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@bellecosebabe
Art by Welder Wings.

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"I suppose that I am."
Gosh. He isn't sure what claims him just now. At first, they're lounging, dream lapping at his consciousness like seas upon shores, breaking and yielding all glittering salt, but with one simple move, desire's sprung in his belly... those eyes, drizzled earth, go just-struck flint. He is — by Mystra's mantle above, a wantonly malleable creature. For shame, you beast. Verin's hand finds his neck, her thumb at his swallow, but eager, indeed, the great wizard enjoys it. Her nails trail his veins, and his black blood roars. "Oh," her lover, doomed, doting, flutters alive, "I like the sound of the latter. Very, very much." Yes. The sheets ruck. Gale's hand, parchment-smooth, finds her wrist, and rooting her, allows her palm to feel the juttering bump of his swallowed down praise. It's a wordless command, a plea falling thick on deliciously debauching, but so be it, Gale thinks as he tangles up her locks. He is needy, he admits it, and he claims his kiss. She is cold and electric. She can smother him dead. Her fingers play at axe, her body executioner, yet her lover is hopeless as he cradles her closer, tight, closer still. Against their pressed-flushed ribs, his blight-heart sings.
How Verin's languid and near mindless movements roused him so, subtle surprise flits across her features before she meets his stunned stare with half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smile settles across her features. Contented, she relaxes into him, started loosening her hold, contented, and her focus drifts. His pulse paces against her fingertips, his words a prattled hum at her palm, the ebb of his breathing soft in her hand, she's enamored, she forgets to consider the murder song that ran through her own pulse. Pins and needles danced from the tips of her fingers to the base of her palm; he tempts her; tests her, teases her grip, with his own around her wrist, warm. And shewonders if he can feel the thrum of her blood, her own excitement; As he breathed in her air, she tightened her grip. He tasted of wine and petrichor, it's heady, it's clarity. It's a hesitation before she continues to apply pressure. While Verin needn't words or her hands to silence him, he was fool enough to wrought the storm himself and he needn't spells to do that.
im so bored, I need to put myself in danger
He's fussing. Gods knows he's fussing. But Gale, slipping her jacket off of her, Tara watching from the living room afar, can't find it in him to settle and breathe. Rather, his nerves, frazzling, are drearily a-jumble. Dinner still simmering, the Dekarios loft twinkles tender with thyme. Verin is here as his first guest in ages—or his first guest since Mystra. His first anything since. "Apologies. I tidied up as best I could, but I realize I'm in terrible need of another bookshelf—or twenty. Cold? You seem wind-bitten," he says. "Were it not threatening a flu, I'd say it's a lovely color on you."
@bellecosebabe.
It was endearing. The clutter of a lived in home, the way he flitted about her to help take off her jacket, those little wisps of hair that had come loose from the rest framing his face she noticed in the corner of her eye when he did. It's enough to nearly catch her off guard, enough that a soft smile lingers across her features. "Cold?" She parrots back, as if she's both bemused and amused; as if she doubts him; she touches a finger to her cheek. "I- Thank you." A laugh trickles out, as she looks back to him, the flush of her features no longer from the cold alone. "—Is there anything I can help you with?"

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I DO want to say, I know I've been highly inactive up until lately and I want to the thank everyone, especially those of you I've not spoken with ever or in a long ass time, for sticking around. Ever since I started my job in November of 2021 I've not had the time even when I have had the energy. I'm starting a new job this December. While I'm not changing industries or role, I'm going to be starting at a firm that sounds like they actually care about their staff's work life balance.
So thank you all, truly, for hanging around. Hopefully, I'll be able to be more active and finally get to some writing.
Commission for @waterdepths of Gale and Verin ! 💕✌🏻
if i had made verin in the year of 2023 i probably would have used willa fitzgerald as her fc
she's a 10 but she bites
Standing beneath her gaze, Gale finds, is not unlike finding yourself her unsuspecting muse. He feels her eyes along his back, their weight tracing the veins that stain his hands, and if a muse was a touch like being rodent to a cat, well, that Gale shivers, he'll not admit. Besides, playing her tutor, it was hardly professional tossing over these thoughts! So, when Verin stands beside him with a croaking incantation, Gale, shaking out of it, finds his nerve. "Unsure?" he asks harmlessly, sensing her agitation. "If it's one thing I know at all, which is rather quite a lot, it's that you're never unsure about anything." Ever. "Now, here. Try again." Patience. His focus trains on this frightening woman, taking in the jerk of her fingers and the purse of her mouth, and with a quirk of his wrist, the air again crackles thrilling with spell. It's mesmerizing. It's like they're stood in the center of a rainstorm, perhaps budding ruin, and faintly, the inked wisps up his chest throb slow. "You aren't ever to tame the Weave, Verin. This may be a thrillingly new concept," ha, "but there is no control to seize or whips to lash. You aren't here fighting or forcing something into submission. You're making art." Somehow, his everything feels impossibly heavier. Of course. With the utmost care, Gale, close, smelled of maelstrom and wine, is channeling that magic through her, guiding her, and the taste of it is — different. "Feel that?"
Frustration holds her features, furrowed brow, that pout of a scowl on her lips, carmine eyes almost quietly asking him to call it there. She's more frustrated that he noted hesitancy of her than her failing, though that tiny despondence speaks to small embarrassment of hers. He's far too perceptive of her tells by now, yet she'll hide it in the next moment. As his, 'try again', is met with a roll of her eyes and cheeks pinched by her teeth. 'Try again' as if it will go any better than before, but she'll humor him, her persistent teacher. Yet with his prattling, her mind wanders between his words, peeks the thrum of the orb, emanating lines, her eyes wander up until she meets his own. Almost absentmindedly she nods along, though more sincerely to his last question, still entirely unconvinced even as his powers swirl about them, though she'll breath it in, breath him in. She's getting distracted again. And what was it he had said earlier on 'word, hand, breathe, and will', she takes another deep breath before trying again, "Harures," It's sharp, chased by the crack of lightning, aimed at one of the limbs he had taken down in his own incantation, and nothing near as magnificent as him, but better than nothing. She turns over her hands, the feeling of static still flitting through her fingertips, and she looks to him expectantly, almost surprised by herself, surprised by that, alongside what he enabled her to do.

