting to a reader in a depression episode (and them not understanding at first.)

Neighborhood with a reader who has sensory issues (specifically hearing) so they go to the big parties. So the neighborhood adapts and spends one-on-one time instead

Neighborhood Love Languages List (and examples!!)

Fic about Wally keeping his friends in a happy little bubble. As in Wally is aware of the bad things in the world, but is pretending that they don't exist so his friends will never have to feel fear.

Neighborhood who works together to keep reader living with them.

Kitty Reader!!! Who purrs and cuddles nicely

Puppy reader who hates Eddie with a burning passion (his crime is being a mailman)

#welcome home #welcome home x reader #not writing

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twilightprince101 · 2 years

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"EVERYTHING IS FINE" is awesome, but it is NOT FOR EVERYONE

Hi! So recently I've gotten into the Webtoon "Everything Is Fine," created by Mike Birchall. And honestly? I'm fucking loving it right now! And I don't see many people really talking about it on Tumblr, which is frankly a crime considering how popular it is on Webtoon itself!!

I wish I could talk to all my friends about this webcomic, but I am fully aware that there are a few VERY BIG hurdles that some people would need to get past first.

So! To all my mutuals and followers, let me give you my pitch for this webcomic, along with a few disclaimers on what's to come.

IS THIS A "CUTE BUT SECRETLY EDGY" THING?

The main way I found out about this webcomic was through marketed/animated ads on Youtube. The general vibe that they were going for was that it was a "looks cute but is actually really fucked up" story. Think your Happy Tree Friends or Don't Hug Me I'm Scared's. Designed to lure you in and then SLAP you across the face with all of its gore and fucked-upness. If you've seen ads for a game called "Evertale" on youtube that kinda looks like pokemon, you understand what I'm saying and I get your apprehension.

And don't get me wrong, those worries are not unfounded! There's some stuff in this comic that is really messed up and honestly leaves me up at night. But while in the cases of the two above samples they feel more to shock, Everything Is Fine feels a bit more deliberate in what it does. They feel like they're a product of the world and a side-effect to the setting. The fucked-upness holds a purpose outside of shock and says something.

(this isn't to bash on the two above examples btw, no shame in liking them. However for me personally, it definitely seems more for the purpose of drawing in attention than telling a story)

The first 12 "episodes" have by far some of the darkest in terms of content-- ALL OF WHICH I WILL LIST AT THE BOTTOM WITH A "READMORE" LINK--but if you make it past those first 12 chapters, there's a really damn compelling story waiting for you. The moment that the main character Maggie opens up a science book, that's when you've crossed that threshold.

Everything past this point is spoiler territory, so if you already feel like going into this then I recommend just reading the warnings past the read more then heading into the story blind.

OKAY SO WHAT IS THIS STORY THEN

Here's my best elevator pitch for this series:

It's a dystopian domestic thriller that utilizes a suburbia setting to enforce themes of formality and productivity vs family and love, while also incorporating a "Mind games battle" style into its action ala The Promised Neverland or Death Note.

Whew, that certainly was a word salad! Lemme break it down a bit more.

-Dystopian Domestic Thriller?

The exact scale of this story (at least at the time of writing this) is very small scale. It focuses on two characters: Maggie and Sam, a married couple that are forced--alongside everyone else--to live in a picturesque happy neighborhood. A very "Howdy neighbor, can I borrow a cup of sugar" type place, and if you deviate from that vision then... well, it doesn't end pretty.

However, despite just how grand a change this is (the world is implied to have been just like ours 7 years ago or so), the focus is much more intimate. The whole first chapter solely focuses on five different characters, all of whom are neighbors in this dystopia trying to get by, along with getting the reader acquainted with their situation. And, despite the friendly faces, each family wouldn't think twice about throwing each other under the bus if it meant they could move up in the world and get a chance to [REDACTED, GOTTA READ TO FIND OUT YOURSELF BUD].

There are no evil monsters. There's no big bad boogeymen waiting in your closet to eat your brains. All there is is your neighbors, the ones that wake up next to you with a smile on their face. And it's almost impossible to tell whether or not their smile is genuine or not.

-"Mind games battle?"

If you haven't read The Promised Neverland (or watched season 1 of the anime and ONLY season 1) or are acquainted with "mind games battles" in general, imagine this scenario:

There are two different characters, each of them entirely equal in their strengths and weaknesses. One has a diamond, the other wants the gem for themselves. To try and get the diamond, the thief tricks the other into thinking they already have it, causing the owner to reveal the key's location so they can steal it themselves.

That is the essence of "Mind game battles" or (coined by SuperEyepatchWolf) a "Non-Battle Battle" story. Very little violence truly happens, the core focus is on espionage and getting a leg up on your opponent by figuring out what they're going to try and do, then countering with your own plan. Highly recommend checking out his video btw

This might seem a little strange compared to what I just described with the whole "Suburban Dystopia" setting, but this brings it down to its core elements. Everyone is a normal person, at the youngest about 30 years old, and in the end they want to throw each other under the bus to get further in life. It utilizes that suburban dystopia setting with the fear that "secretly, deep down, all your friendly neighbors and friends wouldn't blink to sacrificing you for something more" and it hits fucking hard, leading to a story about forging your own path and recognizing who truly matters in your life.

It is MUCH more subdued and tame compared to the above examples, but believe me when I say this was intended from the very beginning, and it's only going to get better.

BUT WHAT'S THE POINT OF THE STORY

geez you don't gotta yell like that every time dude

So if you're like me and you tend to try and search for a bit more meaning in your stories, you might be wondering why you should read this (aside from my recommendation of course). You might ask "yeah if it's scary/fucked up, cool. But is that all?" If you're the type that stays away from horror-esque scenarios like this, I can doubly understand (again, READ THE WARNINGS AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS POST).

But as I've been growing into the adult world, a constant nagging fear that's been growing is the thought "People are only nice to you out of necessity, none of their kind words hold any truth to them. Their smiles are only of toleration." With how much of the business world thrives on that sort of formal kindness (job interviews, sucking up to your boss, etc.), it has ended up leaking out into my personal life and causing some pretty harsh damage to my mental health.

This webcomic not only feels like the first story to address this specific fear, but also one that has a direct answer/resolution to that. Yes, sometimes it may feel like it's impossible to tell who's truly kind and who needs to be kind. It will feel hard to truly tell that difference.

But no matter what fear you feel, no matter how impossible that feeling is to overcome, there will always be someone in your corner that loves you for you. Their smiles are not of necessity, but of enjoyment of your presence. And if you acknowledge them and trust in that kindness, nothing will stand in your way.

And... fuck man, I don't know. I think that's something I kinda needed to be told, and something I think a lot of other people need to hear.

So yeah! "Everything Is Fine" is a fucking banger and I highly recommend it! If all of the above parts (and the below warnings, FOR THE LAST TIME CHECK THOSE WARNINGS) didn't bother you and you seem intrigued, go check out the webcomic and send some cash the dude's way. Chapter 2 is getting into full swing, and I want some peeps to enjoy this with as these two keep moving their way upwards.

Either way, that's all. Hope you have a nice day!!

Now then...

TIME FOR ALL THE CONTENT WARNINGS

-One of the things in episode 1 at the very start is a decaying dog carcass, which has been implied to be sitting there for at least a couple months rotting away.

-In episode 3, a starving homeless man is given said carcass. I don't think I need to go into detail here.

-Body horror doesn't come up too frequently, but let's just say those masks aren't just masks. This starts subtly at episode 9 and 11, but from then on it'll become more apparent when it comes up.

-Several moments of suicidal implications come up throughout as well, most especially in Episode 11. They often have warnings at the start of the chapters when they happen though.

-Attempted murder and successful murder, via bashing a person's head in! Oh boy!! These will be apparent when they come up as well, keep an eye on that hammer.

The last warning is a SUPER BIG SPOILER so don't read it if you don't wanna be spoiled.

One of the biggest punishments/consequences that each of the characters can be given is called "Red Status." Getting into Red doesn't kill you, but instead it forces whoever is subjected to watch their children die--though vague, it's implied that those fates are. Not kind. Episode 26 gives us a front row seat to two children seemingly being forced to jump off a tall building and commit suicide. They don't show the bodies, but it still very much happens. It's one of the most subtle, but horrifying moments in the series so far.

