#too much legalese

[luna-rainbow]

I'm currently reading a fic and this is the 3rd or so fic I've read post tfatws in which they put bucky in a mental institution against his wishes and they basically keep him drugged because he's "dangerous" and the use it kind of as a punishment for madripoor. Do you think they could "realistically" ( as realistic as it can get in this super hero world) do that to him? and if they did, could Sam di anything? cause when people are in real need of being put in mental institutions, they have someone taking the decisions for them, and it's usually family but bucky not having family then what does that mean? is the government responsible of him? what do you think?

Thanks for the ask!

I actually have a bit in my (yet unfinished 😭) fic about Sam absolutely getting the shits when Bucky gets subjected to involuntary treatment.

The problem with mental health laws and regulations is that it varies a lot regionally, so make sure you look up what’s relevant to your state and country.

Most jurisdictions have laws around involuntary treatment for mental health conditions, which a) gives clinicians powers to enforce some treatment, and b) give some leeway to the patient’s autonomy. Some tilt the balance one way more than the other.

Given we’re speaking about Bucky who’s most likely to end up back in New York, I’m going to go off the New York standard.

Involuntary standard: person has a mental illness for which care & treatment in a mental hospital is essential to his/her welfare; person's judgment is too impaired for him/her to understand the need for such care and treatment; as a result of his/her mental illness, the person poses a substantial threat of harm to self or others.

Emergency standard: reasonable cause to believe that the person has a mental illness for which immediate observation, care and treatment in a hospital is appropriate and which is likely to result in serious harm to him/ herself or others. "Likelihood of serious harm" means: a substantial risk of physical harm to the person as manifested by threats of or attempts at suicide or serious bodily harm or other conduct demonstrating that the person is dangerous to him/herself. or a substantial risk of physical harm to other persons as manifested by homicidal or other violent behavior by which others are placed in reasonable fear of serious physical harm.

The first requires certification by 2 physicians, followed by concordance by the admitting hospital psychiatrist. The second (emergency) plan can be initiated by police officers, Director of Community Services, or other community mental health professionals, followed by concordance by the admitting hospital psychiatrist. That means in all circumstances, at least 2-3 professionals need to sign off on this.

The emergency provision is valid for 15 days while the involuntary standard (the first) is valid for 60 days which I think is similar to what I’ve seen elsewhere. What that means is that the patient needs to be reassessed before the act lapses to see whether they still require involuntary admission and the clinicians apply to court if they do. But the emergency provision grants just a little more power in terms of treatment.

Under the emergency act, treatments can be given “at any time to all patients, despite objection in a case where the treatment appears necessary to avoid serious harm to life or limb of the patients themselves or others”. Under involuntary admissions, patients and their representative can go through the formal objection pathway. (Source) I don’t have enough understanding of American systems to know whether there is enough guarantee of impartiality there, but that is the most important thing here. It isn’t a hard stretch for Shield/CIA/whatever other organisation to have Bucky be brought to a unit they run under the emergency provision, then have their own psychiatrist certify him as needing involuntary admission. The Madripoor incident objectively looks bad on his file, and they can argue that his non-compliance with court mandated therapy means he has poor insight and is now a risk of serious harm to others due to his violence.

Now the next section of the law is relevant for treatment and consent:

Electro-convulsive therapy, surgery, major medical treatment or the use of experimental drugs or procedures may be administered to any patient only upon the informed consent of the patient or of a person authorized to act on his or her behalf after a full and comprehensive disclosure of potential benefits and the potential of harm.

Most likely, given Bucky’s serum, he’s going to need experimental doses of drugs or experimental treatments.

Patients are presumed to have sufficient mental capacity to give consent unless there are facts and substantial reasons to the contrary.

If a patient is 18 years or older but in the opinion of the chief of the service does not have sufficient mental capacity to give consent, authorization for the procedure in question must be obtained from the spouse, a parent, an adult child, or a court of competent jurisdiction.

If it is not clear that the patient has sufficient mental capacity to give consent, an independent opinion about the patient's mental capacity must be obtained from a qualified consultant who is not an employee of the facility.

Note in the real world this generally covers most bases, but for Bucky, the problem starts here.

I think it will be very difficult for an independent assessor to call Bucky mentally incompetent, based on his actions in the movies and in TFATWS. However, that does not preclude clinicians with ulterior motives assessing him as mentally incompetent in order to administer involuntary treatments.

The next problem is, I don’t think Bucky has the legal knowledge to protect himself, and he may already have been subjected to involuntary treatment under the emergency provision. So can Sam (or anyone else) do anything?

I am having trouble finding whether or not the New York courts recognise “de facto” partners as spouses under the Mental Hygiene Law (there are provisions for this in Australia). If not, and Bucky does not have a spouse, parent or child who can represent him, then it’s up to “a court of competent jurisdiction”, which…given the breadth of influence Hydra has, will be of questionable competence. In that situation, he will fall under the guardianship of a legal entity. I am…also not familiar enough with American law to know whether Bucky can assign Sam as his representative (or as we call it in Australia, guardian). He will need to prove his competence in making that decision, and it’s a bit trickier than assigning a family member or spouse, but if it’s formalised then it can be respected. (*) Second corollary here that I’ve read stories where assigned representatives were ignored in hospitals, with same sex partners being ignored in favour of estranged parents.

Now, your question was whether they can “realistically” do that. I guess that depends on what that means 😅

Can they objectively assess Bucky as mentally ill and incompetent? We are talking about objective assessors who do not have a stake in whether Bucky is in or out of institution. The answer is no. Bucky does not have a mental illness that can be treated by being institutionalised, and he is not a risk of harm to others any more than any other free-roving superhero figure in the MCU. If he is willing to talk about the Madripoor incident, he will be able to prove his capacity and logic. He may get criminal charges for battery (and other charges for breaking Zemo out of jail) but that’s not for the mental health professionals to decide 🤷‍♀️

However, can organisations with ulterior motives realistically use the mental health law to put him in confinement? Yes, but it takes a lot of collusion and there are a lot of safeguards against this happening in real life, which may not apply in Marvel’s universe.

#asks #hope that answered your question nonnie! #bucky barnes #medical meta #bucky barnes meta #too much legalese #long post

[distantlaughter]

im so paralyzed by wanting everything to be accurate I’m looking up laliga disciplinary regulations but it’s all in Spanish and I really can’t be fucked the best ur getting from me is a gentle perusal of the premier league handbook

#too much legalese my brain isn’t made for reading this

[hey-august]

i was supposed to go to sleep, but here we are...

WC: ~700

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, buggy x f!reader, fingering, multiple orgasms, "good girl," bit of misuse of devil fruit powers bc it just makes things easier to imagine

"Shhh..." Buggy hushed you before flipping a page.

Your teeth clamped harder on your lip, biting back the sounds that he deemed "too distracting." When you offered to help the captain with his paperwork, this wasn't what you meant.

---

Buggy quickly lost steam when it came to bureaucratic drudgery. Anything he could delegate was passed off. Work that had to be done by him was also passed off. This worked until it didn't. Until the crew learned about his deadlines and his ploys.

Suddenly, everyone was busy. There were emergencies that needed immediate help. Excuses were said in between breaths.

"Excuse me, Captain, someone's stuck in the rigging." "Richie broke a claw and I need to check on him." "I broke my hand and have to go to the infirmary." "I have to get past you and do something else, sorry!"

Maybe no one said the last one, but that's what they all boiled down to.

And that's how Buggy ended up laying in bed, boots on, suffering through a packet that was actually important and couldn't get lost at sea.

You could nearly see the pirate's life fading away when you stepped into the room. His spirit was being replaced by unnecessary acronyms, legalese, and superfluous writing. With each word his eyes skimmed over, a sparkle died.

It was pitiful. And adorable, but you wouldn't tell him that.

You offered to help, figuring Buggy would be more than happy to hand you the papers, accidentally give you a paper cut, and wander off to get drunk.

Instead, he patted the spot next to him. You sat down, sinking into the divot he created, and leaned against his body. Buggy put an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer.

You peered at the paper, ready to assist, when you realized Buggy had a different plan. A hand slithered it's way under your clothes and was finding a nesting place under your panties.

Buggy's fingers explored the area cautiously, chasing away the sensitivity and luring out arousal. He circled your bundle of nerves, avoiding contact and admiring from a distance. Buggy's warmth dipped lower, teasing you with how he almost touched the areas he usually attacks with passion and hunger.

"I thought you wanted h-help?"

"You are helping, now keep quiet so I can focus."

He kissed your forehead just as his fingertips collided with your clit. You gasped as the sweet electricity shot through your body and curled your toes.

Buggy stopped moving.

"I really do need to focus."

"I'll- I'll be quiet."

The movement started again and you sunk into your own body with a sigh.

Buggy knew how to play your body like an instrument. When to press harder and when to pull back. When you wanted small movements and when you needed something grander. When to keep tempo and follow the pattern, and when to create his own music.

The trembles in your body increased until the silent crescendos that left you twitching and panting. But with still more work to do, Buggy kept you underhand.

At first, you could pick out the shapes he traced. Numbers and figures to tally. Long digits that carried on longer than you did. Short numbers that brought about aftershocks of pleasure. Then the letters and words. At least, they were probably words. You couldn't hold onto them long enough to decipher the messages.

Buggy drew climax after climax from you body. You could feel how slick you were, a puddle collecting under your body. Every so often he'd pull out the hand and one of you would lick his wet fingers so he could turn a page.

"How much more?"

Buggy rifled through the packet.

