#[ you can take the elf out of the circus -- ] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dinogoofymutated · 6 months ago

Text

SFW!Nightcrawler/GN!Reader - Part 1 - part 2 - Part 3

kdhbcjshbc I know I said I was gonna work on my Wolverine fic rn but I got sidetracked. This was originally going to be one long ass fic but since the first half ended up already over 4k works I decided to split it into two! It's basically a friends to lovers fic and I know the beginning is a bit of a jumpscare but they're both adults by the end of the fic I promise!! Edit: I totally forgot to add!! Another special thanks to @blue-devil-of-the-lord for their help with german translations!

Tws: Mentions of animal cruelty in the circus. The ringleader is an asshole. I might have made Kurt's brother a bit of an asshole too sorry. Kurt's backstory is going to be kinda a combination of all the shit I've read/know so please be patient lol. I'll go back and add more tags if I think of any.

You were sixteen when you first met Kurt Wagner, although, he went by Kurt Szardos back then. You had never been to the circus before, and you hadn’t really paid to be there anyway. The show had already started when your father had taken you into the tent, sitting you down in an absent seat near the front. You didn’t want to get in trouble, but he had assured you it was fine. He had business to attend to, and told you that his future employer had given his blessing for you to sit and watch as your father handled business. After all, the two of you were a combo deal, and if you were to be working for the circus, you might as well know just what you were getting yourself into.

The circus tent was loud with laughter and the sounds of an awed crowd. It was a little overwhelming, to be honest. There were simply too many voices, too many lights- and yet when you finally set aside your grievances to try and enjoy the show, you still struggled.

The monkeys were annoyed with their handler, and every shout towards the crowd was an insult. The lion was young, and still afraid he wouldn’t make the jump through that vicious ring of fire- still healing from the burns he earned by brushing against the flames during the last performance. The doves from the magician act were a bonded pair, rejoicing the time and attention they were being given in the spotlight- and yet the male was already dreading their moments after the show and the dark, dirty cage they would kept in. The female was trying her best to cheer him up. Every animal was unafraid to keep their voice down, and you had never heard animals speak so loudly before. Part of you wonders if it was simply because they were so used to being ignored, they had grown used to letting their voice free- speaking from the heart and yet always being unheard.

You didn’t like this part of the circus much- and although the tricks these animals did were beautiful and amazing, you couldn’t manage to enjoy it like all the others around you did. You were frowning while all others were smiling and laughing so joyously- perhaps that was what drew him to you in the first place.

“And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present-” All but one of the spotlights have started to circle around the tent, the ringmaster standing completely within the only lingering light. “Our Flying Fiend… the Daredevil Demon… The one and only, Nightcrawler!” Every moving spotlight lands on a single man standing on one of the high beams. He’s smiling so brightly that you can see it from where you stand feet below him. He’s… strange. Elf-like ears, yellow eyes, and blue skin. A pointed tail sways eagerly behind him, and he takes a deep bow in front of you. His yellow eyes peer open as he does so, and for a moment, you swear he looks straight at you. You’re not entirely sure if he was wearing a costume or not anymore.

The performance starts out with one hell of a beginning. Every flip and jump is an incredible act of athleticism- and you find your eyes following Nightcrawler throughout every trick. Two other acrobats join the fray, and yet he’s the only one who catches your eye. At one point, they bring out these long swings- ones that sweep right above the audience with every swoop. There’s one swing for every side of the audience- and the acrobats switch with a dramatic flare every few swings.

On the very last switch, Nightcrawler is the one who swings over your seats.

He’s much more handsome up close, you realize, blushing even where you are now. You swear with every swing, he’s looking at you. It makes your heart flutter a bit, and on the very last swing of the night, he takes out a rose, pretending to throw it to multiple groups of screaming fans, before he swings again with a dramatic flair. Unlike the other times, he’s holding onto the swing with his feet and tail. He’s so close to the audience without touching a single hair on anyone's head- and then he gets to you.

You could have sworn that time had slowed, no matter how quickly it happened. The two of you finally lock eyes, and his hand stretches out. The rose falls into your lap, the air whooshing by your face as he’s gone just as quickly. You pick up the flower, a genuine smile finally on your face, and you find that all the other voices of excitement around you have finally drowned out.

That was the first and last time you had watched the show at Herr Getmann's Traveling Menagerie. After that, you and your father were behind the scenes instead of in the stands.

It had been about a week and a half since you and your father had been walking to the circus to work. He knew every path and every road like the back of his hand, insisting the two of you walk instead of drive to save money on gas, and he just so happened to know a few shortcuts through the woods. Usually, you were able to rely on him to guide you, but today you woke up late. Your father had already left without you- which you’re not entirely sure wasn’t intentional. He did leave a note for you, giving you instructions on how to get there on your own.

Needless to say, that didn’t actually work out too well. A thirty to forty-five-minute walk had quickly turned into an hour, and then an hour in a half. You were trying your absolute best to follow the instructions, but this was hardly a cohesive path in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t exactly easy.

You’re beginning to give up at this point, stumbling through the brush as you try to find the general direction you think you’re supposed to be going. Your feet have started to ache and blister, and you find yourself beginning to lose hope.

“Hello!” If the sound of the voice hadn’t scared the shit out of you, the strange man hanging upside down from the branches of a wild Crab apple tree certainly did. You shriek in terror, your feet slipping as you fall back on your butt. You hold your hands over your heart as the strange acrobat from the circus jumps down in a panic, holding his even stranger hands out in front of him.

“Oh- Es tut mir Leid! I am so sorry! I had not meant to startle you!” He says frantically, kneeling down to help you up in a very gentlemanly manner. You’re wide-eyed as you look at him, letting him help you up without a fuss. Up close and in broad daylight like this, it was very clear that he certainly was… Blue, to say the least.

“I-it’s okay.” You stutter. He smiles warmly at you, tail swaying excitedly behind him, and it simply confirms to you that he wasn’t wearing a costume at all. You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find some words. He blinks at you as you do so, patiently (if not obliviously) waiting for you to speak.

“You’re from the circus, aren’t you?” Is what you finally land on, still a little startled from before. The acrobat nods eagerly.

“I am. I'm happy that you remember me! I’ve been told I leave a bit of an impression.” He jokes, and you find yourself smiling again. He was charming, for someone so strange. “The farrier is your father, right?” He asks, taking you by surprise. You didn’t think that anyone had taken the time to notice you, your father’s shadow in every sense of the word. It makes you feel a little funny, but surely he didn’t remember you from that first performance, right? Maybe he’s just very observant of those who come in and out of the circus stables.

“Well, yes.” You affirm, starting to anxiously fiddle with your fingers. “I didn’t really expect you to know who I was, to be honest.” He lets out a happy chuckle at that.

“Of course, I know! A face like yours is hard to forget.” He chirps, sending you a wink. “But I must say, You’re a bit far from the circus, Meine Freundin.” You make a bit of a grimace at that, and he sends you a questioning smile.

“Yes, well… To be frankly honest, I’m a bit lost.” You admit, eyes locked solely on the ground, taking the time to notice the various fruits that had fallen from the tree and gone bad. You can see the acrobat’s tail swaying in your peripheral vision, and still feel his eyes on you. It makes you blush a little from embarrassment, a little flustered that you had become so lost.

“I’ll gladly show you the way, I was just about to go back myself.” Your head snaps up to look at him in bewilderment at that, before you realize just how lucky you are to have found him out here. He picks up a basket of crab apples that you hadn’t noticed before, and you offer to carry it for him as a thanks for guiding you back. He won’t let you no matter how hard you try, certainly the first gentleman you’ve met in quite a while. He tells you that your profuse thanks is more than enough for him.

The two of you get to talking while you make the long walk back to the circus, and he tells you about his mother, Margali Szardos, and how she had asked him to wander over this way to pick the fruit from the crab apple tree for her. She was fairly adamant about him doing so, telling him that it was of great importance, but he didn’t quite understand why fruit could be such a pressing matter. He’s very funny, and you find yourself greatly enjoying his company. The two of you feel like close friends already, and you hadn’t even realized that you didn’t even know his real name until you’ve already arrived at the plethora of brightly colored circus tents.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t believe I ever asked for your name.” You say, the awkwardness of the question not even registering with how happy you are to simply be in his company. He sends you another dazzling smile before he holds his hand, offering it for you to shake.

“I’m Kurt.” He tells you. You introduce yourself as well, happy to have made a new friend today. You hear someone calling your name from not too far away, and spot your father waving his hand at you, calling you over.

“I have to go, but thank you so much for your help!” You say, once again thanking him adamantly.

“Walking with you was lovely. I hope to see you more often.” Kurt says, right before you go. You can’t help but blush a little, unable to keep yourself from smiling widely. You couldn’t help it! He was just so handsome in both looks and personality, the strangeness of his skin color and three-fingered hands being something you easily begin to care less and less about.

“Likewise.” You agree, almost completely flustered. Your father calls for you again, and you quickly say your goodbyes before you rush off to him. You find yourself in a rather good mood for the rest of the day, despite your sore and blistered feet from the long journey here.

Many months flew by very fast while you and your father worked for the circus, and you and Kurt had grown very close. He visited you when he could sneak away from practice and performances, and although you were more concerned about him staying out of trouble, you began to appreciate the company beyond the way a simple friend would, finding yourself blushing and flustered while around him.

A fact that hadn’t changed throughout your time there was the treatment of many of the animals. All of them had a grievance or problem of some sort, and it broke your heart to have to stand by without the ability to help them. In the eyes of the circus, you were just the Ferrier’s assistant, nothing more. At first, you were, in the very least. Some of the animal trainers had noticed how good you were with the horses, and how even the most skittish of the equine animals would calm around you and let you handle them without any trouble. Things like that don’t go unnoticed, and soon enough many of the animal handlers had heard about your “gift” with the live attractions. Part of this was due to your Father’s constant bragging about your special skill with animals, although you were the only one who knew the truth about it all. After a while, the frustrated animal trainers began to ask you to assist them with the other animals as well, noting how it hadn’t taken very long before they were at ease around you. The size of cages and the attitudes of the trainers were something you couldn’t change very much, but even if you could only help out with a few things here and there, you were happy- and the animals were too.

Today, you were doing your best to handle an absolute disaster.

Tonight’s animal show was a new set, with lots of loud noises and the pops of fireworks launching far, far above the tops of the tallest tent. With so many new lights and colors, they should have known something was bound to go wrong- and boy, did it. The smallest pony in the show was a stunning Blue Roan mare named Bubbles- and unlike many of the other mares in the show, she was very skittish. Her trainers mostly knew to be careful around her, but that consideration slipped under the radar when it came to all the new changes. Her show went by relatively seamless, with only a few issues here and there- but it was enough to put her on edge. When the fireworks finale went off as she was being led out of the main tent, it was just her last straw.

I don’t like them. I don’t like the loud noises. Bubbles is pacing anxiously in the back of her tiny stable, still having trouble settling down. Every bump or noise from outside and even the neighboring stables sends her spiraling again. You’re standing at the gate, giving her a cautious amount of room to pace and worry so that she doesn’t feel trapped by you.

“I know, Bubbles, It’s okay.” You whisper. You’re so concerned for her, and angry with her trainers, too. It makes your blood boil to remember how one of them had gotten frustrated with her tonight, eventually giving up on settling her completely and thrusting her reins at you, telling you to “take this stupid thing somewhere else!”. The lack of patience and understanding makes you rage, but you know you can’t say a thing if you want to keep this opportunity to work with the animals.

Please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so scared. I’ll do better, I promise. Bubbles says again. The words almost bring tears to your eyes, hurting for her. You hate seeing her so scared.

“Hey, hey. Easy, I’m not mad at you, I promise. You’re safe with me, okay?” You tell her, starting to slowly approach her as her pacing begins to slow. She whinnies once, huffing as she tries her best to calm herself down. Eventually, she begins to settle, letting you get close enough to reassuringly pet her nose and flank. She leans into the comforting touches, finally beginning to relax after being high-strung for so long. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a minute, enjoying each other's company as you hear the sounds of the circus begin to dwindle and die.

I’m sorry for all the trouble. Bubbles apologizes quietly.

“You haven’t been any trouble, Bubbles, I promise.” You say soothingly. “Do you want to talk for a bit before I go?” She nods her head, and that’s all the answer you need.

The two of you talk for a long, long while as you take off her tack and brush her down, pampering her as you ready her for bed. You talk about food, trainers, the new horseshoes she’s getting next week- anything at all. Even Kurt comes up in conversation, eventually.

I like him. She says decisively. He sneaks me leftover apples. You can’t help but giggle at that, already having a hunch that he had been giving the horses treats while no one was looking. Not that you really mind, it was nice to know that they had someone other than you and your father looking out for them.

“I agree. He’s very nice.” You say, smiling brightly. She noses you in response.

I think he likes you, too. You instantly blush at her words, shaking your head at her with a flustered smile. You honestly doubted he saw you as much more of a friend, even if the two of you have had somewhat sensitive moments sometimes.

“I really don't think-”

“Guten Abend!” You can’t help but shriek at the greeting, knowing just who it was as you whip around in the stable, spotting Kurt leaning against the gate with a cheesy smile.