Definitely not as bad as a lot of other stuff out there, but... that dog scene man. Fucks me up still today, and I know one specific person it would fuck up the most. So if these are too much for you, you know what to do.

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onlinecorvus · 1 year

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Hey so I’ve just discovered your crime au and it has my in a dang chokehold rn lmao so wanted to know more about it so you got any random facts you can share?

🦀 anon

Ah... let me think... what have I not talked about...

well, the. oc team isn't complete. it's missing a few more kinds of characters 1. a weapon's expert kind of character 2. a bombs expert 3. a supplier kind of character. if your or other people could participate that would be delightful! though, I doubt you will crab anon. mainly because well.. you're anonymous ha

i can't promise that all the information here is new. because some aren't but there are new ones!

Eddie has a niece in this au. she's a oc of a friend of mine.

Home is terrifying. He is a Train-Creature, but a noticeable thing about him is that he has legs. many legs. he is a train centipede thing.

a thing about this au, and about me is that I make things, accurate. I'm redesigning Howdy and he is a centaur-like creature however with more accurate caterpillar anatomy. having 8 proto-legs (false legs) and 6 arms. Howdy... oh boy... Howdy. if you ask me which one of them has the most amount of trauma. it'd be him.

Sally is schizophrenic. and she is not doing well. She verbally says what she sees though, and when they're hallucinations the others pay no mind to it and ignore the hallucinations so Sally understands, yea, they're hallucinations and they all move on with their day.

Wrenly Hates coffee. Anne hates tea. they both fight over the kettle every morning for no more than 5 minutes before they come to a decision. The rest of the office kinda just... stand by and ignore.

BARNABY SPENDS ALL HIS MONEY.

Eddie is scared. constantly.

Anne knows how many people are looking at her. She doesn't know who, but she knows how many and uses it to her advantage. (please be aware I'm not the creator of Anne. That pleasure goes to @welcomehomeartfanatic)

I think it's obvious, so I'll say it now. Anne is Frank's sister. She changed her appearance to appear different to him, but at the end of the day, they are related.

Wrenly back in College was a rizzler, let me tell you that. and heavily traumatized. was going to put a list but realised how damned it is.

Poppy was once a mother.

Howdy is not an official member of the Playfellows merely a supplier.

Home and a crucial character in the plot are brothers.

Julie may love her siblings in the au, but they do not love her back. at all.

Wally

and all their blood types? yea here they are: Wally: O+ Julie: RB- (New blood type Rainbow. rare.) Sally: W- Frank: M+ Eddie: R+ Barnaby: C- Poppy: RB+ Howdy: Y+

that's all i can think of for now, i hope it's not too little.

#welcomehomeau #welcome home au #welcomehome #welcome home #wally darling #julie joyful #poppy partridge #howdy pillar #sally starlet #au #eddie dear #frank frankly #barnaby b beagle #i am tired help

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prpfs · 1 year

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Howdy! It’s Fern again 🌿 and today I’m looking for another MxM fandomless rp! Trigger warnings for mentions of kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, abuse (physical, mental, emotional), violence, and things of that nature. With that out of the way, I’ll hop right into what plot I want to do!

Y/C is a police officer/detective in the big city, who’s well aware that the town is really run by organized crime, and most of the officials are corrupt. The most powerful group in the city is the Russian mafia, who has almost every local politician in their pocket, and makes the other police departments look the other way when it comes to their illicit activities. Unable to handle the corruption anymore, Y/C begins to look into things that he shouldn’t have, getting too close to several secrets and drawing the attention of the Russian mob onto him. Y/C is scoping out one of the clubs that the mob uses as a front when they end up getting drugged and kidnapped.

They wake up in a dark basement tied to a chair. Rather than being killed, Y/C had ended up attracting the interest of a young man named Viktor, the youngest son of the head of the Russian mob. He’s a spoiled brat, whatever he wants he gets, and he wants Y/C for himself, insisting that they were meant to be together. While not as masculine or strong as his brothers, Viktor is just as capable of violence if things don’t go his way. So how will you character react when he suddenly becomes the object of affection for Viktor? How long will he manage before breaking and giving into the role Viktor wants him to play?

I hope that plot sounded interesting to you! I really was in the mood to do a dark rp like this! I will clarify, Viktor in this rp isn’t a typical tough Dom. He’s pretty feminine and prefers to bottom, but also physically and mentally abuses his victims, as well as sexually assaulting them if they resist. His family are the leaders of a mafia, so they’re not any better.

I like to rp with at least 2-3 solid paragraphs per response btw, so please be able to keep up with that! If any of this caught your eye then leave a like!

Leave a like, and anon will get back to you!

#oc roleplay #oc rp #oc x oc #m/m #nuclear

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blue-myrmeca · 1 month

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I have once again embarked on the epic quest of watching as many Bollywood movies as I can stomach and I keep wanting to annoy my friends with the reviews so now I'm going to come here to get my thoughts out of my silly little head.

If anyone also follows @romanceyourdemons please lower your expectations immediately I will not be as insightful and succinct and awesome and intelligent as they are I'm just gonna gush.

Anyway Here's Agneepath (2012). Massive Spoiler Alert.

I was not expecting to like this movie as much as I did. I'm a big fan of Hrithik Roshan so I have been aware of Agneepath for a long time, he was super stoked to be a part of it etc, but the story didn't seem like one that I would really vibe with. 'Boy watches father violently murdered, decides to devote rest of his life to revenge, more at six' isn't really my bread and butter but BOY howdy was I wrong!!

Assorted things I loved:

Hrithik Roshan's beautiful face. It has been too long, my love, I'm so sorry I've been obsessed with Aamir Khan recently.

Priyanka Chopra *not* playing a Mary Sue. When she plays a character, she does SUCH a good job and I love to see it. She's so freaking pretty and good at dancing come back to India plz maam.

Katrina Kaif was there for literally one dance number???? She went off, but lordy that's an expensive dance number. I kept thinking she was going to come back, but no.

This is a dark movie with dark themes, much violence and swearing. Hrithik and Priyanka are clearly living together as an unmarried couple in the slums where Priyanka's mom is a prostitute. Do they kiss? Don't be ridiculous, staring at each other intently is all we can do. Never change Bollywood ily.

Hrithik Roshan's Angry Head Shake. Viju (his character) is So Mad all the time and has to keep it in and I LOVE how tortured he can make his eyes while the rest of his face stays calm. It's incredible.

Okay actual story things. I thought it was so interesting the nuance this film managed. Viju is not a good guy. He kills a man-sorry-police officer (AS A CHILD) to cover up the fact that he didn't identify the local Big Crime Boss in a lineup for a murder that he witnessed. He does a lot of bad things, ends up as that crime boss's first lieutenant, etc, but gosh dang it you root for him bc everyone he's moving against is worse.

Like, you know from the beginning that he's doing all of this so that he can gain the power he needs to put himself on level footing with the man who killed his father. And that guy is Super Extremely Bad, so you want Viju to succeed. You know that he aligned himself with this other crime boss bc he witnessed him say that he hated the man who killed his father. And you know that, even though he supports Crime Boss's activities, he gives all his money to charity and still lives in the slum that took him in as a child when his mom abandoned him (after he murdered a cop).

ALSO, he is playing all of the ends against the middle. Informing on Crime Boss to the cops, informing Crime Boss about the cops movements, stopping Father Killer from encroaching on Crime Boss's territory, promising Father Killer a foothold in Crime Boss's territory--Viju is everywhere and in everything.

He is full of contradictions, and that's what makes the story work. He is a brutal man because he loves so deeply and radically. He has a heart of gold that cannot allow injustice to stand, so he kills and lies and helps move drugs bc he sees it all as a means to an inevitable and inescapable end. He will kill the man who killed his father, he will free his hometown from that man's influence and he will do whatever he needs to do to get him to that point.

The film doesn't ask you to agree with Viju. It's pretty clear about the fact that he has 'fallen from grace' and landed on a path that only brings more death and violence and hurts the people he loves. It doesn't ask you to think that Viju is correct. But it does ask you to understand how this man could find himself in this position. How he could decide that this was what needed to be done.