"Three more, then it's done." He glanced at you. What a beautiful mess, covered in sweat and chest heaving. "You're doing such a good job for your captain. You deserve a reward for being such a good girl, huh?"

You nodded eagerly. A reward sounded nice.

"Keep being good for three more pages and I'll give you a nice big reward."

You nodded again and let your eyes close as Buggy picked up where he left off. A big, hard reward. That's what you wanted.

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut

[bubblergoespop]

My Top Aaron Quotes

men who are just constantly tired of everything>>>>>

“Well buckle up, wiz kid.”

“So yeah, I am gonna miss you. I’m really gonna miss you.”

“Sue me. Except don’t. My brain is already fried from the financials, I don’t need to throw legalese on top of that.”

“Fuck it. There’s nothing in here I can’t replace. I want you."

“Oliver”

“I didn’t say I wanted to spend the day with you, I asked if you wanted to spend the day with me. I asked first.”

"Ell"

“Hey, stop it. Because you know how much I like you running your fingers through my hair. Makes my brain go all fuzzy.”

“I appreciate it. And you.”

“Oh, it’s not playing dirty. It’s just me making you feel good.”

“I didn’t realise I was apparently dating an anthropomorphic backpack.”

“H-hey—stop it. You—no, your kisses are just… it tickled. Shut up. So what if my sides are ticklish, it’s not like that’s weird, you shit.”

“Oh, and now you can’t even find the strength to lift your head out of my lap, hmm? You poor thing. Who knew that being lazy could be so exhausting?”

“I love you very much. Now get off me.”

“You talked a big talk back then. But it turns out you’re just a cuddle-hungry softy after all, huh? Yes you are. At least when you’re still sleepy, anyway.”

“I also know you’re probably the kind to fly off half-cocked and make me chase you down with the SPF 50 like a madman. If for no other reason than to infuriate me.”

“Come here. Come closer. Because I said so.”

“I love you. And I love rain. And I love being with the person I love while it rains. Isn’t that a fun little combo?”

“You are very cute looking up at me like that.”

“Or is the thought of a few more minutes in my arms that much of an imposition? Asshole. Mmm. I love you too.”

“I can’t even try to say a nice thing without you having to get some snark into it, can I? No, I wouldn’t have it any other way. You brat. I love you just as you are.”

“You make me better. And that’s no small order when you’re talking about me, given the high level I already started at.”

“A man’s gotta eat. And you’ve always been my favorite thing on the menu.”

“Oh yes, you’re so put upon. Your evil boyfriend only makes you a whole breakfast spread, he won’t then also let you sleep in even later than you already have.”

“Eli”

“Yes, in a shocking twist, I do find your absence unpleasant. Perish the thought, right?”

“Time spent with the people I care about is important to me. It doesn’t have to be time doing anything special, it doesn’t have to be conversations about our future or some greater purpose or any of that shit, I just want to be with the person that I’m with.”

“Sure, there are plenty of ways to sleep on a couch just fine. It’s your hybrid approach that lands somewhere between gymnast and pretzel that tends to get you in trouble.”

“You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“If it feels like it's coming on again, come tell us, okay?”

“I only met them a handful of times. They're sweet. They laugh a lot. They spent most of the time giving Elliott shit, it was funny. Not in like a mean way, like the way you do when you love somebody that much. They were a good balance for one another.”

“God I sound old. And I feel old. And I’m not, but it feels like it. A grumpy old man. Might as well start yelling at kids to not play so loud in the neighborhood, really complete the image.”

“Stop calling me an old man, only I’m allowed to call me old. Don’t be mean. I’m in a vulnerable state. I need baseless praise.”

“Yes. Holding you feels very productive.”

“Yeah. Let me just rub it on that pretty face for a little bit…”

“ It’d be fine. Almost as fine as you. I’m tired, I’m allowed to be stupid.”

“El, I have never hated you. You’re my little brother, I love you.”

“No the windows are mirrored glass. You should know that, you worked here.”

“Whose is it? Louder”

“Thank you baby. Yeah, thank you for trusting me like you do. […] All I wanna do is prove myself worthy of that trust.”

#haven’t don’t one of these in a while #been busy okay #redacted aaron #bubbler’s top quotes #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse

[fanfic-obsessed]

Derailed

This is another funny one.  I certainly giggled while writing it. 

When Palpatine goes to imply that Padme is cheating on Anakin, Anakin does not freak out. Instead he brightens and says something to the effect of ‘Oh! it must have been time to drug Obi Wan again’ and/or several other things that leave Palpatine with the impression that Anakin and Padme are having regular threesomes with Obi Wan…or are regularly drugging and having their way with Obi Wan.

Note 1:This is not what is happening. There really isn’t even any drugging going on. It turns out that the twins, still gestating, radiate such a strong aura of light and love that it allows war weary, exhausted Jedi to sleep and sleep well.  So Padme always has a few Jedi napping, and hidden if they are in public, wherever she is. Including her apartment.  There was some discussion of having her move into the temple, with Padme present as the Jedi are very into consent, but it was decided that it would endanger her and/or cause a scandal and likely expose her and Anakin’s marriage to the general public. 

Note :2 Anakin was legally considered underage in both cultures at the time of their wedding-Jedi considered adulthood as far as signing legal contracts is concerned at knighthood. Naboo is a bit different, there are some things in which Naboo is very formalized, including their record keeping. They also do not really have a mechanism for errors in those records. So when little Anakin Skywalker’s identification records were created he was asked his birthdate-the question itself was in formal legalese, thus not very clear. Not knowing his actual birthdate, and not quite understanding the question, he gave the date of the Boonta Eve Classic, where he won his freedom.  There was so much confusion that it was never checked before it was entered into the Naboo system, which then fed into the galactic system. Legally, as far as the galactic computer systems are concerned Padme married a 10 year old.  

Note 3: Padme has teamed up with various clone commanders to have their Jedi dragged to where they can get some sleep if it seems like they try running off Force for too long. The first of which was Cody, who is the founding member of the 'I love my my Jedi but What the Fuck' support group.

Anakin then asks a dumbfounded Palpatine if it was a specific date, to which Palpatine(who had been making the entire rumor out of whole cloth) just nodded. Anakin nodded to himself and said that he was surprised that they noticed Obi Wan but not all the other members of the Jedi Council. Or all the other Jedi that pass through Padme’s apartment. 

Anakin has now accidentally convinced Palpatine that there is some Jedi Orgy happening in the senatorial apartments (maybe? Possibly Including other members of the delegation of 2000????). Everything Anakin says after that point sounds like it supports this idea (In defense of Palpatine, it all sounded suspicious) but does have innocent explanations. Including at one point saying something to the effect of “The Twins (because the healers did come over and let them know they were having twins) belonged to all of the Jedi’” and, just before leaving (still cheerfully oblivious),  says that his nightmares have gone away since finding out that that Master Windu is a cuddler.

And Palpatine. Just. Bluescreens. Like full on we passed the woman with Math gif and onto the Blue Screen of Death at the idea that Mace Windu was a cuddler. 

He can’t even remember what he was trying to do at the start of the conversation. For several hours Palpatine can’t even remember what he was trying to do with the Sith Plan. 

He just has to sit with the knowledge that Master Mace Windu, head of the Jedi Council, is a cuddler.  Palpatine does not know what to do with this knowledge.  Palpatine is not sure he wants to know what to do with this knowledge. 

As a fix it, I would say that this possible Jedi/Senatorial Orgy continues to make Palpatine crazier and crazier, dragging him into paranoia until he is gently retired from office (because everyone believes that the war cracked him, wasn’t it so sad) and sent off to a quiet lake house on Naboo. I picture him as Mr.Crocker from Fairly Odd Parents, where he twitches into all kinds of weird configurations and screams JEDI CUDDLES at the top of his lungs and tries to ‘prove’ that these orgies between Jedi and senators exist, but fails because they do not.

#star wars the clone wars #star wars #fanfiction prompt #anakin skywalker #star wars au #obi wan kenobi #sheev palpatine #anidala #bamf obi wan #codywan

[swan2swan]

Ryan Potter took to Instagram to explain why he's not returning to voice his character in the certain-studio-made animated spin-off of a dinosaur franchise distributed on a streaming platform:

And honestly, that makes sense.

My assumption is that he requested that the returning cast be paid as if it were Season 3 of the show (assuming 4 and 5 were Season 2, and that the first show wasn't contracted as a lump group). But we're all familiar by now with the legalese of "If you change the title, it's a new show, not a renewal!", and clearly Ryan didn't want to play that game.

Furthermore, obviously getting all three corporations involved in this show's production to bow to that was just too much work and too impossible a demand, so he walked.

Paul, Raini, Sean, and Kausar are all still tied enough to these roles/have free enoigh schedules that they could use this to dig in further. As for...Darren? I think that's new Kenji?...he's already doing Blue-Eye Samurai, so signing up for this project probably checks another box off of his Netflix contract. And Jenna, well...Netflix works for HER now.

But hopefully, moves like Ryan's can bring awareness to the dangers of Synthesized Speech, and further pushes in the union can lead to better pay.

And hopefully the other VAs can come to a con sometime so I can give them money for signatures!

#kenji kon #ryan potter #camp cretaceous #chaos theory #jurassic world: chaos theory #upsetting but understandable #corporations are evil

[parvulous-writings]

Untimely Reunion // Astarion x Elf! Reader

Summary: A reunion at a very unsavoury time.

Warnings: Mild mentions of grief/mourning

Words: 2.5K

Notes:  Before anyone says anything. Yes. There will be a part 2.... At some point! Did kind of run out of muse for this partway through, but I pushed through!! Hope you all enjoy <3 My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too! If you’d like to support me more, consider donating to my kofi! I’d appreciate it loads!!