“Kurt! You have got to stop scaring me like that!” You scold, throwing the dandy brush at him. He pretends to be wounded, holding a hand over the spot it hit him dramatically as he laughs.

“I’m sorry. Seems I couldn’t help myself.” Kurt says, and you lightly slap his arm again for good measure when you can reach him, trying and failing to keep yourself from smiling at his antics.

“You could have startled Bubbles. It took forever for me to get her settled after the show today!” You scold him again, smile not letting up for a second. Kurt smiles a little nervously at that before he looks behind you to see the completely unbothered Bubbles.

He wouldn’t have- I saw him come in. She says. You wave her off discreetly. That’s not the point, Bubbles! But even without being able to understand her, Kurt seems to get the hint that she wasn’t even a tad bit bothered and jumps the gate with such ease you can’t help but be a little jealous of his athleticism.

“Then I’ll apologize to you too, Bubbles.” Kurt cooes, lavishing her forehead and muzzle with pets and kisses that she happily receives. You watch him with a smile, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. You knew you were absolutely gone on him, this little crush of yours having developed into true and deep feelings of affection. But how could you not? Even watching him right now it’s clear to see the kindness and support he gives to every living thing regardless of status or species. That meant more to you than you think he might ever know.

“How was it out there?” You ask eventually, leaning against the side of the stable.

“So-so. The crowds have started to react less to our sets. Mother says that we’ll get better reactions if we change the performance a little.” Kurt shrugs, tail tucked tightly around his own waist- something you noticed he did every time he entered the stables so that he wouldn’t startle the horses with the snake-like limb. You frown, eyebrows furrowing at the news. You knew that they had been trying some new things for the animal shows, but the acrobatics had always been so incredible and immaculate. It’s strange to you that anyone would look on at that part of the show with a straight face.

“And how does Ringmaster Getmann feel about that?” You ask. Bubbles huffs through her nose angrily at his name, and you join Kurt by her side, petting her shoulder. You can see that Kurt is frowning, not responding to your question as his eyes stay squarely on Bubbles.

“...Kurt?” You’re really worried for him now, knowing that the look on his face can only mean that nothing good will come of it.

“It’s nothing for you to worry over.” Kurt responds after a minute. “He wants us to do riskier tricks, but Mother keeps telling him it’s not the best idea. He’s rather adamant about it though.” His voice is soft while he delivers the news, and it makes you wonder how on earth he’s not angry about the blatant disregard for both his and his adoptive siblings’ safety.

I knew I had a good reason to hate that man! Bubbles speaks angrily as she flicks her tail, Kurt being the only reason she hadn’t bucked or stopped in frustration. Your worry begins to deepen as you think everything over.

“I- You won’t get hurt, will you?” You ask, worry clearly spilling into your tone. “The animal injuries are already bad enough, but if he starts risking human lives-”

“I’ll be fine, Schatz.” Kurt cuts you off, stepping away from Bubbles to take your hands in his own. The nickname had a tendency to make your heart flutter, but right now all you could feel was the anxiety of an impending disaster. “Please don’t worry for me.” He tells you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. You’re breath catches at the act, and when you look at him there's a fond, reassuring look on his face. Still, it did not ease your worries in the slightest. Kurt takes a step closer to you, his hand cupping your face now instead.

“I can’t help it. I worry because I care.” You whisper. Kurt smiles softly at you, leaning in to rest his forehead against your own. The two of you sit in silence for a minute, reveling in the fond moment. Still, your lips tingled with how close the two of you are, eyes darting down to the shape of his lips as you ran your tongue across your own. Kurt’s pretty eyes don’t let the action go unnoticed. He begins to lean in to close the gap between the two of you, and your eyes flutter closed as he does so.

“Kurt.” The voice startles the two of you, separating immediately. It’s Stephan, Kurt’s adoptive brother. He’s not only startled you and Kurt, but Bubbles too. She spooks in the tiny stables, rearing up before you immediately turn to her, doing your best to calm her down once again. She’s breathing a little hard, but she’s not pacing again, which was much better than before, although you were certainly peeved to have backtracked already.

“You know you’re not supposed to linger around the stables after the show,” Stephan says to Kurt, who only frowns. The two had begun to form a rather strained relationship as of late, but neither of you would have expected him to go out of his way to catch Kurt like this. You glance back at them as you finish settling Bubbles, staying silent as the two of them share a look. Kurt’s tail sways a bit, and you can see Stephan roll his eyes at Kurt before he nods his head to the door and begins to leave. Kurt sighs deeply before he turns to you with a remorseful look.

“I’ll see you soon- promise,” Kurt says, taking your hands in his own and giving them a reassuring squeeze. You’re frowning, unable to help it at this point due to the moment being ruined. Kurt leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves, and you smile a bit. He gives you another quiet goodbye before he jumps the gate again, and follows his brother out.

You're left standing there with Bubbles, and despite Kurt’s promises, you have an uneasy feeling in your chest. You want to blame it on the disappointment of the night, but you can't help but wonder when you'd actually get to see him again.

#x men #x men 97 #x men comics #x men x reader #x men 97 x reader #kurt wagner #nightcrawler xmen #xmen nightcrawler #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler #kurt wagner x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #marvel x men #marvel x reader #marvel reader insert

412 notes · View notes

sorceresssundries · 6 months ago

Text

Oh, What A Circus!

Pairing: Gale x gn Tav - SFW

Word Count: 900

Summary: The spawn of the God of murder and their Wizard boyfriend have a day out at the circus!

A/N: I've been writing a lot of smut/romance/angst and wanted to try my hand at something a little more light-hearted.

I hope you enjoy it!

“You look ridiculous.” Gale muttered with his arms folded.

Tav stood in front of the unimpressed wizard, towering above him at almost seven feet of rippling muscle, with eyes as red as bloodstone and tattoos that looked like carved, ancient curses. They were a trained, hulking barbarian whose blood-drenched origin had, until recently, been lost to tampered memory. They were the flesh of Bhaal himself, spawn of the God of Murder, flayer of innocents, and inspirer of savagery. Condemned to forever be whipped and tormented by the whispered urges that pulsed through their blood and haunted their dreams.

They glared at Gale from beneath their freshly applied clown face paint and waved their candyfloss at him.

“You look ridiculous!” Tav snapped back. “We’re at a circus and you look like someone has pissed in your porridge.”

Their tiff was punctuated by squeals and laughter of children, and Karlach, revelling in the nearby circus games. Even Astarion seemed to be enjoying himself, hurling particularly cutting insults at a mime. It was hard to tell whether the mime was exceptionally talented at their craft or if Astarion had actually driven them into a silent breakdown.

Tav turned towards the merchant with whom Gale had been conversing. The small mephit, previously engaged in lighthearted banter, was now cowering in the shadow of the clown-faced elf.

“You buying something?” Tav asked Gale with a mouth full of candyfloss.

“Well!” Gale raised his finger and Tav mentally prepared themselves for an unnecessarily long explanation “This fine fellow here”, he gestured towards the now trembling mephit, “And his delightful wife are exceptionally talented artists and dealers of the finest, bespoke sculptures in all Faerûn! Isn’t that right, my friend?”

“Erm, yes absolutely.” replied the mephit, still not taking their eyes off Tav, “I was just explaining to your….”

“Boyfriend.” cut in Tav.

“Oh…right…” The mephit’s eyes flicked between the two adventurers, as though the pairing of the wizard and the barbarian was completely ridiculous. The tiny mephit looked over to his huge, hulking, earth elemental of a wife in disbelief. “For a reasonable fee, we can provide you with a completely bespoke creation in whomever's likeness you desire!”

“I was thinking…” Said Gale, who thought a bit too much for Tav sometimes, “We have enough coin to make a considered purchase, perhaps it would be a kind gesture to gift a statue to our brave, vampiric friend?”

Tav glanced over to Astarion who was now in hysterics at the mime having to be comforted by some of the other circus performers.

“Right...”

“He has, after all, been through a tremendous amount of suffering, and throughout his decades of torture and islolation, has forgotten what he looks like.” Gale looked genuinely downcast at the thought of his friend’s ongoing trauma. “How poetic would it be, to gift him with a statue of himself. As pale and marbled as his own alabaster skin - complete with a face he will be able to gaze upon in place of the cruel void of an empty mirror.”

“Yeah, sure.” Said Tav who had only been half listening. “I love poetry.”

“Excellent!” Gale clapped his hands together, evidently proud of himself for his empathetic use of wisdom “I’ll leave the coin with you, you are after all, a much more skilled negotiator than I!” He raised himself on his tiptoes and quickly pecked a kiss on the tip of Tav’s clown-red nose, before heading in the direction of an unimpressed looking Djinn.

Tav waited until he was out of earshot before turning back to the merchant. “So, you’ll make me a statue.. Of whatever I want?”

“Of course!”

“Perfect.” Grinned Tav, in what they hoped was a friendly expression. In reality, their stretched, clown-painted smile was more intimidating than if they had offered their most murderous scowl. As such, they unintentionally managed to get a hefty discount and priority delivery as part of the deal.

Tav handed over the coin, finished their candyfloss, and went over to join in the mime-baiting with Astarion. They were having an excellent day.

“TAV!” Gale’s voice was sharp with anger as it bounced off the walls of their quarters in the Elfsong Tavern.

“Yep!” said Tav, bounding over to where he was standing, where a delivery had just arrived.

“What in the hells is this?” Gale hissed.

“Oh great! It's here! They weren’t kidding when they said it would be quick” Tav’s eyes were wide with artistic appreciation. The statue was beautiful, crafted with such delicate intricacy it looked as though it was draped from silk rather than carved from rock. Tav could hardly believe that something sculpted from the unforgiving, stubborn hardness of marble could appear so soft. Looking at it, glowing in the gentle candlelight, they felt they could finally understand the deep, personal connection and enrichment of artistic skill and mortal interpretation.

“Why is it of me?!”

“Oh, right.” Tav had forgotten they had completely ignored Gale's original plan. “Erm, I guess there must have been a mix-up”

“Why is it nude?!!”

Tav grinned at him, delighting in the furious way his brow furrowed and lines of his face deepened.

“All the most famous statues are, right?” Tav sighed in adoration as they looked back at the statue. “I like it.”

“Is that an accurate representation of the wizard’s penis?” Asked Lae’zel who had quietly appeared between them and made Gale jump.

“Abso-fucking-lutely” Tav said with a grin, taking in Lae’zel’s impressed expression. “I love the circus.”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #gale x tav #gale fanfic #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep

76 notes · View notes

factual-fantasy · 1 year ago

Text

29 asksss

Yes

@britneyt

Aw! Thank you! :DD

@gilbertsphotography

The elven style ears are meant to make them look less human and to match the Wario bros. :0 My AU's Peach and Daisy are these tall elf like creatures, not humans. They are the same species as the Wario bros.

Jangles would prepare himself for this brutal duel in "put em up" type battle stance. Ready to give this fight his all.

Only to be squashed by Jangle. Alas, he is made of plastic <XDD

@pinkpenguin88888

XDD Thought that was a bunny at first-

:DD Thank you! But hey, nothing's stopping you from book marking the post or saving the link to it somewhere :0

@whereismycupofcoffee

Honestly I have no hope. I'm thinking its gonna bomb like the Ruin DLC did, lore wise. Calling it now there's gonna be a character named VANESSA and her nickname is VANNY even though this movie is about the first game and has NOTHING TO DO WITH VANESSA. There's gonna be a kid named Cassidy, another kid named Gregory, circus baby is gonna come out of nowhere, there's gonna be a nightmare animatronic reference, one kid is gonna look like the crying child for no reason, Springtrap is gonna talk a lot and take away the horror- its gonna be a mess. The lore will be a terrible. mess.

Horror wise it might be awesome but I am NOT looking forward to all the crap they're gonna mix in with the lore. Its soooo simple, just make a spooky movie that captures the terror that the first game created. Recreate the mystery and horror. Bonnie disappearing, Foxy running down the hall. Freddy's music. Maybe Golden Freddy?? Hints of a darker past with dead kids. It would be awesome. They don't gotta complicate the lore by adding all the other games into it but I know they will-

@palettepainter :DD Thank you!!

@randox-talore Nope! The flowers don't make them bigger. They just give the bros ice/fire powers :}

@devastatorst

Pretty much XDD

@andysalleyway

:DDD Thank you so much!! Honestly I'm surprised by the number of my followers that are into the same fandoms I'm into. Sounds like I've found my people! XDD

Thanks, I'm hoping it finally gets through to people and they'll just leave me alone..

It is! But ya gotta DM me for it so I can sus out your blog :x

I need to have some idea of who I'm letting in-

:DD Thank you so much! Also sorry, I don't take requests :/

@montygatorshusband

THANK YOU! I don't support any ships from any fandoms, I just personally don't like them. So having people harp on me and my AU because a "canon ship" isn't in it was really annoying.. 😓

Glamrock Bonnie and Foxy would be thinking "Wow, they look different/great! :00"

Glamrock Freddy and Chica are like "WHY IS BONNIE SO LARGE"

Oooo that would be cool! All my versions of Bonnie are slow, so having him throw things at Gregory would be terrifying-

@ocinstituterep

The reason why I haven't drawn any classic mermaids like that is because it felt kind'a weird to add a half human creature into the Octonauts universe. Considering humans don't exist in it.. Now that post with the mermaid thing actually has the creature looking humanoid for sure. Because it would look more alien if it was human. But I kept the scales because a straight up half human mermaid would just feel out of place-

@mashmellowy

Firealpaca! :}}

@oddesto

XD Thank you!! Also my WHOLE BLOG?? Dang. I apologize for all the Gravity falls cringe you had to see-

XD Factual Fanta, that's great 🤣🤣

@citrusfruitman

I think those people are just salty because they wanna draw my stuff but I wont let them. My true fans will have basic human respect and just not draw fanart without sending me hate and rude comments.