It shows how partially effective the police are, how he's willing to work with them, but doesn't trust them to accomplish what he needs to get done. It shows how he does what's necessary to gain respect and power in the underworld but when given the opportunity, he rejects the morals of it (he frees a bunch of girls that were going to be sold at auction). It shows his mother railing against who he's become for the whole film, but in the end, recognizing that he did manage to do a good thing.

Gosh it's so heartbreaking, he finally kills the man who killed his father (in the exact same way his father was killed, love that symmetry), frees his home from his reign of terror and is dying in his mother's arms-- and this scourge of the underworld looks up at his momma with the saddest sweetest eyes and asks her if he did the right thing. She has disagreed with his choices every step of the way, but the result was, in fact, the right thing. He finally gets his mothers' acceptance.

Anyway its a well done film that asks a lot of interesting questions and doesn't force answers to them down your throat, just lets you sit in the questions. And that's a quality I like in a movie. Action sequences were great, characters were consistent and built well. Fricken loved it.

Okay that's it. If you got to the end, thanks I guess? I told you this was going to be a mess so i have nothing to apologize for. The end.

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seeminglyseph · 8 months

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I think like, “true crime girlie” or “murdino” or whatever is like. An evolutionary stage in becoming aware of the world around you, and it’s like absolutely 100% cringe and like. People’s real life tragedies aren’t a fandom, you don’t need to be involved. But. I think. The Netflix-ification of it is like when businesses realize what people are into and try to capitalize on it but it’s like “you can’t capitalize on murder.”

And Netflix documentaries are kind of questionable to begin with because they’re biased as shit and have like the most lacking information ever. They are popcorn entertainment documentaries. It’s very frustrating to be a documentary enjoyer and have like “oh good seven hours bullshit about nothing”

HBO used to make very good documentaries, now they are hit or miss. I mean I guess they’re always hit or miss, but I feel like the concept of a documentary has changed? Is that a phrase that makes sense? I feel foolish for having said that? But I also feel like sometimes the amount of information a person is intended to gain from a documentary is flexible, they aren’t supposed to be your primary source of information. They’re supposed to like. Let you know something exists, give you some important information, craft a thesis basically, make an argument and present the information and give you a way to form an opinion and seek out information yourself if you are so driven to do so.

But. Like. Sometimes it feels like “seek out more information yourself” has become. Uh. Not. A thing.

Maybe I just. Had a lot of bad experiences with people who got that like. Um. “If you go into the dark place your poor mind will be tainted, you must trust in me to protect you from that twisted evil information and give you only what you can handle to keep you from becoming like the Bad People.”

Which was kind of that SJW 2014 movement which matched my Catholic Trauma so well that I slid into the brainwashing like a good little puppet…

But I do live in a crime ravaged city in a neighbourhood in that city reputed to be deeply unsafe. Even if a lot of people getting into to true crime with my complexion are being extremely weird about it, it’s kind of reasonable to be aware of crime. Especially if you’re also aware of the part of true crime where you don’t sit there making excuses for police incompetence. Like.

I grew up in a household where I *did* get a Talk about how like. “We need the police, but if you don’t cooperate they can and will kill or severely hurt you because they have a lot of power over people like us” though in this situation “like us” was “poor” and “not a cop.” Similarly border agents and the TSA. My dad grew up even more poor than me, and was very sure I knew people in law enforcement could just like. Fuck my life up if they wanted.

He still had an absolutely unearned respect for the RCMP though, he really cared about those guys and like my research into true crime in Canada has unearthed a lot of “not my problem if I don’t look into it” and that’s pretty fucking infuriating? But there’s stuff that’s like. Maybe his position as a straight white man made him biased because the Salvation Army helped him as a kid and he has warm memories about them and then I’m like “they would absolutely leave me to die in the cold.” And it’s complex.

I dunno I don’t think I personally have had cause to interact with Mounties but I care about MMIW and related issues as a Western Canadian and like… Person With Morals I guess? And like. Boy howdy that’s a lot of. Uh. The history of the Canadian Police’s failure to protect and serve the Indigenous population of Canada is long and complicated and under told but at this time I am not equipped to tell it in a way that would be appropriate to the people who deserve their stories told with dignity and respect and outrage. But know in your hearts that if there’s a job that can be avoided the Mounties will avoid doing it and that is the mildest form of violence I can list here.

I suppose ultimately my point is that some people do it wrong, but. The only way for people to become aware of things is to learn and to research and to have sources. And sometimes it *starts* with My Favorite Murder and Dahlmer and bad Netflix documentaries. But it’s supposed to evolve into your own research and awareness of the world around you and an understanding of reality and pattern recognition of like. “Funny how so many people actually get away with these crimes because police don’t really put a lot of effort into investigating the deaths of certain people, and those murderers are aware of that.”

Who counts as the Less Dead? Who benefits from pretending crime happens differently than it really does? How many of these mysteries were open secrets long before they were solved?

But at the same time, we need something. Some system. ‘Cause people in general as a group are crazy. I live with people. We suck. We need rules and people to enforce them. It just would be nice if they didn’t also suck. Like damn.

#my life #stoned ramblings #true crime navel gazing #this is some serious ‘we live in a society’ bullshit #but I just have some thoughts #they are not well gathered so don’t judge them like a sourced and cited essay or something #but I think it is important people be aware #I just think people have too much of a habit of fandoming

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antixabound · 1 year

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Here is my current DnD character anyway. FrostMourn the Dragonborn Fighter, and the bird creature is her familiar, Beatrice. FrostMourn is a gross and weird individual, who throws rocks and also commits crimes for fun. and Beatrice is the belligerent creature that is her only true companion. She was essentially adopted into the fuckin party because they gave her five gold, which is more wealth than she has ever seen in her entire life as far as she is aware. and now she commits less crimes because she has money.

Also funny thing is that Dragonborn do not exist in the setting that the DM made so FrostMourn is like basically an oddity and a freak and other such things in this world and shit I dunno its kinda fun. She technically only exists in the campaign because @mikittalabs lost the blue folder where he keeps his character sheet and didn’t keep a digital copy. and while I had my dnd character in digital form, I just kinda wanted to try something else. so I played FrostMourn and boy howdy gee I am having a lot of fun, we haven’t even gotten into combat in the past two sessions but its just been fun to be a bastard creature.

next session we’re gonna haunt the shit out of some guy and I am very excited.

::)

#dnd #5e #dragonborn #but yeah the campaign has been pretty fun so far #my dwarf paladin Reinkarl Hillson was kinda the comedic relief #but then again everyone played their part in comedy from time to time #its more so that Reinkarl was often the victim of practical comedy #as in he fell off a tree and was also on an unrelated incident hit by a log on a rope.#but yeah good times

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Vader flips out two years in, kills Palpatine, becomes Emperor, enters a holding pattern until the sheer panic overwhelms him to the point where he just asks Bail to tell him what to do because he doesn't have anyone he trusts because Padme is dead and Obi-Wan is missing and Ahsoka is in the wind but Bail was Padme's friend so Vader's going to listen to him until someone More Important to Vader comes along, which is first Sabé (Bail reached out to Naboo to get a handler for Vader because he just accidentally became Emperor and is trying to reestablish democracy, he doesn't have TIME for Vader's bullshit) and then later Ahsoka or Obi-Wan when they get word.

I really like the idea of Vader begging Obi-Wan to tell him what to do while Obi-Wan just oscillates between "this is somehow the best outcome" and "oh, now you listen to me?" and "don't think about Luke" and "my brother..." and "I hope you don't think this makes up for all your crimes, of which there are many."

Unfortunately, Vader is too useful to just get rid of, so.

I think Sabe would be very cold to Vader, considering everything. The handmaidens are all very pragmatic, I think, so Sabé would be angry, but she'd recognize that they need Vader functional and following orders if they want to wrangle this mess under control

Bail is luckily one of the only people alive that knows (or at least suspected) Anakin was Vader.

Per @lizasweetling on discord:

this would make a surpisingly decent whump recovery storyline, because Vader's entire existence is whump the reaction to what at any given time is going on with him, would probably pass as a plot on it's own the man has a needle mask his legs are not the correct length there's a fucking off switch add on to that the whole building democracy back and boy howdy there will be many things

Poor Vader, poor Bail, poor Sabé, poor Obi-Wan...