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Belladonna of Sadness (1973) dir. Eiichi Yamamoto
feel and listen, faiz ahmed faiz (trans. sain sucha) // salomé, oscar wilde (trans. alfred douglas).
She loathes his reasons, detests them bitterly, but fortunately, or blessedly, he's little more to give. As it is, Verin, temper flaring like she's just struck coal, would neither stand nor suffer to hear another more. Her air is smoldering. Her rage is spitting. And were it not for the clatter of their camp propped beyond them, Gale, quite rattled, might have thought this war.
He tightens his fists and then slowly surrenders.
"In all our time together, I had watched you carve your way through caverns, tireless impossibilities, and anyone's share of interminable foe," Gale begins, "yet, no matter how often you have left me speechless, should you ever unmake me, it will be by your words." He is struck. Never in all his marred, complicated years has Gale Dekarios been enough. Ever. However, Verin, blistering, adores him plenty all the same in spite of his folly and in the face of his doom. She jabs that swirling orb, and Gale's heartbeat jutters. His hands ache to touch her, his soul a billion ways starved. "If Gale of Waterdeep isn't to die for your love, know he wants nothing more than to live for it. By your side, it doesn't feel like I'm merely surviving... I'm eager for everything. Refreshingly desperate. I want you — and in all ways this world seems determined to deny of me."
The spitting fire of her that fills their sequestered space of the night, burns bright, tinging the air around them red. And he'd be right to think it a war, right to be jolted by her bludgeoning brashness, but his surrender doesn't mark her as such. In the light of her eyes, Gale stands just arms-length from her, and she softens, to his languishing, to the waver of his resolve, that awe of his to what words had seemed so obvious, so simple. His words, baritone, rhythmic almost, lulls her anger back in to place, and for a moment, the world returns to her: the distant hum of insects, the clatter of the camp, the twig that snaps as she rests her weight onto her back leg.
But his platitudes and verbosity stutter that, and the flush of rage still lingers on her features, even as he capitulates, he didn't say he wouldn't. It wasn't a no, not directly, and she folds her arms across her chest again she has to consider whether she is willing to negotiate his surrender with loose terms. Fine— Verin holds her sigh, but that hesitation before she begins in again, is nigh telling, "Then you will, live. And if, if you think to, dare to, know that you may have her forgiveness, but you will never have mine. —I'd sooner rip the damn thing out of your chest, than continue on without you."
—WHAT FORM OF LOVE DO YOU EMBODY ?
Love as violence. [ love as bloodshed, crimson as a knife slipped between your ribs ] when ocean vuong said "to arrive at love, then, is to arrive through obliteration" and when franz kafka said "you are the knife i turn inside myself; that is love" and when ada limon said "how do you love? like a fist. like a knife" and when richard siken said "sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine"
tagged by: @lcvnderhazed tagging: @ohshadow, @waterdepths, @reapinghook, @nerimoi, @sherez
callout for @ohshadow
she likes to bite ass and eats ants

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I just think deadly or dangerous female characters are boring if they arent allowed to get a little messy thats all
like yeah she can kill you in seventeen different ways but does her hair get fucked up. does she get blood on her clothes. does she get blood on her face. is she breathing heavy with an unbalanced look in her eye. these are the important questions
"some relationships, like warts, can be handled with the tactful application of liquid nitrogen."
"Are you saying that's what I should do to him? Spray him down with liquid nitrogen and peel off the skin?" She considers it, mulls over the idea in her head, evident by the quick screwing of her features, before ultimately, a 'no'. "Do you know how much liquid nitrogen I would need, Sliske? Do you? About half a grand for a ton, just to be certain I could freeze all the tissue. It'd be cheaper for me to use a gun with one bullet. And I think I'd get the same results."