Things were different, when you were younger - vastly different, from the situation you found yourself in now. You had grown up in Baldur's Gate - a city bustling with life, noise, and so much more besides. Your childhood was a rather happy one - a loving family, a good few friends, and all a child could ever want. Naturally, you had a tiny rebellious streak - but what child doesn't? Your rebellious streak had led down a much more appeasing path than one might have thought, though. You made a friend through it. Another elf, like yourself, by the name of Astarion. The two of you became fast friends - you thoroughly enjoyed his company and various quips he'd come up with. He enjoyed the more quiet, light hearted jokes you'd make. A slightly unlikely pair, the two of you, but an inseparable one nonetheless.

You spent the nearly the entirety of your youth together. Astarion went into Law studies, eventually becoming a Magistrate - and a damn good one, at that. He may not have been the most liked Magistrate in the city, but he was fair, for the most part. You, in turn, went into politics, becoming equally renowned for your prowess of speech. You were well respected, to say the least, to the point that there was a very large crowd who would follow you almost blindly when you made a suggestion for the city. The friendship between you and Astarion was very much a benefit, for both of you; Astarion could help you from time to time with the Legalese of your political rivals, and you kept him up to date with every single law that was freshly passed, typically on the day it was passed; a privilege that very few magistrates had, as most were brought into the loop within the next day or so. Word could travel slow within the world of law, at times.

You had this somewhat unspoken agreement between you for several years. The pair of you liked it that way - although you had your fair share of naysayers, saying how it was 'unfair' or 'too below board', the pair of you ignored it for the most part. It wasn't like the two of you were taking bribes from outer sources to change things, or to let things slide. Or, at least, you thought so.

One morning, you had expected a letter from the Elven Magistrate - a reply to a question (or, rather, several) you had sent him about some scripture a few days prior. But it never arrived, no matter how many times you checked, or pestered the one carrying the post. It didn't come the next day, either. Or the next. Or even the next. You tried not to worry about it, there were some points where Astarion was just too swamped with various cases to reply to your missives; as important as you were, he did put his job before most else. So you decided to wait.

After a week had passed, you had become truly concerned - this was more than just unusual, this was downright worrying. Astarion had never gone that long without contacting you - not even when the pair of you had had disagreements in the past. Though he was certainly a fickle creature, he had never been this bad. So, you took it upon yourself to give his household a personal visit. The journey there was much quicker for you than most would have assumed; being someone of such importance and high standing in Baldur's Gate made people very eager to be out of your way, rather than obstructing it. But when you arrived, there was no cordial greeting from the elf, nor even a flicker of a drape. For all intents and purposes, it looked almost as if there were no one home - besides, of course, the obvious care that the few servants he had employed had paid to the small estate and it's accompanying garden. As you briskly approach the door, and raise your hand to knock, a rather nervous looking gardener cleared his throat to get your attention.

"Apol.. Apologies, Laird.." He stumbled over his words as he addressed you, and clearly couldn't bring himself to meet your eye. "His worship isn't here at the present time..." "That much is obvious." You replied, sharply. "I'm sure his Steward would be happy to let him know that I paid a visit, would he not?" "... Stefan is also, not here right now... He's.. He's with the constabulary..." Your blood ran cold at this. The constabulary? Why in the hells would the steward be there? This could only mean trouble. Your glare, focused on the gardener, urges him to continue. "H-he's been there since this morning - his worship is, um.." He trails off, his voice audibly wobbling as he does. "His worship is what?" You ask through gritted teeth, taking a slow, but meaningful step towards him. "Missing- ... His worship is missing, your grace..." The gardener was trying to hide his nerves and failing spectacularly. Some things start to click into place inside your mind. "For how long?" You ask, your volume dropping. "Just over a week, your grace..." That's why he hadn't responded to your letters.

You lapsed into silence, as the gardener hurriedly explained to you all that he could recall about the situation; the morning that he had disappeared was like every other morning. He got up for breakfast, and made some idle chatter about what he was expecting for that day. The gardener scrambled to list a few of the things that his employer had mentioned - there were three cases of petty thievery, mostly concerning Gur and others that lived outside of the main city walls, that had been blown out of proportion, a property dispute, and a few cases of various assaults that had made it to court. To your knowledge, there was nothing out of the ordinary at all. Not to mention, the gardener didn't mention any unusual behaviour from the elf. Not that he would notice it anyway, to be fair to him, but at least he was trying to be helpful. A curt farewell to the fellow followed, and you were quick to leave - even quicker were you to call for an investigation into Astarion's disappearance following the Steward's report to the Flaming Fist. The search went on for near four months - you refused to let the Fist simply file this as a cold case. It was a perk, you seem to recall being told by another friend of yours, of being in the public eye so much, and being in such good standing. The Flaming Fist simply couldn't afford to displease you on this matter, lest you speak out and entirely tarnish their reputation as a law-force. But, eventually, both you and them had to admit that there was nothing more you could do - Astarion was gone, and there was absolutely no sign of him.

Naturally, you began to mourn. Your childhood friend, just... Gone. Of course, you didn't know if he was dead, but he might as well have been. It felt strange in your day to day life, catching yourself thinking about the next time the two of you would have afternoon tea, or exchange letters, only to have to remind yourself that those pass-times would be no more. As your grief deepened over the next few months, you started to accept the fact that maybe he was dead. Astarion - as wonderful a magistrate as he was - wasn't always the best at staying on people's good sides. But he was so young, for our kind. You'd think to yourself. The more thought you gave it, the more it tragic it became to you. Your childhood best friend, your closest confidant, gone before even his 50th birthday. But, time moved forward, and eventually you did too - never entirely forgetting the man, but beginning to think about him less and less. What was the use in dwelling on things that couldn't be changed? You thought about him from time to time, but came to accept that whatever had happened to him, he wasn't coming back to the city, if he was even still alive.

That was, until you found yourself amidst a mindflayer invasion. You had heard whispers, of course - who hadn't? But to see one of your fellow politicians warp, mutate, and change before your eyes... It was horrid. Nauseating. Thankfully, some deep-rooted need for survival took hold of you, and you broke into a run, trying to flee the creature before it could get it's newly-formed tentacles wrapped around your head. Scampering out into the street, you saw that you were not the only one who had been ambushed by someone suddenly undergoing ceremorphosis. The streets were in chaos - you could hardy even dwell on what had become of the city before you were on the run again, sprinting down various alleyways in an attempt to flee the hundreds of mindflayers amongst the populous. When your legs grow sore, and your lungs short of breath, you wearily come to a stop. Your hands rest on your thighs as you try in vain to recover from your sprint. You were so wrapped up in trying to figure out what in the hells was going on, that you don't hear the wet, smacking sound of a mindflayer trailing up behind you.

"Look out, you fool!" Was all you heard before being pushed to the ground - out of the way of the horrid purple creature that had nearly caught you by surprise. You didn't really get a good look at your saviour to begin with; his face was obscured by the sun. All you could make out was the tips of his pointed ears, and how some of his curls had nestled around them. You paused, watching as the figure made sure the illithid was dead with a flurry of blows from his dagger. "Gods, are all of you city dwellers this blind?" He scoffed, with a 'holier-than-thou' tone. It was one you felt was... Oddly familiar. No, more... You knew that voice. Your brows furrow, as you slowly push yourself to your feet to come eye-to-eye with the man who saved you. Red eyes glare back at you - piercing and, in a way... Keen. "Well?" The man says, impatiently. There's a rather... Upper City edge to his accent, making it all the more familiar. "... No. We're not." You reply, almost deadpan. "But... Thank you." You reply, trying to show at least some decorum. Your saviour pauses, something in his eyes... Shifting. He seemed almost shocked, but he was quick to recover. "Well, make sure it doesn't happen again." He seems quite smarmy - a small smirk gracing his features, making his eyes crinkle. "I can't go around saving everyone, you know..."

And then it clicks. You know where you've seen that face before.

"Astarion?" Your voice is quiet, unsure. Part of you can hardly believe - or maybe, doesn't want to believe - that Astarion is standing in front of you. He looks different, now. His hair is white, even paler than what it used to be, but it still curls around his ears just the same. His eyes are a deep red, and as he starts to practically sneer at you, you can just about make out the fangs that now reside in his mouth. "Is.. Is that really you?" You mumble, just barely managing to stop yourself from reaching out to him. Astarion stares at you for a few moments longer, before the sneer that had put itself upon his lips melted away, replaced with something much, much softer - something almost mourning. Something in your chest begins to ache, and you realise you had begun to cry as you feel wet tears trail down your cheeks. The elf just seems stunned. "Gods, it's been centuries-" You take a step towards him as you speak, and he takes an instinctive step backwards. "It... Has.." He says, slowly. He seems quite unsure of himself - caught off guard, even, by your presence. "You... Look well." He tells you. This isn't quite the Astarion you remember, he's much more reserved now. Or perhaps he's just nervous. "You look... Different." You echo back to him, and you see him visibly swallow. That must be a sore spot for him. He opens his mouth to speak, then sighs. "It's... A long story." He tried to avoid your gaze, and you could remember him well enough to know not to pry- especially now that you were pressed for time. He glances over his shoulder as something booms off in the distance. He curses under his breath, before turning back to you. "... How about this? We can be all sappy after this world-ending crisis is stopped... If we both survive." He says to you, and you slowly nod in agreement. Standing here for too long could get the both of you killed. "When this is over.." He continues, "I will meet with you... Say... One of our old haunts - the tavern, near where you used to live... And I will tell as much as I can..." He offered you a smile as he spoke, and you could see those sharpened teeth of his more clearly. Something wasn't just different about him, something was wrong - but, for the most part, he still seemed to act like the Astarion you used to know. You consider it for a moment - what could go wrong, should you both survive? - Before nodding softly. "It's a deal... I shall wait for you." You tell him, pushing down the myriad of growing questions that you had for him. How was he still alive? Where had he been? Why did he look so... Different? He gives a slight chuckle - you hadn't changed much at all, in his eyes. You were still that same sly, snarky politician he had known in those centuries past. He gave a rather playful bow to you, falling back into his old ways. "I shall try not to keep you waiting for too long.." You could hear the smirk on his lips as he spoke, before he rose to his full height again, his expression falling. "Now, go - find somewhere safe... And do try not to let anymore Mindflayers sneak up on you, I won't be able to help with those ones..." He murmurs. "I am, unfortunately, needed elsewhere..." He tells you, starting to march forward, dagger still in hand. You start to call out to him, but you're hardly through the first word of your sentence when Astarion calls over his shoulder to you. "Just go!" You have few other options but to do as he says, ducking into another alley and taking refuge in a partially destroyed home. You hoped to remain at least somewhat safe, here... You'd have your thoughts and theories on the other Elf to keep you company, at least. You clasped your hands together as you sunk to the floor to remain out of sight to anyone who may peer inside the building, quietly praying, to any God that may listen to one measly mortal, that the pair of you may live through this.