Ahsoka shows up with Rex and there's some screaming happening about the chips and the Vader's Fist situation

Like four people trading off on "Vader's Handler" duty as Obi-Wan tries to figure out a plan for protecting Luke all the way from Coruscant.

Bail is so very, very aware that he only has this position because Vader said, so...

#Bail Organa #Darth Vader #Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Sabe #Ben Kenobi #Sabé #Tsabin #Phoenix Posts #star wars

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froog-water · 3 years

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howdy y'all, again!

just quickly before the chapter starts, i wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reads this! i have received a lot of support for this thing (more than i had hoped) and i am beyond grateful for it!

again, if there are any mistakes in this chapter, just hmu and i will fix it. i am just tired rn :)

also, slight warning for the beginning of the chapter, there are vivid descriptions of blood and gore and death. but nothing really troubling past that ;P

be safe out there my friends and thank you again

Upwards Over the Mountain

(Bloodhound x Reader)

previous; Chapter 2

Winter is in full swing and the entire world is covered in a thick blanket of white snow and eternal cold. For the most part, you had forgotten all about Bloodhound and the stranger circumstance of your meeting. Because there was not much for a bunch of fishermen and farmers to do during the stagnant times of chill, your bar had become a most frequented hotspot for these idle workers meaning you had very little time to yourself. Busy hands kept your mind busy too and soon some, if not most, of that night had been pushed back to the recesses of your consciousness. It also did not help that they never took you up on your offer of returning to the bar. They retreated back into being merely a story to you, a faint memory of a person long moved on. You could hardly even remember if it had even really happened at all. Oh well, you supposed they had better things to do.

Early morning light was barely seeping in through your bedroom window when you managed to open your eyes. Groggily you yawn and stretch and slowly go to open the curtains. Greeting you was the pleasant sight of a land half-asleep, the sky a brilliant warm pink despite the rest being draped in an unimaginable freeze. Your breath collected as fog on the frozen glass and tentatively you reach out to touch it. It was a lovely morning indeed and it would have stayed that way had you not looked up into the sky.

In the distance, large birds circled. Tiredness shifts to dread as you adjust your eyes to try to get a better look. Those were no ordinary birds, you remark taking note of how large their bodies were and of the swooping patterns of their flight. Those were scavenging birds. And there is only one thing to bring scavengers out during Winter.

You dress quickly, putting on your best and thickest jacket and pants, before grabbing your hunter's knife and bow. Andante was a man of many talents, most of which he passed on to you. One of those talents was his hunting skills. The summer before his knees went, was spent mostly out in the heart of the wild woods. It was an interesting experience, to say the least, and though you were nowhere near what could be considered good, you understood the basics of the hunt and of the weapons you wielded and you knew how to read signs. Signs like scavenger birds circling in the sky. Signs like there was something dying.

Into the snow you run without much of a second thought, your head locked upwards as you follow the shapes of the birds eyeing their next meal. What confused you most about this strange encounter was not the presence of the birds themselves, but the proximity that they were to you and the rest of the town. This was wild country, home of beasts and lands untamed and untouched by man’s iron hand. That much you knew, encounters like this were commonplace if you dared to leave the safety of human comforts. But you were not out in the uncomfortable forest which meant that whatever had caught the bird's attention was either very far from home or of a more concerning matter.

You edge into the outskirts of the white forest, the trees around you nothing more than empty sticks bearing only wind and ice. Overhead, the birds caw and swoop and through the boney fingers of branches, you can see that they are getting lower. You had to move quickly before they did. As you go deeper in, approaching what you assumed to be the border of someone's field, you hear something. Faintly, carried on the morning breeze, was the mewling of an animal. Your pace quickens and quietens as you zone in on the source, painfully aware of how loud the snow was underfoot but pushing on regardless. The relief that you had felt at knowing it was not a person in danger eases some of your mounting anxieties and offers you momentary strength to continue on in pursuit. If given the choice, you would have gladly left whatever animal lay in wait to its own devices, you had no business intruding in on their affairs - your presence would only bring them distress no matter your intentions. But something about this situation told you otherwise and guided your feet to where you would most certainly be needed. On the outskirts of a clearing, you spot something and crouch behind a leafless brush.

There before you, not even 20 meters away, was a fallen elk. You swallow down your gasp and try to focus over the noise of your beating heart, which becomes only louder as you start to take in the entire situation. The animal has toppled over a wired fence of some farmer's land, its hind leg still entangled and bleeding from its restraints, held high above the rest of its body at an uncomfortable angle. From its bloody mouth, it screamed weakly, puffs of dying hot breath escaping with the haunting noise. Your first guess was that this misdirected elk had simply gotten itself stuck in the fence, a most unfortunate event but not entirely implausible, but upon closer inspection at the rest of its heaving body, your guess died on your tongue.

Horrible, long gashes run down the length of the animal's side, pooling blood into the snow around it turning white to red. Its powerful neck was sliced deep in odd places and one of its front legs looked twisted or broken. This creature had not done this kind of destruction to itself - it was attacked. By something. You slowly turn your head around to scan the morning shadows of the forest clearing for any glowing eyes of an animal on the hunt. But there was no predator to be found. There would be none of course, because if there was such a predator here, then why would it not have killed its prey by now? Animals do not find enjoyment in torture and no man, you hoped, would ever do such heinous crimes to such innocent life. For now, at least, it was only you and the elk and the circling, hungry birds.

The elk cries again and you notice how its kicks have become lethargic and stifled by freezing joints and waning energy. It was suffering. Without much debate you ready an arrow in your bow, pulling taut the string with trained proficiency. You whisper to yourself a prayer, hoping that it would only take one arrow to kill the poor thing. You line your aim up, try to cease the shaking in your hands and shoulders, breathing deeply. Your arrow flies prematurely and misses its target, rather than piercing its skull you instead strike it in its neck, right behind its ear. The thing wails, although much softer and with more subtle movements - you must have hit its spine. Seizing the opportunity, you rush forward, ignoring the lurching of your stomach and pulling out your knife. Without a moment's hesitation, you drive it deep into the elk’s heart, right to the hilt of the blade. A little excessive, you deride, but a necessity given your previous inability to finish it quickly.

The thing stops moving. The pained cries fade off into the cold wind. You are left alone with your thoughts and the smell of fresh blood. Beneath your hands the elk lay motionless, its beautiful, soft fur a gentle texture against your trembling form. Andante had made sure that you had killed a few animals before he had honored you with a knife of your own. Still, experience did not dull the sharp sting of shock nor quell the rising weight in your chest. It was suffering, you reminded yourself, lightly dragging your fingers down the side of the animal's large and strong back.

These elk were beautiful creatures, graceful and nimble; they pranced through the wilderness in powerful, delicate strides showcasing the ultimate wonder of the natural world. You had encountered a herd of them once, all the while mesmerized as they strode past your hiding spot without a care in the world. It was quite distressing to see one now crumpled and lifeless. Emptiness sits heavy in your chest and though you know you are not going to throw up, the pressure erupts and you fall to your knees. A red hand clasps the arrow lodged deep in the neck of the animal and sharply pulls it out. You blink hard but cannot stop the tears that threaten to burn your eyes.

It was an animal. It was suffering. You did the right thing.

From somewhere behind you, the softest snow crunches, and your pity party abruptly ends as you draw another arrow and spin around. For a few tense seconds, your fingers quiver around the bow’s string, ready to shoot down if you so dared it. You only hesitate when you finally recognize the figure.

Bloodhound quietly raises both their gloved hands, fingers spread apart in an unarmed, peaceful gesture. You remain poised a moment longer until your eyes start to prick with new tears and you are forced to look away. You drop your arrow and turn back around to the elk, furiously trying to wipe your face with the clean sleeve of your jacket. Now, this was a predicament. What god had you spite so hard to deserve this kind of cruelty? True embarrassment blends with your established disgust and you fear now you may really throw up. Here was a true hunter, a beast born in blood and forged to kill. And here also was you, wallowing in pity. If only you could sink into the floor.

You can hear Bloodhound approach and soon feel their impending presence standing right next to you, taking in the sight of the poor thing on the ground. No one spoke, only the wind dared whisper in the dead world around you. The silence was stretching on for far too long and you knew you had to break it before it became too uncomfortable.