@danman22ful

Monty is much more mellow and kind in the Partial swap. Although he still can be a bit of a grump sometimes. The way Bonnie is treating everyone (mostly Foxy) really angers/upsets him.

Roxy hasn't changed a whole lot tbh. Full of grief and self loathing. Except I don't think she'd have this "I'm better than you" attitude. Her thinking that Freddy's death was her fault would crush her. Just like Monty was crushed in the OG au.

:DDD Thank you!! Also really? :00 Wow, great minds do think alike! XD

Aw, I'm sorry that you relate to Bonnie's struggles, <:(

I was thinking he would do 1 of 2 things.

Either this bombshell that his late friends of 10 years are alive, would be so emotionally overwhelming that he would completely shut down. Literally. They would break into his room and Bonnie is collapsed on the floor. And cannot be reactivated. And when he does eventually reactivate, he absolutely refuses to acknowledge or speak to anyone in anyway..

OR, hearing that Chica and Freddy are alive, would completely drown out any other feeling. They're alive, he would rush out of his room to go see them. All of his stress, all of his anger would be swept away in favor of his anxiousness to see his friends again. And finally, he would talk to people again somewhat. Every day would get easier knowing that once its over he can go see Freddy and Chica again.

I haven't decided which one is better <XD

@burningmusicfunnygiant (Post in question)

Oh a whole mix of emotions. Mostly joy and sadness though.. Joy to see them alive after all these years. But sadness too see the horrible states they're in.. Mostly Freddy's state-

<XD Don't worry I wont. I know some of the angsty bits of Bluey but not enough to draw stuff and traumatize you all-

You are spared this time! XDD

#my response #fnaf security breach #super mario bros #octonauts #jangles

154 notes · View notes

spicyraeman · 10 months ago

Note

Can we see your ocs?

Yes! thank you for asking bc I have a hard time talking/posting about them unless someone specifically asks 😅

They've all got main tags (minus Hound) that you can find in my pinned, but i've never really introduced them or anything so imma take the chance to show 'em off and write a lil blurb about them

Virranan (he/they/she)

My specialist lil guy and the most fleshed out of all my current ocs. A half wood elf gloomstalker and an infamous information broker / bounty hunter pre-tadpole. Generally trying to be a good person post-tadpole but their more morally dubious tendencies do tend to crop up from time to time. Also a werewolf.

Rûngrim (she/they/it)

A Seldarine Drow barbarian spared and raised in an orcish tribe after her family was slaughtered as a baby. Forwent their personhood to become a bloodrager, they consider themself more weapon than person. Not nearly as scary as they look.

Treble (she/her)

An ex-noble bard tiefling who left her family in her early 20s to join a traveling circus. Resents her family but loves her younger brother (the favorite child). A jack of all trades type, most people find her kinda unpleasant to be around, but she's great around kids.

Phylo (they/it)

A circle of spores druid and technically a Drow. They were raised in a Myconid colony and fully considers itself a Myconid. Their skin is covered in all manner of constantly growing fungi that need to be pruned regularly. It speaks very rarely, instead preferring to use telepathic methods when possible and sign language when not.

Hound (she/they)

my newest oc, they're a wild magic sorcerer durge on the redeemed path but first she's gonna do some real fucked up shit in act 1

#asks #thank you again for askin!#i really wanna start drawing them all eventually #but i fear all my artistic skill is being sucked up by my laezel brainrot atm

69 notes · View notes

gloomstalkertav · 2 months ago

Text

Summary: In which Zevlor and Tav arrive in Baldur's Gate, and spend 10,000 words not confessing how they feel (then 1,000 finally doing so).

Part 7 of 10

Warnings: Implied, non-graphic sexual situations

Word Count: ~11.1k

View story masterpost | Read on Ao3

Lakrissa is not wrong. The more of her peace offering Zevlor puts away, the lighter he finds his mood, and the swifter and easier his answers come. Alfira, too, is a world more cheerful, though she’s consumed little of her own pudding, too busy hastening in her new subject like a long-awaited guest.

“So, how did you get to the city? When did you get to the city? Before or after Tav? I mean, we left as soon as there was sunlight, same as she and the others did, but we made it to the Gate before them somehow. I never understood that.”

“Well, they were slower,” Zevlor explains between forkfuls of pudding. “There were more of them at that point. They had a great deal of equipment to carry. And they stopped to take out any regiments of cultists they met along the way.”

“But you weren’t with them?”

“No. I learned all that later. I left sometime after they did — joined a group of those unfortunates displaced by the cult’s attacks also heading for Baldur’s Gate. By the time I arrived, Tav and her party had already made quite a name for themselves.”

“Did you stay in the refugee camp in Rivington?”

But Alfira’s dubious tone convinces Zevlor she knows the answer.

“No,” he says with only the slightest wince. “I did not imagine a warm welcome waited for me there.”

He swallows the last mouthful of syrupy slice and reaches for his tankard. His hand is steadier now; the ale’s taste similarly improved. The complaints of his body quieted, Zevlor finds it possible to reflect on, rather than relive, that first day in Baldur's Gate: dragging himself, half-starved and wholly exhausted, through its southernmost district's overcrowded and inhospitable streets.

“In spite of everything,” he muses, “I couldn’t stand to sit idle. My only thought at the time was to make myself useful, somehow. But there was little I was fit to do. I had no trade experience, and I was in no state to join the border militia. There was the circus, of course, but” — he nods at Alfira’s notes - “I wasn’t sure who I might run into there. Still, I hadn't ruled it out. Then I spotted Ilmater’s temple.”

It was a poor replacement for the holy houses of Zevlor’s memory. The entire building, complete with single, modest bell tower, would have fit easily within one wing of Elturel’s High Hall. Tall, weedy purple flowers and presumptuous vines had overtaken its stone facade, toppled bricks huddled in piles just past its open entrance, and, once inside, odd pockets of sunlight cut through the reverent dim, courtesy of the roof’s missing slats. Zevlor, who had not felt properly warm since the heat he’d blithely cursed at the Emerald Grove, limped to one of these. The sound of his footsteps caught the attention of two temple attendants, seated at a table crowded with alchemical apparatus. They frowned at the sight of him.

“You’re too early for supper and too late for healing,” snapped one, some variety of elf. “Potions are doled out in the morning and soup’s distributed an hour before dusk until we run dry. First come, first served.”

All in all, an inauspicious introduction to the Crying God’s flock.

“Bill, please.” Wood scraped stone as the other robed attendant, a harassed-sounding dwarf, pushed back his chair and got to his feet, addressing Zevlor more politely: "Welcome to Ilmater's house, my friend. We are limited in our resources, but we’ll help however we can."

He cast a wary gaze up Zevlor, who supposed his own first impression left as much to be desired: hair unkempt, skin unwashed, his neglected armor filthy and rusting and hanging off him where hunger had eaten away any excess flesh. All that could be said for him was, in spite of his obvious infernal traits, he hardly looked a threat; except for the short sword tucked through his belt — Tav's, which Zevlor had refused to part with on the road for any sum of money no matter how hungry he'd become. He dropped his arms to his sides to obscure it, but it was not the weapon the dwarf wrinkled his brow at: it was Zevlor’s hands.

“Why, you're shaking fit to shatter, my friend. What ails you?”

A voice from behind him, high and quavery with age, spared Zevlor the trial of cobbling together an answer he did not have.

“Combat fatigue,” it sighed, and the halfling woman who matched it shuffled around Zevlor’s exhausted legs. She lifted her chin to look up at him and shook her head sadly, new lines erupting over her face’s well-established wrinkles. “All this bloody fighting, if you will excuse my language, spreads it like the plague, it does. Brother Clements, fetch some clean clothes from the spare box. Brother Bill, put the kettle on — a hot drink’s the thing. Do come through, sir, and we’ll see what the Broken God’s grace can do for you.”

“Little, as it turned out,” Zevlor sums up succinctly. “A health potion repaired the minor scrapes, and the drink did at least help me find my tongue enough to explain who I was, or had been. Whatever ailed my hands, however, was beyond the aid of magic or medicine. Sister Yannis could not heal the tremors. But she was kind enough to permit me a bunk in the temple infirmary in exchange for what labour I could provide.”

“You were lucky,” comments Alfira. “When we got here, the temple was refusing anyone any help at all. There had been a—”

“A murder, yes. The Sister explained. Apparently, it had done a number on the temple’s reputation. Even after it had been solved and services re-instated, Ilmater's regular followers were much slower to return than the refugees. The temple was overrun with demands for assistance. I believe that’s the main reason I was allowed to stay.”

Alfira cocks her head, a smile creeping up the side of her face like one of the temple's intrepid vines.

“And did the Sister tell you who solved the murder?”

“Of course.”

“That lovely horned lass,” explained the rector in her tremulous soprano, sliding a second bowl along the kitchen's scrubbed wood table after Zevlor’s hands had toppled the first. “You see her about regular in town, now, only I can’t remember the name. Tail like they’ve all got, though the horns were a bit smaller than most. Eyes were different too; very blue. Load of dark hair looked like it could eat the teeth off a comb. What was her name…”

Zevlor, navigating his spoon with a weak and wobbling fist, asked, “Might it have been Tav?” before gulping down what soup survived the shaky journey to his mouth. It tasted of potato, seasoned only by the name his tongue had not had an excuse to say for days.

A few of the wrinkles adorning Sister Yannis’ world-weary forehead unwound as she smiled.

“Oh, that’s the job! I expect you’ll know her, then?”

“Not all the tieflings in the Gate know each other, Sister, anymore than all the halflings or all the dwarves.” Brother Clements’ gentle admonishment drifted towards them as he sidled through a side door into the temple’s warm, sunlit kitchen. “That name’s appeared in every issue of the Mouth since she got here, and half the mouths in town, too. They say she and her camp are all that stand between us and that cult. They’ve set themselves up just beyond the hill. You’ll have seen her on your way in, I reckon?” the dwarf adds to Zevlor, tipping a bundle of clean, if well worn, robes the same dusty blue as his and the Sister’s onto the bench beside him, and avoiding Zevlor’s tail, which shivered in imitation of his hands as he replied ruefully:

“Something like that.”

“He wasn’t wrong, either. Tav’s local adventures made up most of the table-talk among the refugees who came for the temple’s daily meal. By the end of that first night, I’d heard at least a half-dozen fantastic rumours about what she and her companions had got up to in the tenday since they arrived: foiled a plot to blow up refugee children, discovered a ring of shape shifters, stopped a serial killer, killed a clown at the circus, who might also have been a shapeshifter or a cultist or both — accounts disagreed.”

Zevlor chuckles softly into his tankard, still held aloft — memories of struggling to transport similar pewter mugs and laden bowls to tables and benches inspiring a renewed appreciation for the reliable use of his hands.

“I wouldn’t have believed a word of it of anyone else,” he continued, “but it was Tav.”

But such paltry exploits of Tav’s are old news to Alfira. Her quillpen has ceased its frantic scratching and hovers, impatient, over her parchment.

“Right. So, when did you finally go see her?”

Zevlor raises his brows at the overeager bard.

“I didn’t.”

Not that the idea didn’t tempt him as, at long last, Zevlor eased himself onto his allotted infirmary bunk, horns tucked carefully around a stack of pillows and back giving glory to Ilmater for the blessing that was the lumpy goose-feather mattress beneath it. With such long-absent luxuries, sleep ought to have claimed him at once. But the knowledge Tav’s camp was less than a mile away, that he could reach it in minutes if he chose, fluttered in his chest like some trapped, winged insect he lacked the energy to squash flat.

Was she there now? What was she doing? Bedding down for the night herself, or refusing to rest, using the quiet hours to plan the downfall of cults and killers and false gods, instead? Zevlor closed his eyes, picturing Tav in the cast-off dress he’d seen so often at the grove, dark coils of hair loose and wild around her face as she bent her head to pore over notes by the light of a dying fire. And there, on the cusp of sleep, all the longing and regret the march to the Gate had held at bay welled up through the cracks in Zevlor’s resolve to keep himself, and the burden he'd become, from Tav. He envisioned scenarios, every bit as fantastic as the stories the refugees told: of wandering into her camp on some pretext — an apology for the way he had left? returning her sword, perhaps? — and her leaner face — or was she eating better now? — glancing up at him, the fire’s red embers illuminating her surprise and delight — or would it be disappointment and fury, at last? Had his unceremonious departure sealed the fate of their friendship, and whatever else it might have been, or could she still possibly want—

Only it did not matter what either of them wanted, Zevlor was cogent enough to remember the next day. The facts had not changed. He was no use to Tav, or her quest against the Absolute; nor was he worthy of her friendship, let alone anything else, anymore — truths driven repeatedly home with each successive dish and precious potion bottle his treacherous hands refused to hold.