At least, until you saw him again.

#requests open #x reader requests #x reader oneshot #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate x reader #romance #astarion x reader #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion

[revelisms]

A big prosey ramble on Terzo, Omega, and messy love, because I haven't been able to get these two out of my head recently.

WC: 1k | Suggestive themes, complicated relationships, existentialism, dysfunctional family dynamics, hurt/comfort

There's a pact one signs, once the Gate has been handed what it's due:

When the old tongue has been spoken, and the dark psalms sung; the Devil's touch fishhooked through a human eye, and its Sight wrenched to nothing, a blinding everything, an All few could endure;

Once the lines of the Undead have marked them: sanctioned them as the Unholy, the Half-Living, the Above and Below: draped them in silks fit for kings and gloves for killers;

A prophecy so ancient one could choke on the dust off its words.

Their fate will devour their Will, like a shark waiting to feed—and chain any of scrap of agency left, like a dog.

Few would dare to deny it.

Terzo, though, has never been one to play by the rules. 

Even now—with the Sight of what is yet to come thorned about his mind: every rut and stone he could walk known as well as the blood-bitter sting of his own spite.

It's why he twists crowds around the points of his fingers, for those scant hours of freeness; hunts for lovers' touches in hands his rooms will rarely welcome again; wanders the paths of his own head more than the gravel beneath his feet. 

Why the sight of his brother's summoned Unnamed—the First and the Last, the End All-Be All, the One (his One)—had left him stuttering on his heels.

He could see it. Hell beneath, see this:

The two of them, trapped in the maws of a forest fire; in a promised somethingness.

A path veering off course like a runaway train.

A doomed light at the end of a self-made tunnel.

And this—

(Demon-claws at his waist, his shirt shucked to the floor, the chain at his neck clapping to his skin like a noose—) 

This is a loophole. Legalese in a contract penned in his own blood. A selfish want fueled by a hunger to be seen, to be known:

To be shoved back wontedly, greedily, in a music room spidered with dying light, and feel the brand of those otherworldly hands on him—thighs and ribs and lungs, dragged through the hair that silks down his stomach, through the beat-beating valley that puffs beside his heart:

To let himself shiver and sigh and roll his head back, bite down the burr behind his teeth, beg—

"Cardinal—"

A voice like Hell itself. The keyboard clanging beneath his hips. 

"Come here," he growls back.

They shouldn't be doing this. 

He knows the superstitions. Growing up in these halls had spoonfed him with it: the crumbling of the Gate that had nearly been; the fear that even lesser ghouls, under the right circumstances, could usurp the Exalted's power.

It had happened, once before. The Bloodline only had so much demon-magick in it, after all.

This one knows it, too.

"Cardinal."

He doesn't care. He's lightheaded. He's lonely. 

The chipped varnish of the piano's edge whines beneath his nails.

"Shh—shh. Not here, eh? Not—ah—not now." 

He wants to peel back the point of that silvered mask; to drown in those eyes, blue as the tainted Heavens. Wants to feel his teeth on his neck. 

"Not—" 

His fingertips stipple over Omega's shirt—and tug. 

A switch flipped. A permission devoured.

That clawed hand plummets. Melts his breath to liquid. Sparks an addiction without a goddamned cure.

The first line crossed of countless. 

(Countless more, now, and countless still—until Nihil Nihil always Nihil—

Don't think I don't know what you're doing. All the mages can damnwell smell it on you.

Terzo, fox-grinned, steel in his eyes: And?)

And maybe that's all it had started as. All it had ever been.

A middle finger jabbed in the face of their All-Father's millennium-soaked paranoia. 

A foolish, spiteful clinging to a promise he'd already stripped from himself.

(If nothing else—even if the world burns—you can still have me. And I can still have you.

I can still have you. Can't I?)

So he'd thought.

Papa, now—and the world's a stage, burning, purple-bleeding-black, a stranger's hands combing through sweat-dampened hair on sheets that don't smell like him, and he shouldn't want it to. Saints, he shouldn't want it to.

But he's tired. His head is spinning. He's lonely. 

"Papa?"

He brushes a callused thumb over their temple. "Shh—shh. Not here, mh?" His fingertips glide over the glitter at their back: splay a slow touch between their shoulders. "Not right now," he rumbles, eyes closed. Their hair tickles his mouth. "Not..."

Sometimes, these curious souls press, prod. Try to dig beneath the points of his own mask: to look for the man tucked away in the corner, that doesn't want to speak, to open his eyes from the lull they've found themselves in. Not yet.

This one doesn't.

After a long moment, Terzo sighs: a buoy their body floats on, weighs down like a blanket of sunlight, like lead. "How are you feeling, darling?" The words come lazy and low, tucked into the soft space behind their ear.

The breath he's given in response is boneless, satiated. "Good," they whisper.

He hums. "Good." His thumb skims over their temple, again. "Very good."

Another performance due, soon. Another mass; another ritual. The robes shaken off the floor, the paints reapplied, the stage a handful of moments without deafened expectation.

(Why do you care what he thinks? Omega had snuffed at him once, lounged out like a god in their dressing room.

Terzo hadn't been able to say it, then. Still couldn't, now. 

That one day, his father's passive threat of this ghoul's banishment would come to fruition—one day, his reign would fall—one day, the only ones left would be the rat, and Sister, that old, bullish bastard, and he—

Satan. He'd always loved him, hadn't he?

Why do you care?

The doomed light at the end of the tunnel.

He'd twitched a half-painted smile. Looked away. Don't you know?)

"Terzo?"

He blinks. Dredges himself out of the paths of his own mind: focuses instead on the moon-silvered river of this priestess's fringe. Heat is still beaded between them, tacky where their hands shift. There's a trace of perfumed oil on their neck. 

He noses further into it, lays down a kiss. "Mnh?"

Their fingers slide unhurriedly through his hair. Weave a gentle knot—and tug.

A switch flipped. A permission devoured.

He lays down another kiss, and another. Their breath melts to liquid beneath his hands. Sparks an addiction without a cure.

"Please," they hush. "Don't leave yet, please—"

His lips catch at the veins that flutter through their throat. His palms lost in the valleys of their waist. "I won't."

The touch of their mouth feels like love, almost. A flicker of soft lashes, bumped noses, lungs haggard and starved.

Their fingers scrape at his shoulders. Cling, and claw, and beg.

Against their lips, he gravels it again. "I won't."

Another line crossed of countless. 

#i listened to mitski on repeat and this happened #good afternoon to the terzomega angst #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #cw: suggestive #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #papa terzo #terzo #omega ghoul #ficlet #prose #writing

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

MTG or YGO?

Long post? Long post!

Are you asking what I prefer? YGO. Are you asking what I think is better? That is wholly dependent on what a person wants out of a card game.

YGO's biggest barrier to entry is the fact that the cards are written in their own form of legalese. I mean this very literally, too. They use "Problem-solving card text" where it makes use of deliberately placed adverbs in effect descriptions to dictate moment to moment interactions. It is almost like learning a new language, and has been compared to learning how to read through legal documents. It becomes comprehensive once you wrap your head around it, and is the reason you can do some properly crazy/funny shit in the game, but wrapping your head around it and understanding what new cards do is a whole thing. Having someone who's played YGO before teach you how to play the game is basically the most reliable way to learn it. It's genuinely a problem.

MTG is, comparatively, much easier to learn. Very low floor of entry, and sequenced in such a way that you can understand basically how the entire game works in a few hours. MTG's complexity 100% exceeds YGO's at the uppermost levels, but the way game comprehension builds on itself is much cleaner, so it feels less obtuse overall.

MTG is mechanically more casual friendly. The current MTG darling format, Commander, is basically a 2ish hour social game where four people engage in a free for all that hinges partially on social politicking. It's typically chill. You also have a lot of assorted 1v1 formats and such. There is likely a "way to play" that will resonate with you, and the games tend to be slowish.

YGO doesn't really have multiple formats in a meaningful way. You can absolutely do group stuff and set informal rules, but the game ultimately hinges on 1v1s. With the frontal complexity of card text, these can and will feel very lopsided and frustrating until you understand what's going on. Once you do know, it's super cool, but getting to that point can feel like a chore. The games are also typically quite fast (maybe 3-6 long turns) and very dense with card interactions and timings. I enjoy it for the way it makes me strategise (or not), but it's definitely a preference thing.