“I’m…” You sniffle hard, trying to force strength into your voice knowing full well that you had very little left to offer. You cough and stand up straight. “I’m not going to do you the dishonor and assume this was your kill.” You say, your voice somehow managing to sustain itself despite your state. Bloodhound does not respond right away, instead, they remain motionless, eyes scanning every detail of the elk and committing it to memory. You shake loose the last of your unstable emotions and grab ahold of your knife again. You move to the elk’s tangled leg and set to work cut free the wires.

“You cry for the animal.” Bloodhound finally speaks, sounding more like an observation rather than a question. With your attention focused on your task, you manage to answer in a more steady and calm attitude.

“Yes.” This was your admission of guilt, not just to Bloodhound but to yourself as well. God, how pathetic you were. “Yes, I cried. I know it is natural. That this is how it is meant to be but,” You hesitate, your lapse in concentration misguiding your knife and almost slicing the tip of our index finger. “This is not a hunt nor a kill. This poor creature was driven away from its home and family and pushed to our borders by some deranged and cruel beast. This is not natural. It was not killed to feed mouths. It was tortured. And it died confused and alone.” The leg snaps free from the wired fence and you wipe your blade clean on the snowy floor, ugly red stains being the only reminder of your deed.

“There is no shame in veeping.” Bloodhound murmurs a brash reassurance and kneels down, tracing their fingers from the elk’s wounds. “Vhat did this?”

“My guess is,” You state taking a step back and allowing Bloodhound to proceed with whatever they were wanting to do with the body, “A few years back, an illegal trading ship hit a bit of trouble just beyond our planet's frontier and had to quickly dump its cargo on the East mountains. Some of that cargo was the creatures we call ‘Shrieks’. They are alien to this ecosystem but even though they are terribly small and their numbers were minimal, they dominated the local wildlife - killing not just for food but for fun. The town’s people tried to cull some of their numbers but,” You explanation stutters off and you hastily take in a sharp breath, the icy air burning your nose and lungs. “Well, they could not get them all. It appears now that they are growing in size again. And in courage.”

Bloodhound does not respond, their attention wholly directed at the study of the animal. You wait a moment longer, the adrenaline of the moment finally ebbing off and allowing the freezing cold to seep into your bones. You shiver and wrap your arms around your body. Bloodhound stands, all the while their attention remains downward.

“You can leave it there.” You say, passing one more glance over the body before averting your gaze elsewhere. “If you want nothing from it, leave it for the birds. They could use the meal.” As if aware of their mention, the still-waiting scavengers call loudly from the tree-top. A raven answers with a caw and you look around to find many black birds scattered around the clearing. The birds do seem to follow their raven stranger everywhere they went. The wind howled through the desolate forest and you grimace upon thinking of returning to your empty house with such a shallow heart. The smell of blood lingers cruelly to your clothes, reminding you of what you had just witnessed. You had to think of something to keep your mind off it, thinking of your act for people, play your part until you finally were normal again. But your bar would not be open until at least noon and there was no one else who would be willing to distract you.

“Did you track it all the way here?” Your voice breaks the silence, your mind subconsciously switching to your more charming persona. They do not answer immediately.

“I sensed distress and followed its blood.” They weren’t giving you much to work off of and you shuffle in place.

“Then I suppose you will need a ride back?” This garners their attention and they turn to face you, the nerve of being under their masked gaze still sending jolts up and down your spine.

“I cannot accept your generosity again.” Bloodhound tries to talk you down but you scoff and lift a hand to silence them.

“Please, I won't be needed until lunch and I really don't mind.” Your tone successfully managed to hide that you had a third reason to be so insistent - you just hoped that they could not see the desperation in your face. They could. They take a moment to consider your offer, whatever expression lay under their mask you would never know. The raven to their left caws and they turn to look at it. It takes off after a final noise and Bloodhound lowers their head back to you - some secret understanding passing between bird and hunter.

“Then,” Bloodhound motions for you to lead the way, “By all means.” Though strained and almost painful, your first smile of the day pulls at your lips and you turn around to walk back to your house.

Bloodhound, as bizarre and strange as they were, never afforded you the opportunity to truly draw a defined picture of their personality. Wrapped so totally in mystery and gear, your perception of them was created on a flimsy base of shadows - beyond what they portrayed on T.V, you knew nothing of. But in the frozen forest of that Winter’s morning, something changed and you felt your world flip upside down onto its head.

Bloodhound was a lot more talkative on the way to their cabin than they had been the first time. Or any time really that you had interacted with them. It had started with you asking them the simple question of how they managed to track the injured elk and although their initial answer remained vague, a tangent soon manifested and from there the spiral began. To your utter surprise, and mild enjoyment, they proved themselves to be a great storyteller and had many wonderful and whimsical tales about their Gods and hunts that had made the drive over to their place seem almost too short.

“Most people stop me at this point.” Bloodhound commented, drawing a snicker from you as your eyes were glued to the ice-capped road ahead.

“Well, most people are not here. And I am very much enjoying myself. I love stories.” You could not see it, but your response brought a cracked smile to Bloodhound's hidden face.

By the time you had reached their cabin, they had entranced you in a tale about wolves and the true essence of the hunt. Though you thought your morning could not get any more surprising, Bloodhound steps out of your truck and extends an offer to share warm drinks with them inside. In the heart of Winter, you could not resist the temptation.

The interior of their cabin was much as you expected - totally unpredictable. It was like a bear and a machine had a fight, a complete subversion of everything you had come to know as normal. On the floor was a multitude of animal rugs, the couches too were draped with the furs of Bloodhound’s past, presumed, victories. Yet despite the clear aesthetic for ruggedness, a definite sense of modern order was showing through. The fireplace was quaint in its design but unmistakable retro. The furniture too, the chairs and tables, shelves and windows, were all of a very contemporary era. A perfect combination of the comforts of the past and the conveniences of the present. But all and all, the only word that came to your head when you first stepped in through their front door was - cozy.

Bloodhound leads you through their small cabin, past the living room, and into the small kitchen. They motion for you to take a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room and you marvel at the smells and sights around you. Hanging from strings draped across the walls were various herbs and spices and on the counter in bowls were fresh fruit and vegetables. They must have visited the town if this was their food supply and you feel a twinge of apprehension pluck at your light mood. You brush it off as Bloodhound asks if you would prefer tea or coffee.

“I find myself the one in honor of sharing breakfast with you this morning. Fair varning must be made, however,” Bloodhound extends a steaming cup towards you, “I have been told I am not the most accomplished of hosts.” You smile gratefully and take the cup into your shivering hands. The drink was shockingly and terribly bitter and you barely manage to hold back your gag at the first sip. Bloodhound snickers at your reaction and produces a tub of honey for you to add to your drink. “And that my tastes are mostly unagreeable.”

“Oh please,” You wheeze weakly after drowning your taste buds in the soothing honey, “This is nothing. Besides, I assume that, with your choice of isolation, you don’t particularly want to be anyone's host.” Bloodhound hums at your comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it. They pull up to the opposite chair and take a seat and you notice how their drink has a straw in it.

“I am not entirely opposed to indulging certain people. And even fewer dare to give my delights a try. Therefore I rather keep them to myself. I do, however, give special heed to those vho show interest in my stories.” This draws a smirk from your lips as you bring the hot liquid up to your mouth for another sip. Content silence passes through the room and you focus intently on the warmth now spreading through your hands and to the rest of your body. “I did not think that anyone vould be out on such a morning like this.” Bloodhound admits, causing you to slowly look at them and lower your cup.

“Most are too old or too busy to take time out of their day to notice these things, or to even care. And I do not do well in the cold. Today was a special exception.” At the mention of the temperature outside you quickly raise your cup to your mouth and down another gulp. When you open your eyes again, you finally notice the bird in the room who had before blended so seamlessly in with the other oddities of the kitchen. Sat on a perch made of carved wood to the left of Bloodhound was their signature raven. It tilts its head at your attention, letting out a meek calling before eyeing you up and down. Bloodhound must really like their raven friend if they were kind enough to invite them inside. The sight alone was enough to bring a bemused grin to your chapped lips and Bloodhound watched it all happen in mild fascination.

“Do you often listen to birds?” They ask, breaking you out of an almost trance and extending to their raven a piece of freshly sliced apple.