Sister Yannis bore these almost hourly crashes with saintly understanding, but, by the end of his second day in Ilmater’s service, Zevlor had been relegated to less breakable, more menial tasks: he spent hours in the temple’s pitiful courtyards pulling up weeds and pulling down vines, washed an endless river of laundry, scrubbed tables and benches and swept and mopped floors twice daily soiled by an army of uncleaned hands and feet. And if any of it felt beneath him, Zevlor reminded himself of the bodies buried at Last Light. The humilities of domestic labour seemed a fitting penance, and the proper prison for his pride, and prevented him indulging further fantasies of Tav — at any rate, during the day.

Which meant he was entirely unprepared to enter the kitchen one late afternoon, a burlap sack of vegetables carefully hoisted in his arms, and hear her voice echoing up through the temple’s floor.

“… just hate to leave them there like that.”

“They’re dead! They don’t care!”

“Well, I care!”

Zevlor froze. The sack sagged in his arms. Unless he had gone abruptly mad — a possibility which could not be ruled out — he knew that voice, and the voice she argued with. And the third that interjected:

“We can always come back for them another day when we’ve got more time. Astarion’s right, it takes longer to prepare for an event like this than you might think, especially when you’ve been living rough for so long.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, I know exactly how long it takes to complete one’s toilette.”

The trap door set into the kitchen's floor banged open and Zevlor jumped, the sack tumbling from his slack arms with a series of squashy thuds. Potatoes and onions spilled from its burlap mouth and rolled across flagged stone. He barely noticed. He had eyes only for Tav: her wild, dark hair defying its plaits, pale tail swishing behind her as she hoisted herself from the ground, armor shining in the waning sunlight wafting through the kitchen windows as she clambered slowly to her feet, her face upturned to his, blue eyes impossibly wide…

“A day’s wage plus tips says she threw herself at you the second she saw you,” interrupts Lakrissa in a saccharine sing-song as she rips the privacy curtain aside and begins scooping up the pudding bowls.

Zevlor clicks his tongue in mock reproof.

“I’d take it easy on the wagers, Lakrissa. You’re on an unlucky streak, I’m afraid.”

Hands full of dishes, and calls for ale coming from the table behind her, Lakrissa can do no more than roll her eyes extravagantly and groan in disgust, “Ugh — you and Tav, honestly. Call me back you’ve got over yourselves, and we’re on to some proper action again,” before turning on her heel and flouncing away.

Alfira’s stretches out a colourful boot to kick the privacy curtain more fully closed — her only acknowledgement her partner was ever there — and asks, “You mean she wasn’t glad to see you?” in tones of such rapt attention, Zevlor isn’t sure whether or not to laugh. He sips his ale and waits for Lakrissa’s footsteps to fade back into the Elfsong’s ambient noise before admitting, “Well, not right away.”

“Odd, running into each other like this,” were Tav’s first words: cool and cutting in a way Zevlor had never heard directed at him, “considering how we parted last. You’ll remember that, of course.”

“Yes. Of-of course.”

Zevlor’s tongue tripped thickly over the words, his stomach plummeting as he made the shift from impossible dream to dreaded nightmare: Tav was here, before him, as he’d pictured more times than he liked to admit over the last few days, but her face was flat, her eyes dark and guarded as though curtains had been drawn behind cobalt stained glass. At her side, the pale elf, Astarion, let one hand drift to the hilt of a cruel-looking dagger, while behind them the Blade of Frontiers, arms occupied by a wrapped, bulky something wafting a fetid scent into the room, regarded Zevlor with undisguised consternation.

It hurt to look at them. Zevlor addressed his clumsy apology to the burlap sack at his feet instead.

“I … I am sorry for how we — how I left things. It was unconscionable of me to leave like that. I thought it for the best at the time, but…” He shook his head at the ground. “That’s no excuse. You deserved an explanation and a proper goodbye. You always gave one — but the once.” He chanced a glance at Tav. Her face might have been carved from wisteria marble. Cursing himself for the mess he was making of what should have been a simple admission of guilt, Zevlor fell back on the one feeble restitution he had: “I have your sword. I’ve kept it in … well, relatively good condition. I’ve meant to return it. I - I’ll get it for you.”

But he had not taken more than two cautious steps around the vegetable minefield when a wall of cool, unyielding mail hit his chest with enough force to knock him back against the kitchen table.

“Oh gods, it’s you. It is you. It’s really you,” Tav repeated in a voice as unsteady as Zevlor’s hands — currently trapped at his sides by her arms wrapped around him so tight he could feel every dip and groove of her armor. “I’m sorry, but I had to check. Gods, I was terrified … I thought she’d found you first,” and if her words meant nothing to Zevlor, the way she breathed them against his robe's high collar seemed to indicate she was not unhappy with him, which was all that mattered right now.

He had only seconds, however, to savour the relief of this realisation, and the warmth of Tav’s lips tantalisingly close to the skin of his throat, before she was pulling away, pelting him with rapid-fire questions as she anxiously inspected his face.

“But where did you go? I looked for you on the road and in the camps and couldn’t find anyone who’d seen you, I’ve been so worried. When did you get here?”

“Just a few days ago,” Zevlor managed to insert into her quick inhale before Tav was plunging on.

“And you've already joined the temple of Ilmater?”

“Not joined exactly, no. But the acting rector, Sister Yannis, has been kind enough to allow me to stay and help their order. They’re short-handed at present.”

“I suppose they would be after what happened. Oh, thank every god you weren’t here for all that!” Tav’s eyes darted towards the trapdoor, and a violent shudder rattled her armor. She touched Zevlor’s arm again as if reassuring herself he was still there, then drew a deep breath and continued, “But I’m glad the temple’s helping people again. I didn’t realise they’d been allowed.”

“Yes, well,” — the feel of her nails absently grazing his skin through the thin sleeve of his robe turned Zevlor’s head giddy and light — “I hear you’re to thank for that. Or, as the Sister put it, that lovely horned lass — I assumed you were who she meant.”

Tav laughed: an eruption of mirth far beyond what his weak, delirious flirtation deserved, and with a stale note threaded through it, that made Zevlor think it might have been some time since she'd last attempted the sound. He understood. He felt almost capable of smiling himself. For one sunlit moment, the past and every awful thing in it was a distant fever dream, dissipating in the light of Tav’s merry face beaming up at him and the bright, unbelievable joy of being together in Baldur’s Gate.

Then a door on the other side of the kitchen opened, and reality fell across them like a shadow.

“Ilmater’s patience, what’s happened? What’s all this?”

Alfira groans in abject disappointment and slumps back in her seat.

“It might have been worse,” Zevlor says, purposefully misinterpreting this display. “Nearly all the food was salvageable, and it was Brother Donnick who entered — he was the younger and more kindly of the temple’s two half-elves and, coincidentally, the one most fond of discussing Rivington’s resident heroes. So, he was thrilled to see Tav, and willing to forgive her any small sins such as distracting the temple’s kitchen hands before the supper rush. And, of course, when Tav discovered this , and the queue already lined up outside, and offered to stay and help,” — the over-invested bard makes a noise of approval and wriggles back up in her chair; Zevlor ignores this as well — “he was elated. Perhaps, the only one who was.”

Alfira’s excitement freezes on her face.

“Wait. You mean you weren’t?”

“Absolutely not. Saving peoples’ lives is one thing, but I draw the line at charitable good works.”

“Tav, you know I’d rather stay and help, but we really are pressed for time.”

“Then go,” was Tav’s answer to her companions’ protests, removing her fingerless gloves at them deliberately. “Drop Dribbles off at the circus on your way back to camp, then you can get started on whatever lengthy ablutions gentlemen need to prepare for posh events, and I’ll take my turn when I’m finished here.”

“Yes, that’s all very well for us, but what about you, Miss Nobody-Goes-Anywhere-Alone?”

“I’ll be fine,” Tav assured the petulant elf, throwing a glowing look at Zevlor. “I’m not alone.”

And Zevlor’s stomach roiled in delight and disquiet…

…which unlikely cocktail continued to ferment within him over the next few hours; prompting Brother Donnick to comment more than once on how ill he looked and wouldn’t he rather go have a quiet lie-down. Zevlor ought to have agreed; removed himself entirely from temptation. He did not think his will strong enough at present to resist further persuasions on Tav’s part to join her camp — the reason he assumed she had stayed — but nor could he bear to leave. His heart felt lighter, his hands steadier than they'd been since he arrived, at the familiar sight of her making the rounds through the refugees crowding the refectory, extending smiles and encouragements along with bowls of soup and mugs of mead. Better sense could not rip his eyes from her. Its only hope was time. By the stories told of her, and her companions’ complaints, it was obvious Tav had a world of more important things awaiting her attention. She surely could not put them off for long.

But the sunset peeking through the high, small windows and the gaps in the ceiling faded slowly to black, the soup ran out, and the sated refugees migrated from the temple in clumps and swathes, until only a handful of bodies lingered at tables nursing dregs of mead. And still Tav wandered among them, collecting dishes and carting them to the kitchen in careful stacks. It was on her way back from one of these trips she finally paused to catch Zevlor’s eyes. He dropped his at once to the rag he was running over an empty table, but he could already hear the telltale padding of her boots across the temple’s smooth stone. The table shifted under his hand as she leaned against it.

“You know, I must admit: this is not what I pictured you doing in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav’s low murmur near his ear — and the thought of her picturing him doing anything at all — sent a frisson of pleasure singing down Zevlor’s spine. His tail strained against his robe, not made for tieflings, and the question was out of his mouth before he could think twice:

“What had you pictured?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly.” Her nails tapped a thoughtful rhythm into the wood. “Combat training for the Watch, maybe? Knocking some order into the Flaming Fist? Or maybe I’m just not used to seeing you out of your armor.”

Her fingers stilled abruptly on the table, as if this last remark surprised even her. As Zevlor lifted his gaze, Tav swung hers over her shoulder, towards the pool at the temple’s centre. She spent a few seconds in presumed appreciation of its holy aesthetic before turning back, a flush the colour of thunderstorms still on her cheeks.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s worthwhile work. I wish I had more time for things like this — actually helping people, not just killing things. I just wouldn’t have thought you” — she met Zevlor’s eyes — “would enjoy a … quiet, temple life.”

Zevlor let the rag he was passing mindlessly across the tabletop rest. He glanced around. Brother Donnick was still in the kitchen and Brother Bill hovering near the temple’s entrance, clearing his throat pointedly at the last refugee to remain seated. Zevlor lowered his voice, nevertheless.

“To be honest, of the Triad, the Crying God was never the one I gave the most obeisance. There are no paladins of Ilmater. His followers abide by a strictly passive creed: forgiveness and mercy to all, even the worst of criminals, the cruellest of enemies. Never tenents that sat well with me.”

“So, this isn’t what you originally intended to do when you got to the city, then?”

“None of this is what I intended,” Zevlor admitted. Tav’s tail perked up behind her. He grimaced — the pain of disappointing her a twisted knife in his gut — and finished, “But I believe it is the best place for me now.”

Tav opened her mouth to speak, paused, then closed it again. With the room lit only by scattered tallow candles and the moonlight spilling from the holes overhead, Zevlor could not interpret her expression, but her tail drooped sadly. Her eyes wandered to the next table over. A mug, several bowls and a few spoons lay scattered across it. A jerk of her head towards them and a perfunctory twitch of her lips at Zevlor evidenced Tav’s intention; then, she was walking away. As she approached the other table, she passed through a pool of moonlight, and Zevlor was viscerally reminded of their last night in the forest together: the tentative plans he had dreamed up when he had been a more worthy person; when the possibility of a new life, perhaps even better than the one he had lost, had seemed within his grasp.

Melancholy filled Zevlor's veins. He felt like a battered cask of soured wine as he returned to the table and the rag, abruptly aware of the renewed trembling of his fingers, the sting at the base of his tail where stiff cloth rubbed sensitive skin. He bent his aching back to wipe down the chairs, suppressing his grimace when he heard Tav's footsteps padding back.

“You know,” she said, her voice higher-pitched than usual in her effort to sound light and off-hand, “my offer’s still good. You’re always welcome to join our camp. If you prefer to remain a pacifist now, we’ve got plenty of this sort of work that needs doing, too. We’ve collected so many new people, we’re overrun with chores — I don’t know how you always kept your camp so organised. I could certainly use an expert.”

Zevlor did his best to imitate Tav’s teasing tone —“You wouldn't want the help of an old, unreliable traitor,” — but even he could hear the bitterness that leaked through.

“Not especially, no,” she replied, her own sangfroid cracking. “I was thinking more the help of an experienced leader and a paladin.”

“I am neither of those things anymore.”

“Fine, then. A friend.”

The rag slipped between Zevlor’s suddenly quaking fingers. He snatched for it, hit a leg of the table instead, and the stack of dishes Tav had perched there while she talked toppled to the floor. The resultant clatter resonated through the temple like sparring swords on shields. Wincing at the noise, the humiliation, the strain on his aching bones as he got to his knees, Zevlor reached for the mug, and nearly knocked horns with Tav who had also stooped to help clean up. By the time they were both upright and the dishes — blessedly unbroken — spirited safely off to the kitchen by an indignantly muttering Brother Bill, Zevlor’s face was a bonfire of shame and frustration, but his voice was stronger, his resolve more firm than either had been since Tav arrived.