Cost is something where YGO absolutely curb stomps. I can get a whole deck of picked out cards, plus a suite of "staple" (eternally meta relevant) cards, with lots of cool foiled versions and stuff, for like 50-70 bucks USD. You are NOT doing that with MTG. MTG is a stupidly fucking expensive game, where reprints of important cards are rare to encourage market speculation (I am not kidding) and finance bros have an ACTUAL PLACE in the community. There is a reason that casual MTG encourages proxy use. It's fucked. Also, as an aside, MTG's shiny/foil cards are dogshit. Same-y and super prone to curling. YGO foils are extremely good and pretty.

Cost feeds into another issue; set rotation. You can argue merit in both directions with this one, but for the average person with average money to spend, MTG takes another L here. MTG has set rotation. Basically, in the standard 1v1 format, cards that have been out more than 3 years will no longer be playable in that format, and you have to get the new cards. A lot of the alternate 1v1 formats in MTG actually just boil down to "1v1s but you can use cards as far back as X" because... people want to use their cards they bought. YGO doesn't have this. It instead has a banlist, updated every couple of months, that aims to curb problematic card interactions. Ultimately, though, if you buy a thing and like the thing, you can basically always use the thing. (MTG, as an aside, also has banlists for its formats, but it's in addition to the rotation stuff. The fact so many formats are there to ignore X years of rotations is also kinda telling, imo.)

Art direction and flavour are a personal thing. I like both, though I think that YGO's reputation for archetypal/thematic variation and card art quality are well-earned. That'd be wholly up to your preferences.

So yeah, I have a fondness for both games, but I ultimately prefer YGO because I like doing unhinged bullshit in it, I like the art a whole lot, and I like that all my cards are affordable and retain usability in a typical play environment.

#ask #YGO #Yu-Gi-Oh #MTG #Magic The Gathering

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

something a bit silly ive been wondering about but ! logan tells andy and teagan and thomas tells harley that lamp are married before any of them know hes fae - how do they react to that? like just assume its symbolic rather than legal or they found a loophole in the law or something? are they just too polite to ask anything further? thomas at least could lie to harley but logan cant, does he just have to be like "im married!" andy and teagan: "um. how" logan: "i didnt say it was legal!"

aksldjalksjd yeah pretty much! logan can truthfully say that his marriage isnt legal under ohio law, and andy and teagan arent the kind of people to press for minute details on other peoples polycule legalese. andy probably hears about that throuple who incorporated so they could joint own their house and assumed logans probably pulled off something to that effect

#ask #Anonymous #love and other fairytales ask

[merakiui]

Sneaky omega Jade who uses his pheromones to get what he wants. He is absolutely weak for tiny demanding alphas because while he can crush them, all it takes is one strong scent from his alpha and it’s all over for him.

Alpha Azul has my heart. He practically breathes breeding kink and you can’t say no to his deals because while you’re trying to parse through legalese in curly script, he’s filling the air with enticing smells.

Omega Floyd who’s a complete brat, but smells so sweet when he’s nuzzling into you. Loves it when his little alpha uses their commanding voice and *tries* to manhandle him.

Ugggghjjjh, just so many things to think about.

If the tweels don’t have the same designation, they’ll tease the other when it comes to impending heats/ruts, but they will body their partners if their twin doesn’t get treated right.

Yes omg!!! And he makes for such a cute bottom in bed, too. T_T Jade will tease you for as long as he can keep a clear head, but when he's truly, fully in heat and can't think of anything else but how nicely you smell and how good you feel he eventually submits. He'll get his revenge when he's not so heat-brained, but for now keep making him feel good. <3

Alpha Azul...... orz alpha Azul definitely uses his scent to his advantage when he's trying to get you to sign contracts. Your mind will be so fuzzy and disoriented and you'll likely leave his VIP room having signed his contract. He absolutely breathes breeding kink; you're so right!!!! He wants nothing more than to knock you up with lots of children so that you'll never have a chance to think about leaving him. I think alpha Azul also might pretend to be an omega just to gain your trust and lower your guard (you might even think he's harmless because he's an omega), so when he offers to help you through your heats/ruts you might be more likely to accept. But then in the midst of everything, he ends up knotting you because it turns out he was secretly an alpha all along. :)

And omega Floyd aaaa!! He's very cute and sweet, but so very needy when he's in heat. It doesn't matter if you're an alpha with a stronger scent; Floyd still dominates you even when he's so overwhelmed by his heat. He's insatiable and cums inside so many times until he can no longer cum anymore and is just mindlessly rutting into you. As much as he marks you, he wants you to mark him in return so that he can proudly show off the bites and bruises. No matter what, he's always shameless.

#twisted chit chat #tw: omegaverse #tw: abo #n/sfw #i need to write bottom jade thoughts because sometimes you just need to make an eel desperate and pathetic #sometimes you need to write pet play with jade #imagine kidnapping jade for ransom but he's actually a shameless freak who enjoys that so now you have no idea what to do #jade tells you he can meow and bark and go blub blub like a fish so choose which pet you want #floyd comes to rescue him but jade is just living his life as your catboy with a nice collar and leash #and floyd is just so confused he's like 'so you good jade? you don't need saving?' #jade's like 'please :) if i wanted to leave i would have killed (name) long ago' #he is a very cute catboy.... but a dangerous catboy too

[inkblot22]

Crazy sickening thought but what if there’s a scenario where azul takes advantage of reader? Like imagine reader not having anywhere to after four years and crowley giving up/deciding reader is too expensive and a burden to take care of since they are a grownup and haven’t been useful. They decide to desperate to find a way so they and grim dont end up on the streets look for azul for a place to stay and azul agrees only if they agree to be azuls spouse and meet conditions of his like never leaving him, cooking for him, kissing him times throughout the day. Whats your thoughts on this? Do you think azul would add more terms?

Hello! This is excellent and you caught me on an Azul day. I apologize in advance because this is honestly a bit long.

TW controlling behavior, abuse, captivity, coerced marriage, Crowley being a deadbeat, non-consensual kissing/touch, isolation and being in the ocean at night, my best attempt at legalese, Jade and Floyd because these three are the scariest package deal ever conceived. Misogyny, if you squint, as well as house-spousification. That is a word now.

Grim is way too calm about this. It's not that you could really resent him for being oblivious, but sometimes you indulge your irritation with one thought, "Grim is lucky that I love him."

And he is. He's lucky that you're here, lucky that you're willing to sell your body to a certain silver-haired asshole just so he can indulge on various seafoods, including fresh-caught tuna.

Well, that's not really fair. Azul hasn't gotten more physical than a few hugs and kisses, sharing the same bed, that type of thing. You can tell he's considered doing more, you see it in his eyes when you lay down to go to sleep or wear certain colors, usually dark blues and violets. Not that you've worn much else in...

Seven, how long has it been? Let's see... On your fourth year at NRC, Dire Crowley invited you to his office for tea. Not in so many words, he said that your time at NRC was reaching the end of it's stay. He'd send for you upon discovering a way for you to return home, but until then, you and Grim needed to begin your internship within the week. You hid your unease as best as you could, but when you got back to Ramshackle, you could barely breathe. Grim wasn't present for the meeting, so when he saw your obvious despair he immediately threatened to burn whoever had hurt you. You had laughed it off, promising him that everything would be okay.

You should have known, honestly. You sent messages to both Ace and Deuce, letting them know what happened, and they both felt awful, but were in no position to have you come stay with them. Although any of your former upperclassmen would have probably accepted you, but right when you were wondering how you were supposed to get a job without any form of identification past your very own person, much less a place to stay, you received a message in a group chat you had long forgotten about.

Underneath the all caps title of the chat, "THE FISH MAFIA," Jade had simply invited you to the Coral Sea with Grim for a dinner. Of course you had accepted. Perhaps you could ask Azul for a job in his mother's restaurant, and subsequently, move to whatever land mass was near the Coral Sea. That way you and Grim wouldn't be homeless.

You let Crowley know and he set up the mirror for your departure, even going so far as to give you a pair of potions so you wouldn't drown and wishing you well. You tried not to dislike him even more for that, tried being the key word.

Jade and Floyd were waiting for you on the other side. They looked about the same as the last time you'd seen them, perhaps a little longer than before. Floyd grabbed both you and Grim and darted through the water, stopping in front of an elegant building that seemed to be made out of shells. You were guided in, all the way to the back, where Azul was waiting, in human form.

"Hello, Prefect... or shall I just use your name? From what I've heard, you won't be living in Ramshackle for much longer."

You had forgotten about that. Your memories, up until that point, were relatively positive when it came to Azul, so of course you overlooked his harsh comments, forgotten by the haze of happy memories you had with him. But Azul had always been somewhat mean.

"Regardless, take a seat. We have all the foods you like on the land, and then some." He offered you a somewhat wan smile, "No drinks, though. Sorry. Perhaps we can go to a cafe after this business is finished."

You took a seat and one of the servers placed a large, flat rock on your lap.

"It's to keep you from floating away." Azul had said.

You thought that was kind of fun. That was probably the last time you had that thought connected to Azul. Grim didn't bat an eye and began scarfing down the contents of the table, and you met Azul's staring eye.

"Business?"

"Yes, my darling, business. I take it that you don't have a large window of opportunity, so please believe me when I say I want the best for you and your familiar. I am offering you a place to stay, food, drinks, and clothing. All you have to do is sign this teensy little document."

"Wait, what's goin' on?" Grim paused his eating to give you a confused look.