“It is not so strange.” You breathe a laugh, “It was what led me to finding you in the rain that first evening.” Bloodhound turns their disk-like lenses towards your face and wordlessly implores you to continue. Despite the warmth now residing in your bones, you still shiver under their daunting gaze. “Your friend I mean,” You motion to the raven who has also turned to look at you with its beady, brown eyes as if aware that it was the topic of conversation, “Its cries were all I could hear. Which is saying something, considering it was storming pretty hard.”

“I do not think it skrýtinn.” Bloodhound replies without missing a beat, their voice mellow and their words an alluring symphony of strange syllables, a true joy to listen to. “Just an uncommon trait in most people. And his name is Artur.” You pass the bird a look and slightly tip your head in acknowledgment of his name. He squawks and fluffs his chest feathers, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. Bloodhound smiles at the bird. “Ravens are the messengers of the Allfather. They guide and aid me on my hunts. I do not think it skrýtinn to listen to them. Only that someone else does also.”

“You give me too much credit.” You bashfully avert your gaze, dropping your eye level to the rim of your mug no longer steaming. “It has only been a few, very odd occasions. Mere coincidences if nothing else.” Bloodhound shrugs off your deflection, unpersuaded by your argument.

“Even so.” The room falls into a content stillness after their last comment and you are left wondering how you had even ended up here. On T.V, Bloodhound was a truly mysterious character, never talking or partaking in the more rowdy activities as the others did. Sure, you were not an avid watcher, but from what little time you had spent gazing at the screen, you had made Bloodhound out to be a vastly stoic, isolated person. And by all means, they had mostly proven themselves to be exactly that person, what with their initial reluctance to meet your extended friendliness and the way they had so precariously placed themselves on this mountain all alone. However, sitting now with them in their own house, you did not feel intruding or unwelcome. And the way they spoke to you, the ease of words and conversation, came as soft and comfortable as if from someone you had known before. From them, you could feel nothing but gentle amity.

“Do you hunt?” Bloodhound’s voice wafts through the air and to your ears, bringing your head up in a hum. You snicker, a twinge of embarrassment pulling at your chest.

“Not if I can help it. Though Andante did try, I simply cannot,” you inhale deeply through your nose, suddenly aware of the gaze trained attentively on you, “Find the strength to actually kill anything. Much to the dismay of my patrons.” This peaks Bloodhounds attention and they motion for you to explain yourself.

“Every year around the beginning of Summer, before the birth of the first lambs, the town gathers for a sort of Summer festival. With my bar being the sole provider of food and alcohol for such an event, it normally fell upon Andante to supply the people with a freshly killed elk. A make-shift banquet we would all share. Everyone has so much fun.” Your head drops and your shoulders give inwards.

“But with him gone, I doubt I would be able to give the people what they want. Last year I barely managed to scrape by, I had to do a lot of ass-kissing to get the more hardened townsfolk back on my side. But this year,” Your story fades and you sigh miserably, the relief of finally expressing this concern aloud only seeming to momentarily dull the growing sense of shame.

“It is stupid, I know.” You run a hand through your hair, the bubbling self-hatred in your stomach threatening to go overboard. You were oversharing again. A lot. But you could not find a way to stop. “But, what right do I have to take the life of an animal when I already have frozen meat stored in my fridge?” Strength wanes from your knees and you are glad to be sitting down - oh, you were definitely going to kick yourself over this one later. Perhaps staying at home all alone would have been the better option after all.

In the silence that followed your last words, you felt incredible judgment bare down upon your shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to shrink away from it. Under the menace that was your own self-scrutiny, you were unable to recognize that Bloodhound was not, in fact, judging you. From behind their goggles, they watched you closely, noticing the subtle shudder of your shoulders, the downward twinge of your head, and the way your eyes seem to have lost that burning. This was something that troubled you deeply and for a terribly long time as well. So instead of what might be predicted of them to feel or do, mainly berate you for your lack of spine in the face of their profession, Bloodhound only leaned back in their chair and their mind wondering on how best to help you.

“It is not about vhat is right or vhat is not.” Bloodhound finally speaks, their tone mellow and coaxing you to look up at them again. At your acknowledgment, they continue with their explanation. “The hunt is a matter of vill - the vill of the hunter and of their prey. If your vill as a hunter surpasses that of the prey's vill to live, then you have every right to take it.” They ball their hand into a fist in an expression of power, shaking it slightly for emphasis. “You as a hunter must have an unwavering ákveðni, and strong belief in your skills. Trust your veapons and abilities, know that you are verðugt of the hunt.” Their voice lowers and they watch you for any signs of apprehension or disagreement. You only manage to look at them, eyes an unreadable ocean of something at war. They bring their fist to their chest and hammer it hard on the fabric, an attempt to ignite passion from you.

“If the hunter is humble and honors the hunt, then they have every right to taka their prey. Reap their rewards. You must just believe yourself vorthy of it. I have already seen that you have the ability and skill. Your bow, through troubled, aimed sure. And your knife brought a swift death. Now…”

“Just need to practice it.” You finish their statement, your gaze drifting a thousand miles away. Sure their wisdom was easy to take, generous even given the circumstances, but your mind was too frazzled to digest even a single word. Worthy? Not someone who hides in the forest and plays pretend bar-keeper. Bloodhound could see how you hesitated at their words, not necessarily rejecting it but not truly considering them either. They felt the urge to lean in more, to keep talking and chipping away at your pseudo mask until finally, they struck home. What were you thinking right now? Why were you so disgruntled at the thought of being worth something?

“You listen but my vords are not heard. You disagree vith vhat I say?” Bloodhound asks, their arms folding over their torso as they sit themselves upright, alert to your every movement and utterance. At their question you stir, a tired laugh that sounds more like a sigh escaping your nose and your eyes dropping their gaze.

“No, not at all. I am just… surprised.” Your response is framed with quiet complacency, your expression shifting to one of meek placidness. Bloodhound could tell that you were retreating back inside yourself, falling behind curtains of a trained profession such as the first night they met you. No longer were you that desperate person standing in the woods over a kill they mourned, instead you were a fake silhouette of someone who once was. They frown, unsure why they felt so unhappy to watch you shrink away again. Without speaking, Bloodhound asks you to elaborate.

“Forgive my rudeness but,” Your eyes snap up again and Bloodhound sees nothing in them. “I don’t really know you. And what little I do know, well, is that you are a most proficient hunter of both man and beast.” A hand lifts to your chest and you laugh. “You have seen it all and must think I am most annoying. Yet,” You pause, Bloodhound hanging off every one of your words, “You are so kind to my troubles.”

“I do not hunt in the Apex Games to prove anything. I do it for my folk and for the Allfather. I am no better than any other hunter.” Bloodhound speaks plainly, their heart thumping in their chest and their stare never once leaving your face. You smile unknowingly under their attention and they stare at your weak imitation of the real thing. Your true smile was the one they saw whilst sitting on the grass with you or when they told you stories in the car. Right now, you were faking it. Pulling away from them. Returning once more to your charade of sensibility. Whatever genuineness they had somehow managed to draw out of you was waning and they could do nothing but look on as you slipped away from them.

“I didn't mean to offend.” You ease them, your words lacing themselves with accommodation. “Your people must be very proud of all your titles however. No denying that it is impressive regardless of your motive.” You chuckle lightly. Suddenly you frown and you tilt your head at them. “May I ask,” When they did not oppose, you continued, “Why are you here? On this planet I mean. Why are you not with your people?” Bloodhound looks on like a marble statue, hardly even breathing beneath all their armor. You worry you might have overstepped your boundary and you open your mouth to apologize but they quickly cut you off.

“My folk vould not understand my decisions. Nor vould they approve of most that I do.” You can tell that the conversation was over and the warmth your bitter, hot drink had offered you only minutes earlier faded with the atmosphere. You nod in resignation.

“Then,” You say, standing and bowing your head in anticipated gratitude, the raven stranger’s attentive gaze not once shifting off your form, “I look forward to the Winter when I do not hear your Artur's call.”