“Even if my will could be trusted, my body could not,” he told her. “I can barely hold a pen anymore, let alone a bow or a sword. You need allies you can rely on, with skills that will further your cause. You deserve—”

But what Tav deserved died on Zevlor's lips as she grabbed one of his trembling hands in hers. She brought it close to her face, examining it like a piece of faulty weaponry; apparently, unable to feel his racing pulse.

“Doesn’t this place have a healer?” she asked.

“Yes,” Zevlor managed after a few false starts, “but it isn’t Ilmater’s will to heal this affliction. Or so says Sister Yannis.” Tav raised an eyebrow at him; it matched the ironic twist of Zevlor’s lips. “She recommends reducing stress and maintaining a restful state of mind.”

Tav snorted biting laughter from her nose like dragonfire.

“Well, good thing the world’s not ending all around us, then.”

She dropped his hand but held his gaze; hers melting from sarcastic to thoughtful as she inspected Zevlor's face. He averted his eyes from her familiar intent, almost reverent stare; he would not let it derail him. At last, he heard her exhale — a slow, resigned sigh — and say more softly, “Zevlor, I’m not a healer, but … this last year … everything you’ve been through … I really do think it would be more concerning if you weren’t showing some signs of strain. You’ve endured enough to drive a lesser person mad. Maybe staying out of the fray for a bit isn’t such a bad idea. Maybe this is the right place for you. For now.”

Zevlor blinked, unseated. He had steeled himself for a verbal spar — more of Tav’s infuriatingly reasonable persuasions or inarguable rhetoric, not a meek concession. And certainly not for what she threw at him next:

"But, you wouldn't happen to know anything useful about fighting vampires?”

“Vampires,” Zevlor repeated, positive he had misheard, but—

“Vampires,” Tav confirmed. “I’m planning a … well, a siege, I suppose, or an invasion, of a vampire lord’s lair. You mentioned Elturel’s history with them in passing once. I know it was before your time, but I thought you might have some ideas for me. Something that could help me plan.”

Zevlor’s brain was slow to adjust to this new, entirely unforeseen track.

“What do vampires have to do with the Cult of the Absolute?” he asked.

Tav’s smile was small, but no less triumphant for it.

“That's a story best told over a drink.”

“Before you ask,” Zevlor interjects into his own reminiscence, “the drink was tea and the talk was purely business, with Brother Donnick as audience and chaperone. So, that’s all it was.”

“Oh for…” Alfira’s exclamation trails into an indignant huff. She grabs her tankard, swigs down ale, and stops just short of slamming it back to the table; then decides: “Lakrissa’s not far wrong about you two. I never imagined it took this long! And, for the record,” she adds with uncharacteristic venom, “I think you were being incredibly stupid. There was absolutely no good reason for you not to go with Tav. It was pure stubbornness.”

Zevlor regards his own dwindling ale supply with a sort of sheepish gloom.

“I won’t argue,” he says. “But I will warn you: that’s going to get worse before it gets any better.”

Alfira’s ochre eyes narrow.

“What is ‘worse’?”

The very question that kept Zevlor from sleep after Tav had finally left, with the ominous promise to him and a delighted Brother Donnick to return and help with the temple’s supper again the next chance she had. And what was worse: to see her, or not to see her? To tease his resolve with more encounters like this, or cut himself off from Tav completely?

Zevlor lifted his neck, snaked a hand behind his horns to unfasten his hair, then let his head fall back against the stacked pillows, and ran his calloused fingers across the fraying edges of the small, embroidered band. Tav’s — which, like her sword, she had given him without hesitation and had never asked him to return. It was her signature, her greatest gift and her fatal flaw, and what he loved most about her, he decided there in the honest dark: the way she gave of herself unreservedly to every lost and pointless cause. He clenched an impotent fist around her band. What wouldn’t he give to have anything to give her... But he was less than useless to Tav now. And which was crueller: to let himself drain even more of her time and resources and affection knowing he had absolutely nothing worthwhile to offer her in return, or end the companionship Tav clearly hoped to rekindle in one quick, if painful, stroke…

The night passed fitful and fruitless, and Zevlor still had no answer by the time he dragged himself from his bunk. But with a bit of luck, he decided as he slogged sleepily through the day’s chores, he would not have to choose anytime soon. Yesterday had surely been a once-off. Tav had the demands of a whole city on her shoulders. Whatever she promised, she couldn’t possibly carve out hours of her time to volunteer at Ilmater’s temple every day.

Had he been less exhausted, Zevlor might have remembered the goddess of luck had rarely been on his side.

The kitchen door swung open. The clatter and chatter of a supper in full swing drifted in from the refectory, then faded as the door was closed, replaced by the clicking of unfamiliar shoes. Zevlor took a moment to finish his painstaking ladling of soup into bowls before looking up — and was very glad he’d done so in that order. The spasm of white-hot shock, excitement, consternation, and pure, primal arousal that rattled from the base of his horns to the tip of his trapped tail would have capsized the entire laden tray.

Tav was almost unrecognisable. Almost. Beneath the upswept knot of sleek, raven hair and the colourful paints shading her lips and cheeks were cobalt eyes Zevlor would know anywhere; and parting the heavy length of embroidered purple velvet clinging to her frame were the bare, wisteria legs he had seen once before and would never forget. She swept past him on silver sandals whose ties crawled up her calves, unfastened a small reticule of matching embroidery from her skirt and deposited it on the kitchen’s scrubbed wood table, then turned and met Zevlor’s eyes. For one second of extraordinary hubris, he wondered if he was the reason for this glamorous transformation. But—

“Bloody Gortash’s coronation,” Tav grumbled as she slid the tray of bowls from under Zevlor’s shaking hands and marched for the door again in a cloud of heady perfume.

The full tale, however, had to wait until supper was finished and Tav settled in the kitchen helping Zevlor take his turn at the washing up. He did his very best to listen as she spoke. But even with the washbasin, then the table piled with dishes to be dried, kept safely between them, the sight of Tav’s bare legs — close enough he could make out the delicate pattern of infernal ridges decorating her knees and the exposed jut of her hips — had unlinked some important chain in Zevlor’s brain. His dilemma of the day was a distant, foreign land; Tav’s words, too, reached his ears as if from far away. By the end of her story, the only bits he had retained were that she and a few of her companions had attended the coronation of Baldur’s Gate’s first Archduke, and that among the man’s many, many hidden crimes was landing Karlach — Tav’s other tiefling friend — in Avernus.

“It took Wyll and I both to hold her back,” Tav concluded. “Literally. We took an arm each and dragged her out. And you’ve seen her — even in sensible shoes, that’s no easy task. I felt bad, but, honestly, there was no chance of us winning a fight. We’d no weapons, there were at least two of those Steel Watch monsters in the room, plus more at the exits. Not to mention the regular guard and a whole crowd of civilians.”

She added another bowl to her clean, dried stack and paused for Zevlor’s verdict.

“That’s good,” he murmured vaguely, eyes still on Tav’s lips — he did not know the name of the deep shade of red they were painted, but had grown to appreciate it over the last hour, nonetheless. Then her silence, and the words proceeding it, caught up to him. He cleared his throat roughly and corrected, “Good of you to keep her from causing an incident.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one upside to all this.” Tav gestured down her dress with the drying rag, drops of water marring the deep, plum velvet. “I don’t know that we could have kept her punching his smug face in if she weren’t ‘trussed up in a posh straitjacket’ as she put it.”

Her chirp of laughter did intriguing things to the bodice of her gown as she scooped up the stack of bowls and carried them across the kitchen to the open cupboard. Zevlor paused in drying a tin spoon to watch her walk away. His eyes wandered instinctively south of her swaying tail before darting back up, a rogue thought occurring.

“You must have had this commissioned,” he said out loud. “The dress.”

“What?” Tav stopped, bowls balanced in her arms, and glanced down, as if to check what she was wearing. “No, it’s ready-to-wear. Astarion picked it all out from a shop in town and did everyone’s alterations. Except the fitting for my tail. I did that myself. I’m getting rather good.” She gave a little proud half-twirl, demonstrating her tail’s range of motion — and introducing Zevlor to the backs of her thighs — then returned to the cupboard. “Mind you,” she said over her shoulder, “it cost nearly as much as bespoke, all told. Cleaned us out of almost half of everything I’ve saved.”

The silver laces of her sandals clung to her calves as Tav stretched to push bowls onto the topmost shelf. Zevlor’s fingers itched with envy. Something gave beneath them, and he looked down to find the tin spoon in his hand slightly bent. He set it aside in bemusement, picked up another and kept his eyes fixed firmly upon it as he remarked wryly, “I had no idea being a hero paid so well.”

“Better than you might think.” There was a hint of a smile in Tav’s voice. “But most of our current good fortune comes courtesy of one Arfur of Rivington. He graciously donated his entire estate, including his not insignificant coffers, to our cause soon after we arrived. I’m actually thinking of setting his house up as a sort of inn for refugees with families, get some of the children out of the tents before the cold comes. If I ever have a few days to work up a proper plan. In the meantime” — Zevlor heard more of the swish of her skirts and the click of her sandals heralding her return than he did of Tav’s words —“I like to think we’ve put his gold to better use, new clothes notwithstanding. Although…”

Her sudden hush ought to have been his first warning, but there was a fog around Zevlor’s mind. The only thing it felt currently worthy of note was that Tav’s body waited somewhere close behind him. It urged his eyes to find her. He fought them. Then the sound of her shoes resumed.

“I don’t know that you can really put a price on clothes that fit properly,” Tav continued, and the strange undercurrent to her casual prattle was Zevlor’s second unheeded sign. “It’s more a necessity than a luxury, especially for tieflings. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Of course,” he agreed absently, unwittingly sealing his fate.

“Good. Glad that’s settled then.”

Reason told Zevlor there was something strange about this response. But reason had been demoted to his brain’s reserve ranks; its frontline focused solely on following Tav's movements without looking up. She stood beside him now. He could smell the clean scent of her hair underneath the perfume, feel the soft velvet of her dress brush his arm as she reached for something on the table’s far side. Unidentifiable rattles and clinks won his eyes. He glanced at her hands. She was rifling through her embroidered reticule, producing a series of random objects: a miniature pair of scissors, a minute spool of purple thread, a folded patch of leather with what looked like two silver needles stuck through. And even were his mental faculties at full strength, it might still have taken Zevlor, untrained in any tailoring arts, a minute to interpret their purpose. As things stood, he was lost.

“Turn around,” Tav instructed.

Zevlor’s bewildered gaze climbed to her face. Cobalt excitement twinkled in her eyes, and triumph twitched playfully across her deep-red and enticing lips.

“Go on. Turn.” She illustrated the motion with a finger in case he’d forgotten how. “It won’t take long.”

“What won’t take long?” Zevlor croaked even as he shuffled obediently in place — his throat was strangely dry, his heart pounding; his body aware of what was about to happen before his brain could put it into words.

“Just a necessity.”

A split second of breathless anticipation passed. Then Tav’s shoes clicked forward once, her skirts swished as she sank to her knees, and Zevlor understood her intention at the same time he felt her warm hand just above the base of his tail…

“She didn’t!”

“She did.”

“But … she had to know what she was doing? She has a tail! She knows what that feels like!”

“Well, you must remember, Tav hadn’t known many tieflings. Knowledge you and I think of as implicit was still largely foreign to her then. She didn’t realise that can feel so...”

Stimulating. Agonising. An impossible marriage of bliss and torture. Tav’s fingers were quick, purposeful, careful not to linger as she measured out the hole she planned to cut. But Zevlor could not remember the last time such sensitive parts of him had been so gently touched. It was going to break him.

“Tav…” His voice was just shy of an open groan, his eyes on the verge of rolling back. “This is … this isn’t—”

“Zevlor, please.” And his name in Tav’s pleading voice made his already pressing problem impossibly harder. “You can’t keep this up. I could see it yesterday. It’s agony having your tail trapped like this, I know, and certainly not conducive to a restful mental state. And, really, it won’t take long at all, I swear. Like I said, I’m quite good at it now.”

No doubt Tav meant her dulcet babble to distract him from what she read as discomfort. She kept up a steady stream of it over minutes that dragged on like years, but her words might have been a different language for all Zevlor understood of them.

Fire blazed in his blood and pooled in his core; and when she parted the split fabric to let his tail spring through and her bare hand brushed his exposed skin, he was positive it would burn him both alive. How Tav did not feel it was beyond him. She was already stitching fabric back together beneath his tail, neglecting the placement of her hands in her haste, and even through a layer of starched cloth, ripples of molten pleasure coursed through him at every accidental touch. Zevlor gritted his sharp teeth against it. He tasted blood on his tongue. He let the pain ground him. He squeezed his eyes shut and sent up a slew of silent prayers to every god he’d ever known: Torm for strength, Tyr for courage, Ilmater for forbearance…

The rest of the ordeal passed in a blur. Afterwards, Zevlor wasn’t sure how he survived it; or how it had ended exactly, except that it definitely wasn’t how his imagination wanted: on his knees at Tav’s silver-lined feet, lips worshipping the flawless skin of her legs between entreaties for her to touch every other unworthy part of him, to fix everything else in his body that ached. Instead, he had a hazy impression of Tav’s satisfied smile, fading as she peered into his face, asking him if he felt ill. He thought he might have agreed. He hoped he’d said something in the way of thanks or at least farewell before fleeing, but couldn’t be sure. His next clear memory came as he lay, panting and spent, above blankets, his newly altered robes sticky and stained and his horns caught in the posts of his bunk, mortified at his lack of control and hoping against all hope Tav had left the temple before he’d cried her name.