"Oh... It'll all work out, Grim," You began.

"Dire Crowley has given our little human here a week to move out of Ramshackle house." Azul interrupted.

"Good! That place was run-down anyway!" He went back to eating.

You couldn't blame him for his shortsightedness then. You simply sighed and Azul addressed you again.

"So, my dear, knowing that I will provide for you and your familiar, and knowing that you'll be homeless in a week's time with no real way to regain a home, I believe you can understand how signing this is in your best interest."

You nod, once, slightly hesitantly, and Azul smiles, passing a document to you. It's dry to the touch, but a quick scan and you decided it was better to just sign and get it over with.

Presently, tucked neatly under Azul's arm as dawn breaks over the beachside, you really wish that you'd read the entire contract earlier.

It wasn't so bad at first, he set you and Grim up on the top floor of one of the land-based establishments that his mother owned and had passed down to him. He said it was something of a side hobby, but you read it more as a front for his other business. Regardless, for a long while, things were fine. What little you had was already in the room he'd set up for you and Grim. But then the stipulations of the contract began coming into effect.

Within three months of the signing date, the signor will be legally wed to the signee.

That wasn't so bad. The wedding was ridiculously extravagant, but you managed to wrangle Grim into a bow tie and that was cute enough. Azul was all smiles, but every time you wanted to run, you remembered that it was all for your and Grim's wellbeing.

The first night you went home as spouses, Azul talked at length about a possible honeymoon. You nodded along, too tired from the day's events, and went to open the door to the room you'd been sharing until now with Grim. Azul grabbed you by your arm, hard enough to leave a mark, and pulled you into the master suite.

"Married couples should sleep together, shouldn't they?"

2. Both parties are required to show the other affection, physical and otherwise. The consequence of withholding such results in a loss of privileges.

This was a bit less okay. Azul wasn't overly touchy, but you found that he didn't care who saw what. You weren't opposed to most of it, seeing as his hand was usually on your shoulder or back, somewhere not at all concerning, but he also would occasionally turn and kiss you without warning or permission.

It made your head spin. In every other way, he was very reserved, but every time he kissed you was so random. It wasn't that he smelled bad or tasted bad, unless he had just returned from a meeting, wherein he would generally smell like alcohol-free bourbon or something adjacent. You'd always try harder than usual to pull away when he smelled like that.

"It's just a gentleman's drink, my angel... My goodness, I didn't know you were this shy!"

3. If the signatory is otherwise unoccupied around noon, they will prepare lunch for their spouse and bring it to him. A breach of this term will result in the signatory's familiar being put outside for a night. *See addendum A.

Every day, for the last year, you have walked in, regardless of Azul being in the middle of a meeting or not, and served him a lunch that you threw together.

At this point, you're pretty certain that you could bring him a banana peel coated in mayo and ketchup on a dirty plate and he'd eat it like it was the best thing in the world. Every time you put lunch in front of him, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, pressing a kiss against your ribs and looking up at you as if you've hung the moon.

"This looks delicious, my angel. Thank you."

4. Privileges such as allowance, certain articles of clothing, certain food items, will be withheld in the case of a breach of contract.

This one wasn't really observed by Azul. As far as you could recall, every time you messed up, he would become inconsolable, then really cold.

If you did something he really, really didn't like, he'd "invite" you for a midnight swim, then lock you in the bathroom while you were still wet. This is why an addendum was added, since getting sopping wet and locked in a cold bathroom resulted in you getting sick and unable to make lunch.

"I'm doing this because I love you so much."

5. The signatory shall adopt the moniker of a stay-at-home spouse. They will be allowed days to go out and shop for both necessary groceries and personal effects.

Your "going out" days were Wednesdays and Saturdays, partially because that gave Azul an excuse to tag along on at least one of those days and also because he could send one of his lackeys to follow you and Grim around.

Everything you purchased was looked over by him, and when you got home, he'd ask you about various items you purchased while trying to coax you to sit with him.

"Angel, why in the world do you need... five packages of... 'dino gro capsules'?"

6. Azul Ashengrotto may exercise his discretion to determine whether or not his spouse is following the contract to the best of their ability.

Azul was not a fair or reliable judge. At best, he wanted you to be by his side as often as possible, but at worst, he'd be irritated by Grim's very presence in the house. You weren't afforded much mercy. If the twins were visiting on land, which they did way more often than you liked, and you happened to have really done it that day, they'd sneak in and drape blankets over you.

Azul didn't care if he noticed, and it felt like every day it got worse. Every day you'd find out about another rule of the contract, every day you'd have to lie and tell Grim that everything was okay.

But you could feel it, this pressure, building up within you. One of these days, you'd snap, and hopefully Grim wouldn't be there to see it.

Because you didn't want him to think you resented him.

#tw controlling behavior #twisted wonderland #disney twst #tw: dark content #tw: yandere #tw: dark themes #tw captivity #twst #yandere #tw misogyny #tw noncon kissing #tw mention of alcohol #tw abuse #tw emotional abuse #tw emotional manipulation #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #tw jade leech #tw floyd leech #yandere x reader #anon asks #anon answered #thank you for sending an ask!!

[blackestnight]

1: subtle arts

Day 1: Envoy Word count: 1844 Hanami has the worst vacation ever. Starfinder AU.

Hanami made it two entire days into her system leave before she got insufferably bored, which was probably a record of some sort. She heaved a sigh, set down her glass—sweating condensation in the jungle heat, which she wiped off on the slick fabric of her carbonweave trousers—and picked up her datapad. First she sent a message to Yugiri, so she could alert the winners of the inevitable betting pool back at base, and then she opened the local infosphere port.

Boring. Boring. Boring. Not that she was expecting much in the way of difficult mercenary contracts, at least not freelance; Castrovel’s civil war had ended decades ago and the vast majority of the guard work in the jungle was done by private companies, plus the formians across the strait still had their colony structure—besides, they hadn’t quite figured out personal pronouns well enough to comfortably navigate dense legalese in written contracts. And the elves were just assholes, as a rule. Boring. Boring.

She blew her bangs away from her forehead and skimmed the highest-paying entry. Some corporate agent from Absalom looking for a local guide. Bonus pay to make up for the short notice, plus company-sponsored food and lodging for the week.

Hanami shrugged, downed the rest of her juice, and clicked bid.

—

Myraka wasn’t the worst client she’d taken on, but four days into the job she kept having to remind herself why. He was chatty—always prattling about himself, his job, his clothes, his job, his favorite currency conversion tools, his job, and the ‘charming’ architecture of Cordona. And his job. Which would have been less grating if he hadn’t been an investment banker.

At least he’d exhausted his interview-disguised-as-small-talk questions for her after the first day. (What brought you to Castrovel? Used to vacation here with her last partner, before he got eaten by a dragon. Why take on more work on your leave? Remembered she hated vacations. Is it true you led a centuria during the Swarm invasion? Yes, it took a year to finish scraping the bug goop out of her ship’s vent ports.)

The meetings were better than the downtime, because none of the prattle was directed at her, and although she did a lot of standing around, it was at least standing around with a purpose—mentally engaging, if not physically. The green-wings back at base who complained about guard duty being a drag were shitty guards; staying engaged and alert for hours at a time took focus and effort, and zoning out or drifting off was how you ended up with compromised bases and dead bodies.

Day four started with brunch—Hanami had been amusing herself by ordering different cocktails every morning at breakfast, just to see if she could make Myraka twitch; he hadn’t yet, and she was still trying to suss out if it was because he knew she was immune to sedatives and stimulants or because he was too polite to point out the blatant day-drinking. He was even more hyperactive than usual, fiddling with his cuffs and his tablet pen while he talked, and once they’d finished eating he brushed nonexistent dirt off his ugly gold suit and bounced to his feet.

“Well!” he announced, pushing his wrought-iron chair back into place with its matching kitschy patio table. “I hope you’ve saved room, Captain Hagane—next on the agenda is high tea with an ambassador from Nerundel, and I would hate to insult the man by declining the cakes! You are wearing your best jacket, yes?” (She was. It was the same jacket she’d been wearing all week. The Skyfire Legion didn’t have a formal uniform as such, but the golden Centurion’s seal at her shoulders was recognizable enough to command respect from most people who bothered to look.) “Let’s be off, we daren’t be late!”

They took a hard-light cab from the cafe into the heart of the inner city, where skyscrapers and towering botanical gardens crowded up against the massive steel wall that blocked off access to the rest of the continent, elven mithril hovercraft darting around the tops like glittering insects and automated turrets swaying like morbid, stiff flowers. Myraka bounded through the front doors of another restaurant—silver vines twitched and uncoiled as they drew near, unfurling over the entrance to spell out The Jade Bower in looping script—and Hanami followed as a butler bowed to them both and led them into a gilded lift, which brought them to the top floor, directly into a tearoom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the top of the border wall, where they were just tall enough to see the tops of the trees on the other side. The plexiglass was faceted around the edges, likely meant to spray rainbows across the marble floors, but all Hanami could think was that this was probably what it felt like to be a fly. The rooms were lined with glass columns, each filled with its own tiny ecosystem—a miniature waterfall in one, jewel-winged butterflies crawling on golden honeysuckle in another—and a long banquet table sat in the center of the room, under a chandelier dripping with crystal lilies, the embroidered tablecloth obscured by the trays near-overflowing with baked sweets.