“Oh my sweet, gentle Bar-keep, I am in need of your assistance!” Your eyes snap upwards from their work of stacking away cleaned glasses and you cannot help but grin at the one calling you. Seated at a table in the middle of your bar was a very drunk Thomas waving you over in exaggerated and hurried movements. He rocked backward in his seat and nearly looked as if he would fall over. You sigh and think it better to listen to him, lest your bar never know quiet again for the remainder of the evening. You step out from behind your bar table and carefully stroll over to him, a playfully condescending expression plastered to your face. Thomas beams a lop-sided smile and extends his hand, which you ignore and instead pat him lightly on his shoulder. He hums and overlaps your hand with his own seemingly unperturbed by your refusal.

“Ah my dear,” Thomas hiccups, swaying slightly in place despite being perfectly still, “Do not worry. I have not called you here to cause trouble. I just could not bear to see you stand behind your bar so lonely. I simply had to call you here. So troubled and worried over something.” Thomas squeezes your hand lightly and you roll your eyes at his obnoxious and misplaced concern.

“Though his words are slurred, they come from a genuine place.” From across the table, the farmer Mallory spoke. She offers you a sympathetic smile and silently apologies for her friend’s unruly behavior. Her heavy arms fold defensively over her large chest and she scowls at Thomas who sheepishly chuckles under her glare, retracting his hand and shrinking away slightly. Mallory sighs and looks to you again, the same concern that claimed her companion now sprinkled into her brown eyes. “You look a thousand years away tonight. What has upset you so?”

The two patrons turn their attention onto you and you gently shrug off their worries with a mild hand wave and flash of your smile. “You are looking for smoke signals when there is none, Mallory. And Mr. Thomas, you are concerned over the wrong things. You should be more concerned about returning to your own home before it gets too dark and I have to phone Rohan to come fetch you again.” Though the woman remains unmoved by your deflection, Thomas scoffs and shakes his head.

“Rohan’s bed will stay warm regardless of where I am. And he would excuse whatever lateness I cause if he had also seen how,” he stutters, his fingers flexing as he tried feebly to grasp at words that would not come, “ sad you look tonight.” You let out a tired laugh at the drunk fisherman’s antics and punch lightly at his shoulder.

“I assure you, my ‘sad looks’ are merely just that. Looks.” You gesture to the various empty beer glasses scattered around the table and after a nod from Mallory, you begin to place them on a tray to take back to the kitchen to be washed. “How ever could I be sad when I have your fine company to make my evenings so noisy?” This draws a cackle from the bitter woman, who relishes in your pecking at the man. Thomas gasps and feigns hurt under your judgments, a teasing hand placing pitifully over his broken heart.

It was all a lie, of course. There was some deep sincerity to your sadness that evening and it was not over Thomas’ painful crooning. Try as you might, your mind could not rid itself from the events that had occurred only the day before. What had happened with Bloodhound plagued your every waking moment. During the more lively hours of the day, when your bar was packed with singing, intoxicated patrons, you thankfully had a very loud and engrossing distraction. But now, as the evening winded down and the last table still waited to be cleared, your mind was awash with bitter thoughts.

It was all going so well, they had been so welcoming and friendly and you sat in their home confident and assured. They had shared in you their many stories and experiences, pulling you deeper into a conversation than you had ever been with them. And yet the moment you opened your mouth, allowed it to run unchecked and unguarded, the walls came down and the party ended. You were a fool, you kicked yourself. A damn, stupid fool for allowing yourself to speak so freely. To express to them a most sensitive part of yourself that not even your bathroom mirror had known. It was because of your inability to keep yourself in line that caused the rift to tear and now separate you from the person of your interest. Bloodhound told you such wonderful stories and now you were sure they would never want to speak to you again.

But you put on your brave face and pretend as if nothing is wrong. And that is true, of course. Nothing is wrong. Your life was fine before their intrusion and it shall be fine thereafter. The show must and will go on. Eventually, forced routine will become natural again and you will slip back into ease and complicit quietness. You will learn to move on and most certainly, so will they. If ever, you doubted greatly, you even left that much of an impact on them and all their glory.

“It is because you are so lonely, that's why you are so sad.” Thomas chimes, drawing both yours and Mallory’s attention back on him. He hums with content and leans back in his chair, sure that if he had a beard he would be stroking it thoughtfully. “We must find you someone to work with. Someone you can boss around and pull on their ear.” He winks at you and you smirk back, playing into his needful childishness.

“This is not the dark ages, Mr. Thomas.” You tease, taking your loaded tray to the bar counter and speaking over your shoulder. “We do not arrange marriages anymore.” The fisherman jeers and Mallory kicks him under the table. You return to them quickly, bringing with you a wet cloth and a glass of water requested by the woman. She presses it to Thomas’ face and commands him to sober up.

“Then how else are we supposed to get you hitched?” Thomas continues, paying no heed to the violent death stares of the woman sat across from him. Mallory kicks him again and he nearly spills his drink from the movement. You grin at the two of them, stepping back from the freshly wiped table with your arms folded over your chest.

“People don't need to be with others to be happy. I am perfectly content with myself as company.” You announce with your nose pointed in the air. “And you, as occasional annoyances.” The man chokes on his drink and Mallory snorts at your comment. You decide to continue playing along, matching their extended friendliness with your own enthusiasm.

“Y’know, I always thought it a vile rumor that fishermen were mad people.” You joke, taking the cloth and wringing it out before throwing it over your shoulder. “Nothing to do all day but sit in boats and think. But with every word you speak, my dear Thomas, I begin to believe that the rumor has some truth behind it." This arouses a snicker from the woman farmer and she shakes her head in amusement over you and disappointment for her friend. Thomas whines a noise that does not sound like any language you would know and Mallory leans forward.

"Finish your drink, my friend. I will see you home tonight." She urges the glass of water to his attention. "I cannot bear to watch you be torn apart any longer." Thomas darts his eyes between Mallory and you, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish out of water. You smugly smile at him, charming with all the beauty and grace of a snake. After a moment he relents, slumping down into his seat with a defeated huff, the water glass in hand.

“I swear, that mouth of yours,” Thomas moans into his glass weakly as if greatly wounded on a battlefield, “It is more vicious than any beast I’ve come across. Godspeed to anyone who dares to try to face such a monster.” At his last comment, you exhale loudly through your nose and shake your head dismissively. With one final look from Mallory, you leave the two late-evening patrons to finish their drinks and return to your work behind the bar.

The mood in the bar is somewhat lighter now and your hands worked at an easier pace with your mind quietly wondering over Thomas’ words. This was not the first time you had been scolded over your sharp words and you were sure it would not be your last. Conversation was your master and you were always one quick with your words, whether that be for the better or worse. Over the sound of you wiping down plates and glasses with a cloth, you could hear Thomas and Mallory talking faintly, the wind whispering outside your walls, and the gentle nothing of the world beyond. It was a peaceful evening, much more so now that you had dealt with your rowdy patron and the thoughts that curled like rats in a drowning cage. Though his comments were unnecessary, you thank Thomas for his distraction and for his unwitting lifting of your spirits. At least now you would be able to sleep soundly and with less of a worried mind.

Suddenly, a knock at the front door. Curious, unsure if it had even happened, you cast your attention over to it. It was far too late for anyone wanting to pop in for a drink and even if it was you were sure to turn them away. But still; there was no denying that you had, in fact, heard something. Or someone. Wordlessly, you slip out from your bar and quickly stroll to the door, pulling it swiftly open to reveal a cold night and a strange visitor.

“Oh,” You mumble, blinking numbly like a star-struck owl. You shake your head and revive your best smile to be planted on your lips. “What a lovely surprise.”

Standing before you, Bloodhound tipped their helmet, specks of accumulated snow falling off in the process. “Good evening,” They respond formally.

“And to you.” You nod back, familiar shivers running up and down your spine as you stood under their gaze. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You swoon, curling your words with over-exaggerated sweetness so as to hopefully hide your utter shock at their being here. They always seem to have a knack for popping back into your life when you least expected it. But now of all time, why?! You could hardly even look at them straight after what had happened not even the day before! Fresh embarrassment boiled in our stomach and you wanted nothing more but to go back into your quiet existence. This had to be some cruel dream from a most hateful deity, cursing you out for some horrible act you had unwittingly done. Why could they not just go back to being a figure on the T.V, an unknown? Why did they have to be here, standing before you, talking to you?!

“I vish to speak with you.” Bloodhound says, voice terribly low and near-emotionless. It caught you off guard slightly at how plain and devoid of anything they sounded, nothing at all like the passionate hunter you sat and drank with yesterday.