It was another long night of wretched introspection. By the end of it, Zevlor’s body and soul felt as wrecked as if he’d done pitched battle. And looked it, too, if Sister Yannis’ reaction when he reported to the refectory for morning chores was an accurate mirror. Her wrinkled face erupted into worried lines. She had him crouch where she could feel his forehead, declared him fevered, and sent him straight back to the infirmary to rest — which suited Zevlor fine.

Because he knew his mission, now; and knew he was too weak to execute it without resorting to low tactics. But any soldier who thought warfare always honourable had never truly fought for their lives or the lives of those they loved. And Zevlor refused to let Tav waste any more of hers on him, whatever it cost him, whatever it took...

...be it a fever, or a pretense of one, that lasted that day into the next, and a request of Sister Yannis to inform any guests who might ask after him he was not to be disturbed; then, when he could not lie still a day longer, a strategic retreat outdoors, where he spent all waking hours — including the supper ones — at groundskeeping and where he had could watch Rivington's main road, and hide himself away again whenever he spied any dark-haired, blue-eyed tieflings headed the temple's way.

It pained him — a slow, sharp, nauseating throb, like a stab to the gut, and one that did not heal even as the days passed and Zevlor’s sightings of Tav became infrequent, then stopped altogether. Anxiety only built in the absence of these fleeting glimpses, like infection over an untreated wound. It was Brother Dannis, who followed accounts of Tav and her companions almost as religiously as the god he served, who eventually explained: Rivington’s resident heroes had moved house. Though they’d left some behind to maintain their camp, Tav and most of her companions had secured rooms in the lower city where the work was largely based place. And while this knowledge eased some of Zevlor’s worry after Tav’s wellbeing, it brought him no real peace. He wondered bleakly if anything ever would; if time would teach him to accept this tense, joyless, but necessary existence with better grace.

It did not. But it did bring, a tenday later, the 101st issue of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette.

“I remember that!” gasps Alfira, clapping a hand to her face — the first time her quill has stilled in full minutes. “I couldn’t believe it when I read it! I mean quite literally, I didn’t believe one word, but it was awful all the same. I thought she must have pissed off Estra Stir, or—”

“Enver Gortash,” Zevlor growls. “Retaliation for destroying his Steel Watch.”

“Ohh…” Comprehension blooms in Alfira’s voice. “I never put those two together … but that makes sense! Everyone just - just turned on her. Alan couldn’t even let her in the Elfsong that day, afraid of what it would do for business. She had to leave her friends and go back to their camp in Rivington. All of it sort of died away on its own after that final fight, but it was scary there for a while. I remember I was so upset people would think those things about her after all she'd done!”

Zevlor considers the beginning of that most pivotal day in his head: Brother Donnick, who’d hero-worshipped Tav for so long, quoting the article incessantly at him until he’d lost the run of himself and punched the half-elf in the jaw.

“So was I.”

He was exiled to groundswork again after that. Hardly a punishment — Zevlor was glad for an excuse to vent some of his righteous anger at something, even if it was only the temple’s tenacious vines.

The baseless accusations, the outright lies, the unfair and unexpected turning of an entire populace on those who had saved them… the parallels with Elturel disturbed him. And the thought of Tav out there, somewhere in the city, enduring the same injustices he had suffered shook Zevlor to his core. He tore bare-handed at the brambles climbing the idol of Ilmater guarding the temple’s front, hardly aware of their prickling thorns; hardly aware of anything — the dip of the sun into shadow, the evening breeze rippling the back of his hair, the slurry of footsteps and shouting from the street below him — until he heard a familiar whistle of air.

Zevlor ducked without thinking. Tall weeds and torn brambles hit his face. He disregarded them, his senses strained for signs of further projectiles. But all that came was a sickening splat, followed by a swell of hateful laughter. He pushed to his feet, hackles raised, and searched the buildings opposite, then the street below for evidence of attack…

…and found a nightmare come to life: Tav — slumped in the dirt at the centre of a jeering mob, one hand pressed to the side of her head, a river of bright red running through her fingers.

Panic wiped all thought from Zevlor’s mind. He was a creature of action and instinct. He leapt the temple railing, landed on his feet, and was running flat out down the road in the space of seconds, knocking gawkers and catcallers from his path. A strain in his throat, and the turn of startled heads, told him he was yelling, but whether it was words or a simple roar of rage he did not stop to discover. His unrestrained tail whipped shrieking faces and evaded grabbing hands as he pushed and shoved his way to the centre of the crowd.

Tav was still on the ground. She had struggled to her knees, but froze at the sight of Zevlor. A sign her wound would likely keep until they reached safety, he recognised, even if the red oozing down her cheek and into her gaping mouth made his stomach cramp. He forced it down. There would be time to assess the damage later. The next step was getting Tav away from danger.

He crouched at her side.

“Can you walk?” he asked, and, at her nod, threaded an arm under hers and slid her weight onto his shoulder to hoist her to her feet.

“And there’s another one!” called a harsh voice over the rabble's raucous din. “All these bleedin’ foulbloods, that’s where it all comes from! The Archduke should have ‘em—”

“Enough!” Zevlor’s bark was the sort to call down silence on a trained brigade. It stopped the grey-haired human mid-word, and cast an uneasy hush over his audience’s cheers. Faces flicked from curling horns to fiery pupils engulfed in infernal black sclera, and, for once, Zevlor was glad to watch their eyes all shift nervously away. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!" he snarled at them, letting his tail lash threateningly behind him for good measure. “Every person in this damned city owes this woman their lives. Now, get out of the way!”

He took one, unassailable step forward, and the mob all around broke ranks. His slower trek back up the road towards the temple, half-dragging, half-supporting Tav, went uncontested — by any of the hastily retreating bystanders. Tav herself maintained a litany of murmured protests all the time Zevlor limped her up the stone steps and into the refectory’s sheltered shade. He ignored her: easy enough to do while they walked. On reaching the infirmary and transferring Tav into the nearest wooden chair, however, she twisted in his arms and gripped his face in both hands, demanding his eyes.

“Zevlor.” She said his name like a reveille: loud and distinct. “Zevlor, I’m not hurt. I’m fine. Look,” and released one hand to run a finger through the red stain clotting on her cheek, then popped it into her mouth before announcing: “Tomato.”

In the quiet that echoed after the word, Zevlor realised he was panting. Hard. He inhaled, trying to force his lungs to accept air and his brain this new, important fact. Blood still pumping in his ears, he scanned Tav for other injuries they might both have missed and found only dirty scuffs on the knees of her armor and what was clearly, now he was looking properly, seedy pulp dripping down her neck.

She brushed a blob of this to the threadbare rug and prompted, “You could still fetch me a towel?”

A concrete task. Zevlor’s brain re-engaged, and he set off for a familiar cupboard, returning with two of the infirmary’s least ragged many-purpose cloths. Rather than placing them in Tav’s outstretched hand, however, he dragged another of the fireside chairs closer to her, sat, and, adrenaline still animating his limbs, mopped the mess from her shoulder himself. He caught the subtle widening of her eyes, but kept his own on her sticky armour; then the stained skin of her throat as his cloth climbed.

After a few laden seconds in which he could hear only his heartbeat, Tav ventured cautiously, “Are… are you alright?”

This question had far too many layers for Zevlor to consider them all right now. He opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say. What came out was a gruff accusation.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be going anywhere alone?”

Tav’s face crinkled, tomato juice diverting into laugh lines, as she chuffed mirthlessly.

“I appreciate your concern, but that danger has mostly passed. Orin’s gone underground since we ended the murder tribunal — there’s been no signs of assassins or shapeshifters for days. And now Gortash’s toy soldiers are broken, the streets are relatively safe.”

“And the angry mobs?”

“Have tomatoes.” When this failed to ease any of Zevlor's pinched grimace, she sighed. “And they're nothing I can't deal with. Actually, I’m an old hand at this part — the name-calling and fruit-flinging and the torches-and-pitchfork brigade. It happens everywhere I go. I’m used to it by now. It really doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” Zevlor snapped, throwing down the sodden, red-stained rag. It took a supreme effort of will to rein in his simmering anger — but he could hardly take out on Tav fury he felt on her behalf. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath, then repeated, “It matters,” with more restraint, “because it's wrong. You've done nothing to deserve this.” He began pulling slimes of tomato peel from Tav’s tangle of gathered hair, flinging them to the floor with disgust. “Not one of those people would be alive if it weren’t for you. For them to treat you like that is beyond shameful. And none of that mindless rabble would have dared face you on their own. Cowards, every one!

“What?” he interrupted himself, his hand stilling against Tav’s ear, as a smile — a genuine smile — glowed across her face.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head — very slightly so as not to dislodge his hand. “It’s just…” She raised one of her own and laid it tentatively on his. “Your hands. They’re quite steady now,” she explained.

It took a moment for Zevlor to understand, then to understand Tav was right. His eyes flicked from her smile to his hand. There was the knot of veins he knew well, the callouses and thorn-pricks to be expected, the long nails that needed cutting, dirt ground underneath. But it was so still and secure in itself, it might have belonged to someone else. And with Tav’s pale, stained fingers resting lightly atop it, Zevlor thought of the man’s it might have been: the one who had not failed his people, had not let them die, but led them here; who had crafted a life in Baldur’s Gate he could have been proud of; who had something to share with the woman holding her breath before him, waiting on him to speak.

Zevlor wet his lips, but no words came. Whatever temporary reprieve adrenaline may have allowed his better sense — and, apparently, his tremors — nothing of substance had changed. He still had nothing to offer Tav. And it would be an injustice worse than one tomato to let either of them forget it.

He slid his hand from under hers, all his righteous rage deflating. And with it, any idea of what to say next. Yet even from this, Tav rescued him. Her chair whispered across the rug as she stood and pushed it back.

“I should … get going,” she said, sounding suddenly terribly weary. “Thank you for your help. It was … I…”

She trailed away, abandoning the thought in favour of a last look at Zevlor, eyes full of some deep cobalt emotion he could not translate. Then, she turned for the infirmary door. But the thought of her traversing Rivington’s hostile streets, alone and distracted by exhaustion, was too much for Zevlor to bear. And it occurred to him in a last, purposeful surge, he did, in fact, have one thing to offer her the rest of Baldur’s Gate currently would not.

“Wait,” he called, rising from his chair and ignoring the chiding of his better sense. “Let me walk you to your camp. You’ll need someone watching your back.”

It was a short, uneventful, uncommunicative journey. Zevlor led Tav out one of the temple’s side-doors, through the iron gates into the adjacent grounds co-opted by the Circus of the Last Days, then along Rivington's fringes and into its low foothills where Tav and her companions had re-appropriated a ruined farm for their base camp. Lights flickered between the boarded windows of the few derelict buildings, and the fence showed signs of recent repair, but Zevlor still recognised the tops of colourful scrap-fabric tents spread across the low-cut grass. He thought of the last time he’d seen them with a wistful pang.

“I’d ask you to stay a bit,” said Tav, speaking for the first time since they’d left the temple. “Eat with us or something, but ... I assume you have things to attend to. You’ve been so busy lately. You never have time to see me when I stop by.”

It was a statement of fact, but she put it to him like a question, a plea to understand. And Zevlor found he, too, was desperate for a cleaner air between them. He turned to face her fully.

“Why do you come to the temple?” he asked.

“To see you,” she admitted, unabashed.

“What are you hoping to see?”

This question seemed to stymy Tav. She cocked her head, regarding Zevlor in confusion for a moment. Then said simply, “You. Just … you. I like seeing you.” And, when this answer furrowed Zevlor's brow, burst with unexpected passion: “Zevlor, I like you! How is that not obvious?! I like talking with you, being with you! Getting to see you is what I look forward to the most about every day!”

Tav’s face contorted, her tail twisting in knots behind her, in earnest entreaty for Zevlor to understand.

“You make me think and make me laugh and - and hope and make me feel better about everything that’s happening, all of this… mess.” She waved her hands frantically at the world around them. “Every single day is harder than the last one right now, and I’m trying very hard to put a brave face on it for everyone else and not complain, but, honestly, sometimes I feel I might drown in all the things, all the people, I’m responsible for. And at the end of the day, just seeing you, even just for a minute … it makes me feel like I can take whatever fate throws at me next.”

Her storm of vehemence abated as abruptly as it had begun. Tav’s arms collapsed, her tail fell limply to her ankles. She took a shaky breath, teeth worrying at the corner of her lip, before saying, more softly, “But the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable or … or bother you. If you don’t want me to come by the temple anymore, I’ll stop. Only… wasn’t I supposed to look you up when I got here?” she added with self-conscious humour, wrapping her arms around herself, presumably to stave off the cool evening breeze. "Didn't ... didn’t you say I had family at the Gate?”