One of the seats was already occupied by an elven man—a true elf, Hanami noted as he turned to greet them; his eyes were a richer blue than you saw in any human, with no whites to speak of, fading to a darker ink color near where a pupil might be, and the overall effect was a bit eerie—who rose from his chair with arms spread. “Welcome! Master Myraka, it is an honor—we’ve refreshments aplenty. Shall we start with tea, or wine? Anything for your guest?” he added, sparing a glance for Hanami, who refrained from rolling her eyes and settled into parade rest behind Myraka’s chair with a shake of her head. Myraka started to babble, and Hanami settled into her routine of vigilance, watching the windows (guards in Sovyrian uniforms patrolling along the border wall at regular intervals, rifles slung over their shoulders) and the vents (fine filigree mesh covering the openings, and no telltale flash of mirrors or camera lenses when she called the smallest of sunsparks to her fingertips) and the table (all hands clearly visible, the elf leaning forward in polite interest while Myraka nearly vibrated with nervous energy).

The base of Hanami’s neck began to prickle. The Sovyrian guards outside the window turned on their heels mid-march and walked away.

“Yes, the scholars of our Halls are quite excited to explore more practical uses for the cultivars they’ve been developing with the Xenowardens,” the elf said. “As I understand, Abadarcorp has been doing phenomenally well in the pharmaceuticals trade.”

Myraka laughed. “The Keeper smiles upon His faithful! And upon the savvy, of course.”

Hanami shifted her weight behind Myraka’s seat, letting the cybernetics in her legs click and whir slightly. Shh-shh-click. Shh-shh-shh.

“The savvy,” the elf said agreeably. “And the swindling.”

Myraka froze.

“I beg your pardon?” he said, with a titter bordering on hysterical. One hand twitched toward his own elbow.

Hanami moved.

Left leg, sweep: shatter the legs of the chair, send it flying. Pivot. Right arm in, palm open, perfectly positioned to catch Myraka under his jaw. She’d timed it so well that his torso didn’t move at all as she seized him by the throat; the only sign that anything had happened was the frantic flailing of his legs and the terror draining the blood from his face.

Well, that and the clattering of his ion pistol as it fell from his sleeve.

“Start begging,” she said.

The elf sighed as he stood, carefully moving his own chair aside and brushing wrinkles from his robe. “I appreciate a well-crafted deception as much as you do, Master Myraka,” he said, as he carefully rolled up his sleeves. “It requires true artistry to conceal a plot of this magnitude. I rather fear that my friend has little patience for the arts, though.” He fingered a silver cuff adorning his wrist, slipping two fingers under the metal, and there was a gentle click and an electric hum—the elf’s face seemed to shimmer like a heat mirage for a heartbeat as the holoskin shut off, as the royal blue faded from his eyes to reveal white sclera, irises the color of a frozen lake. His ears grew shorter, the angles of his jaw gentler.

“I, on the other hand,” Aymeric said, and raised his hand to touch a point below his ear, and suddenly the airy, chiming tones of his voice melted into his usual warm baritone, “have always committed myself to a variety of studies. Back to the topic at hand, however—that price-fixing scheme of yours. Care to divulge the names of your conspirators?”

Myraka croaked, and Hanami tightened her grip. “I don’t—I won’t—”

Aymeric shot her a wry smile. “Careful. He does need to talk.”

“They have telepaths here,” she grumbled, but obligingly dropped Myraka—with a clench of her fist, he hit the floor spread-eagled, gravity pressing down on him with sudden magnitudes of force that had him heaving for breath. “And I had to listen to him nattering about fucking stock exchanges all week. Let me have fun.”

Aymeric brushed her arm as he rounded the table, then bent at the waist just enough to meet Myraka’s eyes. “From one businessman to another, I have a deal to offer,” he said. “You tell me—and the Stewards—what we wish to know, and we can have this conversation like civil beings. Or if you insist on continued resistance, I’ll have no choice but to leave you to the good Captain’s tender mercies. Either way, you will be spending a long, long time in prison, Myraka, so you truly have nothing to lose.”

“Except your limbs,” Hanami added.

Aymeric glanced at her from the corners of his eyes with an indulgent grin. “I’d rather not witness a dismemberment today, my star.”

Hanami shrugged. “Close your eyes.”

Myraka gulped.

—

Later, once the Stewards had shut Myraka in their shuttle, and Lucia had seen them off with a crisp salute, Hanami helped Aymeric finish picking the holoskin nodes out of his hairline. “Next time I choose the vacation,” she grumbled. “Fucking stock exchanges, Aymeric.”

He grimaced and shook his bangs from his eyes, tucking the nodes into his pocket, and slipped the voice modulator cuff from his ear. “You still have three days of leave, do you not? I hear there are carnivorous jungle expeditions that set out from an island just west of here.”

She grunted, but took the apology for what it was. “You better have packed your hiking boots.”

His rich, warm laugh was lightyears better than the bell-chime chuckle he’d been affecting with the modulator, and made even more welcome by the hand he slid up her spine. “As soon as I get changed, we can wrestle bloodthirsty megaflora to your heart’s delight,” he assured her, and she snorted and slung an arm over his shoulder to guide him down the sidewalk.

#ffxivwrite2023 #writing - mine #final fantasy xiv #aymeric de borel #s: a minor justice #kinda #starfinder au #oc: hanami hagane #hahaaaaa i meant to finish this the day of the prompt but it has been. A Week.

[darksunrising]

Bard On Bard Violence (3/?)

Masterlist of the Echoes of Faerûn Series

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Rating / Warnings : Mature audiences.

Fandom, Pairing : Baldur's Gate III, Raphael x Tav (focus), Astarion x Tav (background)

Author’s notes : If you're about to make a deal with a Devil, you might as well get a lawyer involved, and a good one.

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Echo starts playing later into the night, Astarion by his side, both in their finest, not bloody-est clothes. It doesn’t take long for Raphael to show up in his usual show of flame and embers, though he does raise an eyebrow at Astarion’s presence.

“My, my, little mouse, I didn’t think I would have shaken you so that you would need emotional support”, he teases, making his way to the pair.

“ Legal support, actually”, Astarion corrects with a toothy grin, his hand still firmly set on Echo’s shoulder as he stands, slipping along his spine to his waist. Raphael’s eyebrows furrow, at that, and Echo raises a hand in an attempt to keep peace.

“If you would allow it”, Echo starts with his usual lyrical little lilt of persuasion. “I would rather have another pair of eyes to look over that contract, since I don’t have that much experience with infernal contracts.”

Raphael has a little laugh. “And you believe bringing your vampire little boyfriend will help in that regard?” It’s playful, not as rude as it should sound, considering what he’s saying.

“I used to be a magistrate, believe it or not”, Astarion says, refusing to part with that confident smile. “Echo can read infernal, and I can read legalese ”, he says, with a twirl of his free hand.

Raphael’s expression moves to an unreadable one, stroking his chin for a second before he snaps them away without warning as he did the first time they met. The warmth of the House of Hope hits them like a truck after the chilly night air, and Astarion strengthens his grip on Echo, arm moving to hook around his waist to pull him close against him. Just for show, or to intimidate them, Raphael’s shed his human appearance for his devilish one, skin deep carmine, iris burning bright gold on dark sclera. 

“Welcome back”, he lilts, hands and arms open as he stretches his wings, showing off their ridiculous span before he folds them neatly behind him. “If you’ll follow me to my office, we will be more comfortable there.”

Their steps echo in the halls, all marble and intricately woven tapestries - he has taste, if anything, not to make the place look like a den of evil like you’d expect from a Devil with ambitions such as his. Even the heat is quite pleasant, like basking in the sun after a week of spring rain. It’s quite a large house, too, some doors open on cozy drawing rooms, many closed. Echo can see Astarion’s eyes quickly move from a feature to another, lingering on every lock. He’s memorizing every corner of this place as they walk through it, and the thought that his vampire is already planning a heist in the house of a seemingly very powerful cambion brings the ghost of a smile to his lips.

Raphael’s office is as elegantly decorated as the rest of the House, though more intimate, velvet and chiselled wood, and a burning fire in the hearth, which, if unneeded, certainly does bring a certain atmosphere. The cambion walks around his desk - mahogany, of course, massive, and gestures to the chairs on the other side for the two visitors to sit. Astarion reluctantly lets go of Echo to sit, legs elegantly crossed, while Echo struggles not to sit as he usually does, one leg folded up, or turn it over to straddle it. He figures that’s not really proper to go negotiate a contract on his soul - or part of it, at least.

“Now���, Raphael starts, clapping his hands together. “Here is a little draft I’ve started working on, if you’d like to take a look.” He snaps his fingers again, and a scroll appears out of thin air, unrolling to reveal a neat infernal script, red so deep it almost looks black. He hasn’t bothered writing in Common, of course.

“Do take your time, dear, I have all the time in the world”, Raphael drawls, eyes lidded like a contented cat.

Echo reaches for the scroll. The paper feels like vellum - might be, actually, though he doesn’t want to think about what sort of veal could give out a sheet so long. Silky soft, warm, he can feel the writing on the other side where the quill’s scratched the paper in. He leans in towards astarion, translating as he goes. Not only is this infernal script, but actual infernal. It’s been a while he’s had any practice, but he can make sense of it, if a bit slowly. He does look up at Raphael from time to time, who’s either seemingly deeply focused on his correspondence, or meeting his gaze with a malicious glint in his eyes.

The contract is rather long, and Astarion keeps marvelling at Raphael’s craftiness in his turn of phrases, in the legal sense, of course. It is quite helpful to have the ex-magistrate around, little glasses perched on his nose, to point out subtleties that would have eluded Echo, word-crafty as he is. That’s all the danger in Raphael, millenia of experience in how to best tighten the noose around a human soul in verbose legal jargon, all with the fluidity and lyricism to conceal any nefarious intent.