“My bar will be closed soon.” You explain after a moment of debating on what to say. A strong part of you begged for an excuse to say no, the refusal even gracing the tip of your tongue in eager desperation. But your hospitality overrode your anxiety and you stepped to the side to allow entry into your bar. “If you do not mind waiting a few minutes then you will have my undivided attention.”

Bloodhound considers your words, eyes darting between your face and the warm interior of the business. They too notice how your own words seem guarded this evening, jaded behind bars of entertainment and false care. You smiled, yes, but it was not genuine. Again, you reeked of fakeness and it irked them for some unknown reason. They hum their agreement and stride quickly inside. Upon their entrance, two faces turn to look at them.

You shuffle between Bloodhound and the skeptical table, closing the door and guiding your new patron over to the bar. They follow closely behind you and seat themselves on a red cushion stool. You resume your position as host and perform your duties accordingly, offering them something to drink while they wait. Bloodhound silently refused, only lifting their hand and shaking their head.

“I don’t think I mentioned it before,” You say, works trickling out like a spring in a dessert, soothing all worries with a trained presentation. “A while ago we had a fellow pass through our humble town who had a similar accent to yours. He was a swindler and tried to persuade me to purchase from him strange pickled meats and other strange things.” While you spoke, you resumed your wiping of the glasses and plates, talking over your shoulder as you worked in a most casual manner.

“Though everyone tried to steady my hand, he just was so compelling and I caved. And now I have, stored in the back for the foreseeable future, a bottle of the most potent alcohol anyone has ever seen.” Your face softens into a smile as you recall the memories of that night when a brave soul tried to drink from that poison. “Someone once tried and no one has since. Perhaps it is a drink you know?” You cock your question at Bloodhound, leaning over the bar table and grinning.

“Your intuition values you, but perhaps another night I can provide you an answer.” You take Bloodhound dismissal with grace and nod your head in swift acknowledgment. They were cold tonight, the very definition of stoic. Whatever they wanted to discuss with you, you could only hope would somehow be more lighthearted than this. From behind the hunter, movement erupts as the two patrons stand up.

“We are off, my dear Bar-Keep.” Thomas sings, waving a hand at you in an irritating manner. Mallory follows close as they make their way to the front door, her eyes practically burning holes into the raven stranger’s dead-straight back. She passes you a flash of a concerned look and you calm her down with a cool smile.

“Have a good night and a safe journey home.” You call after them, mildly glad that now your ears would know rest from the fisherman’s chanting. However, as his hands grace the front door’s handle, Thomas quickly spins on his heels and points towards you and your new arrival.

“Don’t you dare try anything with my Bar-keep!” Thomas threatens, standing with his hackles raised like a chihuahua to a bear, “If I hear that you have touched even a single hair, so help me I’ll-”

“Thomas.” Mallory punches the man's shoulder causing him to drop his ill-backed threat and wince in pain. Without a moment more, the farmer shoves the man out the door and the two disappear into the night with the door closely swiftly behind. You stare after them, the atmosphere suddenly seeming to shrink and grow cold as you become painfully aware of your aloneness with the hunter.

“They seem nice.” Bloodhound remarks and you are so stunned by their nonchalant attitude you nearly snort.

“It is a small town. Everyone here is like family.” You explain, turning to face those unreadable, immovable lenses. “Besides, I serve him beer. I get special privileges.” At this Bloodhound seems to stir and you feel slightly more room to breathe. Relax, it was just conversation. Don’t get carried away again and you will be fine.

The conversation halted, however, neither you nor Bloodhound knowing what next to say to break the forming ice that had started growing between you two. Though you wanted to know what exactly had compelled them to travel all the way to visit you on such an odd evening, you could tell that they were not ready to answer so instead you plucked random topics from the top of your head.

“Winter is moving slowly this year,” You begin, regaling the exact dialogue you had shared that afternoon prior with a patron and reusing it word for word, “No big snow storms as of yet. But that just means that towards the end of the season, Mother Nature will rear her true head and drive us all inside our houses.” You sigh and rest your elbow on the tables’ surface, your busy work of drying cutlery all finished and packed away. “Many people tell me, warn me in fact, that the late-season storms are the worst kinds. Impossible snow and hail and everything else to make the shit pie complete. And I thought the cold now is hard to handle. I have no idea how I’ll-”

“Stop that.” Bloodhound interrupts you harshly, their voice an almost growl as they sit behind their undecipherable armor. You are slightly taken aback by their outright force at the command, flashbacks to the first time you met them in all their rage reappearing in your mind. Bloodhound remains still, fists clenched over the table, shaking beneath the heavy red fabric gloves.

Though you cannot see, they squeeze their eyes shut in an effort to understand why, so suddenly, they were getting so worked up. Why were you just talking to them? So nonchalant and practiced - it felt as if talking to them was a chore. Some kind of business transaction or task that was only being done as a means to an end. But that is not what muddled Bloodhound’s mind, not your lack of genuine interaction, your quiet was not what drove them out of their house and to your bar this evening. What made them toil in confused agony, was why they even cared so much for your genuine company?

“What?” You murmur after a minute of stale silence, the wind picking up the rising atmosphere inside the bar and clawing at the windows to join in. The raven stranger does not respond right away, instead they fight with what words would be best used in this kind of delicate situation.

“Stop that.” They repeat their vague statement sternly, staring at you through their goggles with great intent, noticing any slight change in your features or body language. “Stop trying to sell me your company. I do not vant it.” At this you frown and straighten your back, confused beyond anything at what they could mean. You open your mouth to speak but Bloodhound stops you with a raised hand.

“You talk but there is no life. You smile but there is no light behind it. Do you think I am not worthy of your trueness? I have seen your true self but always you hide it. Do you think you are not worthy of enjoying yourself?” Utterly and so completely shocked at what was being said, you stood wordless with your face a mix between anger and bewilderment. Bloodhound watched you, eyes scanning up and down your form for any signs of egregious discontent. Why weren’t you speaking? Why weren’t you reacting in any way? Had their visit and accusations not even struck a nerve with you? You only stood there, placid and unwavering, like ice waiting for the sun to melt it.

“I have talked vith this free person, sat in silence vith them and felt þægilegt , calm. And I came here this evening because…” Bloodhound falters at this, unsure at what best to say when describing the reason they themselves still had no answer to. Why had they come here to bother you? Why had you not left their thoughts since yesterday, or even, since that afternoon on the grass? Why is it that when the world goes quiet and they stand still to listen, it is you who looms in the corner of their vision, beckoning for them to find you? In such a short time of meeting, somehow you had trapped them in some unforeseen and unbreakable cage - an ever-present urge to lean in more, to seek you out. But why, exactly, it was you of all people who had proclaimed that spot of interest, was a mystery that the Allfather cruelly hid from them.

“Vhat is it you vant from me?” Bloodhound lowly asks, their tone hollow and their demeanor stone-cold. Perhaps that was the reason for their spontaneous visit - to search for an answer themselves. To find out if maybe you felt at all the same way they did.

“Nothing.” The words leak from your lips like a whisper yet hold the strength and bite of a scream. Devoid of all anger, hostility, confusion, and regret, you gaze back at the raven stranger, “What ever could I possibly want from you?” And there it was - their answer.

“Now if that is all you came to ask me, then I must now say good night.” You motion with your attention towards the door, still shell-shocked over what had just transpired. Why are they so angry towards you? So taken aback by, what you were sure to be, great and comforting hospitality? This was the reason you had so ardently avoided opening yourself up to people, allowing yourself to talk unchecked often leads to situations where people get angry. And now Bloodhound was angry and you were sure you could never fix it.

The raven stranger slowly rises from their seat, tipping their helmet in a stiff manner before silently making their way over to the front door. This is how it will be, forever. You made a mistake, let your mouth have free rein over your conversations, and brought ruin to a person that made your chest ache. And as you watched them slip away into the snowy night, the only thing you can say was, “Have a safe journey home.”

#man i am aso tired #but i must post #for the horn kneeee #if you are reading my tags friends #thank you #i love you uwu #and i cannot thank you enough for taking time out of your day to read this hot garbage i post #apex legends bloodhound #bloodhound x reader #apex legends fic #apex legends x reader #bloth hondr

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