“That was … before.” Zevlor shook his head, less in any disagreement than in sheer wonder at the confession his brain was still struggling to absorb. “I had planned … mrag, I don’t know what I planned,” he groaned explosively, running both hands over his face. It burned, like his wounded pride. But Tav's raw honesty had unlocked his. He spoke, fast and thoughtless, into his hands. "Before meeting you, I don’t think my plans ever made it as far as Baldur’s Gate. I had hopes for the others, but none for myself. All that mattered was getting them here. And then… you….” He looked up as he said it: even sticky and red-stained and smelling strongly of tomato, Tav was still every bit the picture of divine aid she had been when he’d first seen her, perhaps even more so now. “You appeared. You saved us all. You saved me. And for the first time, I truly believed I might make it here and accomplish something worthwhile. Perhaps even have something to offer you when you arrived. But nothing has gone the way I wanted. I have less than before. I am less now. I’m not just oathbroken and exiled, I’m a traitor” — he spat the word from his mouth like a curse, voice rising — “who led my own people to their deaths! They would revile you for associating with me. I have nothing for you! I—”

“But I don’t need anything from you!" And Tav’s in contrast was little more than a fragile whisper, poured directly from her lips onto Zevlor's as she closed the space between them, her fingers inching delicately up his clenched jaw. “I don't need you to give me anything! The only thing I ever wanted from you was you. I didn’t love you on potential or because of what I thought you might accomplish or become, I fell in love with you exactly as you were when I met you. As you are right now.”

From somewhere around them, distantly familiar voices called, but Zevlor could not guess at directions or names.

“Why?”

The word left him in a weightless murmur. Tav would not have heard it, nor Zevlor her response — “So many reasons,” — were her mouth not already pressed to his. He felt her thumbs stroking the ridges of his cheeks, but nothing else. Which did not concern him unduly. This was surely a dream. Tav’s words, her love, - gentle, un-demanding kiss, did not belong to the hell that was this world, but some heaven Zevlor no longer deserved. And if it was a dream, there was no harm in enjoying it. He could let his own lips reply. He could revel in the taste of her: clean and refreshing as cool water, with a hint of tomato that did not matter; like it did not matter that it had been so long since he had done this, he’d almost forgotten how; or that there were footsteps perilously close by and a voice he knew calling Tav’s name—

“Tav, is that — oh!”

Then her lips were gone, replaced by cold, empty air. Zevlor blinked, his eyes adjusting to a dark that felt blinding to his bleary eyes.

“Just-just a minute, Wyll. I’ll be there in-in just a minute,” came Tav’s breathless voice, and a succession of noises — murmured voices, a stifled laugh, a thwack of a hand hitting leather, a yelp, footsteps tromping swiftly away through grass — punctured the dream-like bubble cushioning Zevlor’s mind…

…and he was panting, inches from Tav as they stood huddled together at the entrance to her camp, three figures retreating back inside its fence; one, the Blade of Frontiers, threw Zevlor what looked like an apologetic grin before shutting the gate behind him with a click. A quick assessment of the last minutes informed Zevlor he had, in fact, kissed Tav, or let her kiss him, and it had been interrupted by what looked like half her camp. Before fear or reason or better sense or mortification or anything else could take hold of him, however, Tav was there to save him from them all.

“Look,” she murmured, speaking into Zevlor's face again, if not quite as intimately close as before, “this isn’t exactly how I hoped things would be in Baldur’s Gate either, but… they won’t be this way forever, will they? I mean, the world can’t be ending forever. Things will get better. We'll get better. And we don’t have to make any important decisions now. We can take things slow. We have plenty of time.”

Her words vibrated with the same nerve-soothing, spirit-bolstering note Zevlor remembered from so many occasions. As always, it ignited hope. And, abandoning his reason, he clung to it. Reason might lead him astray, he decided, but Tav would not.

“Meanwhile..." Tav's eyes, the only light in the darkness, fluttered to his lips again as she asked, “May I keep coming by the temple? To see you?” and Zevlor's own low voice rang with surprising conviction as he promised her, “Anything you want.”

The return journey — or what little of it Zevlor accomplished — went by in a daze. His body felt buoyant, unburdened. His back and knees barely existed at all, let alone offered any complaint. The pinprick lights of the city in the distance guided his feet to Rivington’s main road, and he had just stepped onto it, amused at the spring in his own step, when a voice drifted towards him from behind; very like Tav’s, only —

“Oh, and Zevlor? One last thing…”

— only there was something indefinably off about it. And about the cobalt eyes that glittered at Zevlor as he swivelled round. And the wisteria face that possessed all of Tav’s exact features, except he had never seen Tav wear that sort of sharp, smug, self-possessed smile…

“So, you knew who it was right away?”

“Well, obviously I didn't. I only knew it wasn't Tav. Who — or what, I suppose — she really was I didn't know until it was too late.”

23 notes · View notes

destinygoldenstar · 5 months ago

Text

My TADC Predictions

Okay, quick disclaimer here:

Everything I say in this post is purely speculation and is in no way being demanded to become canon. All of these are open to be incorrect upon future releases of the show’s episodes, and nobody should get upset over whatever that is said in this post being wrong. This is Gooseworx’s show, not mine. I am only a fan doing fan theories. Please harass no one.

Okay now that this is out of the way, what do I predict for this shows plot?

Well, I can safely say that I am not 100% sure on anything, as I do want to be surprised. I was with Episode 2 for sure. But the episode also gave me some ideas.

Let’s start with the episodes themselves:

Gooseworx confirmed that Episodes 3-6 are character centric episodes. They also said that this was NOT meant to be a mystery show but rather a character focused show.

So I think it is safe to say that we will, for the most part, have to WAIT for answers on the outside world and the mysteries of the circus itself. We won’t get answers for awhile.

As for what I think the answers are, more on this later.

So, at the very least, Episodes 3-6 are episodic adventures designed by the circus. Which while character development carries over (I would hope so), the adventures themselves are self contained. So we likely won’t be seeing the Candy Canyon Kingdom again.

Maybe Episode 7 is also in this category. Idk.

Due to the show being based off ‘I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream’, all of this would make a lot of sense.

And I will say it right now, from Episode 3-6, Pomni is taking a backseat.

She’s the main character. She’s been the main focus of the first two episodes, and she’ll undoubtedly be important for the last act of this show. But it makes sense to me that she takes a backseat role in these episodes and leave the focus character of these episodes as the main driving forces.

I’m NOT saying she’ll have absolutely nothing to do or get zero character development in these episodes. She could play a part in the other’s development in SOME cases, and it would suck if Episode 2’s ending became meaningless by having her not work on warming up to the others at all.

BUT other than that, yeah, these episodes are going to be primarily focused on the characters Gooseworx listed to be.

Maybe Pomni will finally see the monsters.

Or get zombie infected in Episode 3, who knows.

The side characters:

In a trailer, we saw more of these characters being revealed. And thanks to Episode 2, it’s far safer to assume that these guys are episodic characters, with a FEW exceptions.

While I think these characters are gonna play a bigger purpose when discussing NPC��s, they are episodic exclusive.

The only exceptions I can think of so far are Orbsman and GummiGoo.

Orbsman I think is making their debut in Episode 3. But I also think he’s going to be one of the biggest gag characters in the show. From how they market them as ‘everyone’s favorite character’.

Basically, I think they’re gonna be like that elf from Majorca’s Mask (I forgot his name). A gag character you always run into with a very out there concept.

As for GummiGoo, I don’t think he’s dead. Or dead as in ‘gone forever.’

Otherwise, why make a plushie of him?

(Or maybe they make plushies of dead characters all the time. Idk, I haven’t watched Murder Drones yet)

BUT I dont think he’s coming back in Episode 3. I actually think it’ll be awhile before this character comes back.

The most soon I can see his return coming is in Episode 7. And I think it will be anything but pretty.

There’s a theory that GummiGoo got his memories erased when Caine snapped him, which I do like in the sense that there are permanent consequences and to establish the harsh reality of the discrimination of the NPC’s. So yes, I do see this becoming entirely possible.

I think this characters memory erasure will be used for Pomni and Caine’s development respectively. I also see this character playing a role in the established world building that is the NPCs.

What we know about NPCs so far is that they are programs Caine created, to the point where they worship Caine as god (I’ll bring this up later). All of their backstories and memories are fake. As they are merely programmed obstacles created to be used for the human players sick enjoyment.

And Caine has trouble keeping track of who’s a human and who’s an NPC, so he segregated the two because ‘who knows what could happen’. (Again, more on that later)

This show really subverted me with its second episode, so I will still do that with this case. In most amnesia case scenarios, the character would eventually regain their memories as though they were never lost.

I don’t think this will happen to GummiGoo. I think he’s NEVER getting his memories back.

In that sense, it would be more so the case that GummiGoo himself is a tragedy.

I can also see that very tragedy being the awakening of an NPC rebellion, especially if the NPCs are prominent in future episodes. They snap and go ‘No Caine, NPCs are people too and deserve to have a life!’

Especially if the game was say, originally designed for advanced AI to live like people within the game.

It really depends if the other characters bond with NPCs on whether it’s all of them that agree to this, or just Pomni.

Anyway, the Episode 3 discussion:

Simply based on the teaser, it would make no sense for the ghost things to appear in a late episode unless they’re REALLY trolling us. (Which could totally be possible)

So maybe Episode 3 is this haunted mansion adventure as it’s episodic adventure.

Gooseworx also said this was their favorite episode. And that it was darker than the previous two. That speaks for itself.

As for what they’re possibly talking about… I don’t know. I’m actually stumped there.

But what we do know right now is that this is a pairing episode of Zooble and Kinger.

This does worry me, I’ll admit. Zooble is a character that gets rather little screen time already that pairing them with another character with more story potential in their episode sounds like admitting defeat.

I do hope I’m wrong though.

Zooble:

Zooble is the character so far that I am the most skeptical about. Mostly because if their lack of screen time thus far. And like I said, them sharing an episode with someone else does not help.

With that said, I do want to give the benefit of the doubt and say their lack of contribution to the plot thus far is intentional and there’s more going on than what meets the eye.

I do think, no matter what, Zooble is playing a role in this episodes adventure. And if they refuse, Caine will just throw them in. And they will play a very prominent role in that episode.

First off, I think this episode will be the confirmation of Zooble’s identity. As in, what pronouns they use. Because so far, it is all over the place in the show. Either way, I definitely feel like this character is supposed to be trans and/or gender-fluid.

Do I think this will be Zooble’s main focal point of characterization? Not really. Whether or not it’s trans rep, I like the idea of it just being a casual preference they have. It’s a great way to normalize trans-rights in this show without being preachy. While also being trans-rights because that’s something the world definitely needs. (Especially where I’m from)

The other thing is Zooble refusing to go on these adventures. The obvious reason could be characterization that ‘they’re lazy and a moody person who doesn’t like to contribute to anything involving peers’.

So if Zooble’s mental complication is dysphoria, if it’s not gender dysphoria it’s social dysphoria. Maybe it’s both.

(You’ll find that I am theorizing all the characters to be going through something)

It is a valid route to take for that character.

But I also think it’s the less interesting route.

There’s a theory that Zooble is a spy, as in, they know more about the circus than they let on and are self defending with that information. Which I do like, and could see being possible.

It would also somewhat justify the duo episode because it would give Zooble more of a role in the future. Whether that’s as an anti-hero type character or a jerk-ish ally.

So basically, they’d be the ‘heart of gold’ character everyone thought Jax was gonna be until Episode 2 crushed that.

Zooble could be someone who knows more about the circus than they originally let on, such as hacks or secrets to the maps, but they don’t share this information with anyone else because A) What would Caine do to them? B) While they do care about the others enough to set up a funeral for Kaufmo, they aren’t exactly open to letting people in their lives or asking for help.

You know, unless their own life is put in jeapordy.

Again, social dysphoria thing.

(There’s also the Pilot in terms of this discussion. They got eaten by the Gloink Queen but didn’t turn into a Gloink. So like, what if they used a hack code to save themselves? And/or what if they used that as an opportunity to learn what makes the NPCs tick?)

This would also make them a foil to Kinger in the episode, as Kinger would be the one who IS open to letting people in his life, but mentally cannot. And so far Zooble has seen Kinger as the least reliable out of everyone (He failed to save them from the Gloink Queen and they made a comment about how they thought Kinger would be next).

Speaking of Kinger:

Okay, so Kinger is definitely a plot important character. I think we can all agree with that.

In the previous two episodes there just wasn’t enough of Kinger that made me completely latch onto him. Which is why I haven’t made a post on him. But I do feel like Episode 3 will change that because…

Yeah we’re learning about him.

As for what I do think about him: He’s a good guy. He’s trying to help. He’s like the cooky old guy of the group that wants to be of assistance and is very knowledgeable but fails to due to his mental illness.

That mental illness likely being schizophrenia.

What this basically is is a disconnect from reality. You see things that aren’t there, you hear things that weren’t said, and vise versa.

It’s a mental disorder that is in need to be looked at by a professional because patients can be so disconnected from reality that they can’t function.

And Kinger has multiple of these symptoms as he hears things that weren’t said, forgets things almost instantly, and does irrational actions without much thought.