“I do hope you’ve brought more paper”, Echo says, lips curled up in a smile. “I have some corrections indeed.”

Raphael grins, leaning in towards him.

“Do tell.”

× × ×

“I have to say, I am not fond of ‘when desire and need strikes’ as a denomination for when you can summon my client's services”, Astarion pipes up, clearly enjoying himself quite a lot, the way he puts emphasis on his words. 

The devil leans back in his chair, opening his hands. “Considering your client would have free reign to use the power I provide him whenever his desire strikes, I think that is a fair equivalence”, he replies. He's probably used to having that sort of lazy argument work on his other clientèle. The mischievous glint in his eye confirms he's expecting more from the duo, however. 

“In theory, removed from all context, of course. You know as well as I do that you summoning me has not the same implication as me summoning the Hunger of Hadar with your blessing ”, Echo retorts with half a laugh, to which Raphael brings a hand to his heart in mock offense. 

“Yes, I do think we ought to clarify, how often, and how long you should be able to summon my darl- client's services”, Astarion adds, correcting himself as if the mistake hadn't been intentional. 

“Fine.” Raphael leans back in, like he's conceded a great deal to the pair. “Do tell me your requirements.”

Echo taps his lower lip with the end of the elegant glass quill Raphael's provided for him, gladly noticing the near imperceptible glance the Devil takes at it. “First, I would want a minimum delay of two weeks between summons”, he starts, fully aware that this number is entirely out of the range of what Raphael might accept. He's right in that he immediately interjects like he's been slapped. 

“ Two weeks ?”, he exclaims, feigning shock and horror. “You must be joking. I will give you two days.”

“Unacceptable”, Astarion replies. “My client will need recuperating time between descents into the Hells that two days simply could not fulfill. Ten days.”

“Outrageous. Four days.”

“A week.”

“Five, and I will throw in Balduran holidays.”

Astarion takes a look at Echo, and they both turn back to the Devil. “Done.” Raphael takes some notes, scrawled in a tiny, neat script on a sheet of paper he’s produced from his desk.

“Now, about the length of my client’s sojourns in your House...”

× × ×

The back and forth lasts a little, Astarion and Raphael battling for who will look most like an outraged peacock at the other’s offers, Echo sitting back with a hardly suppressed smile, arms crossed over his chest. Since time is far from linear in the House of Hope, they’d agree Echo could be summoned for a maximum of twelve hours in the House, passing as only one hour in Faerûn. 

Of course, that would also mean his body would only feel that time passing as a single hour. He and Astarion had calculated, with much harship, and much protest from Raphael - not much more competent than either of them concerning algebra - that should he use his summoning right as often as he’d be allowed, Echo would feel 48 by the time he reached 46, which was not acceptable especially to Astarion, who resented to give up more time with him than absolutely necessary, on his already tragically short lifespan. That specific comment, said by the elf with such legal casualness, still managed to take Echo in an emotional chokehold he needed a few minutes to fully rid himself of.

“About the other thing”, Astarion says after a little pause, clearing his throat.

“The other thing?”, Raphael asks, taking an air of innocence that’s almost hilarious to see on his devilish features.

“Sex”, Echo says, very matter-of-factly, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Go on.” Raphael has a little encouraging gesture of the hand. He will make him spell out everything, of course.

“I need a safeword”, Echo starts, the words coming naturally as most do, the hundredth time they come out of your mouth.

“Don’t you trust me to stop if you ask?” Raphael’s expression betrays an inkling of genuineness, beyond that predatory, sharp smile.

“I will not teach you that begging to stop has its appeal...”, Echo says, noticing the hint of a smirk on Astarion’s face, out the corner of his eye. “... on both sides. I need a safeword to differentiate play and actually needing a break.

Raphael’s wings bristle, a little, though he has a little nod, taking notes again. “Fair enough. Do you have one in mind?”

“ Iceberg .” Easy to pronounce, easy to say loudly. Thematically appropriate. Raphael’s smile twitches, and he writes it down.

The rest comes easy. It’s only a checklist of boundaries, and he’s very intimate with those. Nothing unsanitary save for bloodplay. Nothing in public, nothing that would cause permanent death, dismemberment, injury, annoying little conditions like pregnancy, or scarring. That last point, Raphael protested.

“If I am to be your patron, I should bear some mark on you for the length of our agreement. It is common practice, for Warlocks and their Patrons”, Raphael explains, like it bears no arguing.

“Like Mizora’s little gift to our dear friend Wyll, you mean?”, Astarion jibes, mimicking horns sprouting from his head.

“That specific gift was a punishment, rather”, Raphael corrects, raising a finger. “That sending stone he uses as an eye would be a more apt example, for instance.”

“I am not letting you replace one of my body parts, Raphael”, Echo sighs, tapping his fingers over his arm.

“Nor would I want to!”, the Devil replies, opening his hands in good faith surrender. “I only want to be allowed one mark.”

Echo and Astarion share a look. “Did you have anything in mind?”, Echo asks, somewhat suspiciously. Raphael claps his hands together, and stands up.

“Glad you asked, dear.” He strides to a console on the side of the room, and gets a box made of dark, lustered wood, mounted on small feet, intricately carved and gilded. He sets the box on the desk, in front of Echo, and invites him to open it as he sits back in his chair.

With a last quizzical look to the ever impassible cambion, Echo lifts the top of the box to examine its contents. Laid on a deep red velvet cushion, are two matching golden cones, made of intricate, sharp filigree, two tear-shaped rubies dangling from the pointy ends. Astarion’s leaning in with an appreciative little hum - he’s always had an eye for the finer things in life, and they definitely are that.

“I did notice you enjoy to adorn your horns”, Raphael says. “These would have to be fitted, of course, but I figured these would be discreet enough for your liking, and obvious enough for mine.” He looks very sure of himself, which is infuriating mostly because it’s warranted, considering the way Echo looks at the pieces of jewellery. These look like they’ve taken great craftsmanship, and time . Makes him wonder, how long Raphael’s been planning this deal? How long since he’s been sure enough Echo would consider it? To be so utterly familiar with the bard’s tastes?

“It works”, Echo says, as flatly as he can, gently closing the box’s lid. The tone doesn’t matter to Raphael, the Devil’s seen what he needed.

“Good”, he near-purrs, making Astarion’s ears twitch in annoyance at the sound. Nails clicking as he taps them over the wood of the desk.

“I think we have covered most of everything”, the elf interrupts, drawing Echo’s gaze back to him. “Anything else you can think of, darling?”

The tiefling thinks, a little, quill rested on his lip again. Once he notices that little dip in his gaze again, he leans back in his chair again. “I think we’re good.” Raphael’s expression shifts, near-imperceptibly, not long enough for Echo to really read into it. The excitement of the whole situation, negotiating a deal with a Devil , cools down until he starts to feel that little dread again, the natural one any sane person should feel when dealing with a Fiend.

“The amended contract will come to you as soon as possible”, Raphael says as he stands up, Echo and Astarion following suit. “In the meantime... Sleep well.” He raises his hand, and in a snap, the pair are yanked back into the cold night air, only the faint scent of cherries and cedarwood hanging to their clothes proving they were ever gone.

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Comments are super appreciated, and you can dm me if you want to be on the taglist if that’s still a thing people do!

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #astarion x tav #astarion #fanfiction #bard on bard violence #echoes of faerun

[saintmeghanmarkle]

From Talk Tv by u/CheapLingonberry6785

From Talk Tv https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQI18GV090EThey don’t hold back !!“ H has too much time on his hands ( unemployed! ) but still wants the status and Royal protection and privileges the others get “ But also make the point that he could now be seen as a “ vexatious litigant “ - I just saw he’s appealing the verdict 🙄 - any legalese here who could weigh in on whether they might allow his appeal or not ? post link: https://ift.tt/0G5WfyB author: CheapLingonberry6785 submitted: February 28, 2024 at 07:44PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

#SaintMeghanMarkle #harry and meghan #meghan markle #prince harry #fucking grifters #Worldwide Privacy Tour #Instagram loving bitch wife #Backgrid #voetsek meghan #walmart wallis #markled #archewell #archewell foundation #megxit #duke and duchess of sussex #duke of sussex #duchess of sussex #doria ragland #rent a royal #clevr #clevr blends #lemonada media #archetypes #archetypes with meghan #invictus #invictus games #Sussex #CheapLingonberry6785

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

Brief rant but...

I *know* that people outside of fandom don't tend to understand fanfiction or fanworks. I completely understand that if you aren't in that world, it sounds a bit odd.

But today my friend asked what I was working on and I told her honestly: a fanfiction project. And then she said she didn't understand so I let her ask whatever she wanted.

No, I won't tell you my author handle. No, you won't find them searching my name and you likely won't find them searching by fandom, either; there are simply too many to parse down to such specificity. And no, you won't be able to identify my "writing voice" because you don't know my fiction voice nor is it constant.

Yes, people read what I write. Yes, more than a few. Yes, I've written novel length works. Yes, for different fandoms over time; after all, I've been writing fanfiction for coming up on twenty years.

And then we got more specific. Yes, the host site I use handles the backend legalese of copyright and sandbox works. No, I don't profit from it. Yes, I have an editor.

I explained filler fics vs au, and the draw and appeal of different types of fanfiction. Ultimately, I think we reached an understanding that it's just like writing fiction... I just didn't create the characters, necessarily. I'm playing in someone else's world and saying "what if". That doesn't mean it's not challenging, rewarding creative work.

And yes, I'm much more legitimate of a writer than people assume me to be. It fascinates me that, because of the subject material I usually lean into, people don't understand that.