So basically, Kinger is psychotic.

A misinterpretation of that word is ‘dangerous and crazy’. But that is not what that word means at all. So NO, I’m not claiming Kinger is evil or crazy. He’s smart. He knows what he’s talking about. But he IS mentally ill.

That, or altzheimers. But I don’t think he’s old enough to get that.

Now, in some characters cases, it’s difficult to pinpoint if some characters obtained these illnesses from the circus or if they had them before the circus. Depending on the character it could vary.

I’m inclined to believe Kinger’s case is the former, as he has been here the longest, and Jax says specifically “That’s why he’s crazy”.

But what exactly drove him to be that way?

The first theory I have is HOW long exactly Kinger has been here.

And I said this theory in a post before.

But basically, Kinger was not only here the longest, but he was also one of the ORIGINAL tester players of the game.

Him, along with other people.

Again, in that other post, I said that Caine accidentally killed a human player and that’s why they’re programmed to segregate humans and NPCs.

This would require the Digital Circus to originally be designed to have advanced AI that interacted with the players. But because of this tragedy, they had to abandon the project and deem it as malicious software, or ‘malware’.

So not only did Kinger witness this exact event to one of his companions and co-workers, but he also witnessed the abstraction of that dead co-worker that caused the other players to never leave the circus.

From there, not only would Kinger suffer massive survivors guilt, but also be here FAR longer than we could imagine, and he had to witness ALL of his friends succumb to abstraction.

Including Queenie. Who in no doubt was THE closest to him. And I can totally imagine getting a Kinger flashback of him witnessing her abstraction.

I don’t know what exactly his relationship was with Queenie. People have suspected she may have been his wife or girlfriend, but Gooseworx had confirmed there was no romance in the show.

This could either be them stretching the truth and forgetting the ‘that you see on screen’ part.

Or they are very legit here. Which in that sense, she could just be his best friend. There doesn’t have to be romantic subtext to it.

Either way, we are definitely going to know more of Kinger’s backstory at some point.

There’s a theory that Kinger at some point will be the next one to abstract.

But… I think that would be way too obvious.

Yeah, he’s old and been here a long time. But if that’s the only reason he would have abstracted a long time ago.

There’s definitely SOMETHING in his brain that is preventing him from ‘the breaking point’.

Along with Jax, who I will talk about later, Kinger is ‘insane’. But that might not be defined as ‘the breaking point’ for him.

Ragatha described abstraction as ‘starting to question who you are and why you’re even alive’. Which makes abstraction sound and seem like it is portrayed as a ‘mental suicide’.

So Kinger’s insanity in particular is NOT plaguing him with suicidal thoughts. He already lost EVERYTHING at this point and in other circumstances would be abstracted. But instead he keeps going and keeps a hold of a reason to live.

What is that reason? We don’t know yet.

But it could also be a subconscious decision he makes to detach himself from the reality of his situation. He’s so disconnected from reality that he’s only living in fantasies now.

It’s… very tragic of a fate for him.

So I really DON’T see Kinger abstracting. I believe that would be a very predictable route to take this character.

If any character is gonna abstract, I feel it would be someone else. More on that character later.

Also he was a bug tester. I don’t think I need to explain that one. Everyone and their mothers made that theory already.

Gangle:

I will say, Gangle is the one I have the least to say about out of the six. As I think this character has the least amount of relevance to the main plot and whatever twist that comes.

That said, doesn’t mean she’s gonna be a bad character. At best, I can see her being a very solid, entertaining character with strong development that is blatant.

That said, Gangle is definitely the major focus of Episode 4 as it is the episode of the most character discovery for her.

I definitely want them to explore her two masks with this episode, as so far we’ve seen little to none of the comedy mask.

I don’t hate the running gag or anything, but I think they should build on it is all I’m saying. Otherwise it gets stale and the character just becomes the gag.

With the masks, I definitely see it as a visual for bipolar disorder.

If that is the case, then seeing more of her comedy mask is vital to get that point across.

Gangle is also characterized as a bit of a dork and a massive pushover in Episode 2. With the figurines and the ‘submissive and agreeable’ line. Which made me think ‘Wow, I might like this character far more than I thought I would’.

But that latter line gave me huge Angel Dust flashbacks. With both being Episode 4 and all that. But I don’t think Gangle’s past was THAT horrific.

Still, I heavily imagine Gangle is one of those characters who had a very rough life before the circus and even now is someone who can’t stand up for herself.

I can see a positive character arc for her where she grasps her mask concept better, figure out more about herself, and come out a better and more confident person.

Not the deepest arc in the world, I know, but it’s all in execution. And I can totally see that character development carry over to later episodes. Like, say, she stands up for herself against Jax and doesn’t put up with his bullying anymore. That’d be satisfying.

But that is all I’m really expecting of Gangle as of right now. Just a really solid side character.

Ragatha:

Okay now we’re talking!

I love Ragatha. She’s by far one of the sweetest characters in a world of such hopelessness. And yet her own struggles with connecting to the people around her is so real and so relatable to me. Despite being so sweet, she feels like a real person and doesn’t come across as naive.

With that said… yeah I don’t think she’s getting a happy ending.

No doubt I think they’re setting up a character arc for Ragatha. While yes she is very positive and reassuring all things considered, it’s those same traits that make her very pushy and not very understanding to what the people around her need.

There’s also the hint Gooseworx gave about the ‘evil Ragatha’.

From my understanding, this is due to the nightmare image of her in Pomni’s nightmare.

So two things I could imagine this being:

1: This is part of the Episode 5 Adventure that involves an Evil AI Clone of Ragatha. Making the episode about introspection on her end on who she could be if she doesn’t accept her more negative emotions.

Or 2: This is metaphorical and foreshadowing Ragatha being a traitor.

This is part of biblical text and symbolism MANY people have pointed out already. And I will do as well.

In text, Judas Iscariot is the figure that betrayed Jesus Christ. He betrayed him FIVE times actually. (Episode FIVE???)

If Zooble is a spy, then suspicion would fall onto them as a traitor among them. And Jax would be too obvious of a candidate.

But I think if this were to be the case, Ragatha would be influenced into this malicious role due to a negative character arc set up for her.

We all rave about how anxious Pomni is, but so is Ragatha, who is also suffering this very common mental illness. It’s just not as in your face. And if left untreated, she could start to make very irrational choices over a paranoia that she’d end up completely alone in the end.

So her betrayal may be having to do with them finding a potential answer that would help them leave the circus, but she destroys it because it would mean they’d leave her.

That, or she’d be possessed by Satan… who Im predicting would be Jax in this case. Idk who else it would be that’d influence her.

While I do not think this would happen in her focus episode, I do think that at some point in the latter half of the show, Ragatha abstracts.

Whether that’s out of guilt for her betrayal of the others, or just simply being unable to take it anymore as a failure of the job she set out to do (as a caring figure and the heart of the group), she is burying a LOT of trauma and negative emotions and sweeping them under the rug and bottling her up. That is definitely gonna bite her later.

So yeah, if any character is going to abstract, my bet is on her.

Would be this be a PERMANENT abstraction ‘death’?

It really depends if they find a way to undo abstraction after such. But that’s a huge 50/50 that’s even going to end up being possible. That could go either way.

And if Ragatha doesn’t abstract, she almost does, but then someone saves her before she can.

Jax:

Ah, here it is. The character everyone wants me to talk about…

And I have already.

So, my Jax take is pretty interesting compared to some other Internet folks I’ve seen so far.

I actually didn’t find him all that interesting in the Pilot. Hot take I know. He wasn’t bad or anything, I was just far more compelled by the world building and Pomni’s struggle at the time.

It was actually the second episode that hooked me on his character because “Holy sh*t this guy is a maniac and I am here for it!!”

I mean, Gooseworx already confirmed that Jax is the morally worst character in the show and there was nothing heroic about him. Idk what more you want me to say.

Now with that said, do I believe this and that he will, indeed, be a major driving force of conflict?

Yes.

Do I think he’s a one dimensional evil bastard?

No.

Hear me out.

While I don’t believe Jax will ever be ‘redeemed’ per say, I do believe an explanation for his behavior is warranted AND there are hints that there’s a bit more complexity to his mindset.

I mean, he didn’t show up to Kaufmo’s Funeral, but showed pity when it was mentioned.

As for what exactly this explanation is, it’s actually something I’ve heard a lot of people say before.

He’s aware this is a video game.

The NPCs are just that. They don’t have lives. This world is designed to have zero consequences. So you can do whatever you want in that context.

So Jax takes advantage of that.

We only don’t agree with him because we saw in Pomni’s POV that the NPCs are more than their design.

Everyone here has their own coping methods in a world like this and Jax is no different. It would be INSANE if he had no care.

There’s not enough evidence yet, but I believe he USED to care about the human players at the very least, (reaction to Kaufmo’s Funeral and all of that), but after several losses, decided to screw any sense of care he had.

His fault. But still.

I already made a post about Jax having low empathy (and y’all said I was crazy before Episode 2 came out) so I’ll be brief.

Jax cares about absolutely no one here and is perfectly willing to sacrifice them if it means amusement. The only reason he hasn’t terrorized the circus yet is because that would be boring if there was nobody to poke at.

While low empathy doesn’t equal ‘bad person’, in Jax’s case, he feels no care, but it’s his own actions that lead to sociopathy as a personality disorder.

Donny from Rise of the TMNT has low empathy but you don’t see him committing candyland genocide for the lols.

If I had to predict his past, I would say he was a malware publisher.

He has keys to everyone’s rooms after all. Maybe that’s symbolism that he hacks into peoples personal info with his viruses?

So basically, he was a terrible criminal in his human life and that carries over here. At least in the circus there’s no consequences.

His development might be a complete negative character arc. He’s the anti-Pomni.

Where Pomni learns to connect with the others and that she’s not alone, Jax shuts out everyone until he is truly alone and no one would ever support him.

As for what Jax’s ‘point of no return’ action is. It might have something to do with Ragatha if she becomes a traitor. Maybe he’s the one to persuade, maybe even force her to destroy their hope of an exit.

He’s Satan, then.

Cause it would be easy to say the action is a circus genocide or circus domination. But that would not work on getting the audience to hate Jax. Making a character hateable is making them do personal things that would offend both the characters and the audience. And forcing one of the nicest characters in the show to turn for the worst would be an example of that.

And I already made a post about why think the ‘Jax is an NPC’ theory is wrong. That was speculation that had been thrown around even before FilmTheory made their video, but my post so happened to come out around the same time so it was pretty perfect.

And if you’re curious about my thoughts on the recent video they made about Digital Circus? (Pomni being an NPC) To say that didn’t convince me is an understatement. You can literally contradict it with one basic fact: WE. SAW. HER. SPAWN.

ANYWAY,

I’m also calling that image of Jax becoming an abstraction hybrid is fake.

I mean come on. Why would a dead character get a focus episode after their death?

Either this is a nightmare, or he snaps and comes close but gets saved.

Because Episode 2 had the same thing as the former, I’m assuming the latter is more possible.

Either way, Jax is a surefire antagonist that will only get worse as the show goes on. There will be an explanation for his behavior at some point, Episode 6 even being a day in his POV, but none of it will in any way excuse his behavior or even make him remotely sympathetic.

But is he ‘the main villain’ of the show?

In my opinion, no.

Oh he’s still an antagonist. And a bad person. But final boss? No.

Actually, I don’t there there is a ‘main villain’ of the show:

At most, I see there being Episodic Villains like the Gloink Queen. And of course Jax being Jax. But in terms of a main villain that needs to be defeated, I don’t see this show pulling that off.

Unless they do.

This show works very well as a bunch of real people going through their emotional baggage’s. And if anything, the setting is the villain.

At most, you could argue Caine is the main villain. We all hate what he did to GummyGoo. But Gooseworx confirmed he’s not evil.

There’s a difference between an ‘antagonist’ and a ‘villain’. ‘Villain’ implies the character is evil.

It’s clear that Caine has certain beliefs, or rather, programmed to believe.

I said this theory before in a post so I’ll just state it.

I believe that Caine is an AI self insert of one of the two creators of the game.

And at most, if I am correct about Caine and Jax, then the closest thing to a ‘main villain’ would be C&A, the corporation behind the Digital Circus. That would include its employees, but I don’t think they’ll be actual ‘characters’ and would more so be ‘talking points’. Hell, I highly doubt we’re ever gonna see their faces, or any of the characters human selves.

I cracked a joke of ‘What if the humans were ACTUALLY live action?’ And it will be INSANE if that ends up happening.

There were two creators of the game, one who would make an AI self insert to be the host that would become Caine, and the other would be the first human player in the testing room, and that player would be named Abel.

The game was designed in the 1990s to be an interactive VR game that would be revolutionary for innovation, the AI both deciding the players avatars and making immersive NPCs to cooperate with the players.

When test players then came in, with one of them being Kinger, and so far, the game has been a success and been distributed. Kinda like that one virus disguised as a gorilla mascot.

(I DO NOT OWN THIS SCREENSHOT, NOR DID I BREAK ANY DEVICE)

That is until bitterness stirred from the two company owners. The one working the game from the outside became envious and got consumed by greed and spite towards the game not being exactly their imagining. The other one, the human player, then began to immerse themself with a different side to the game, a world where the NPCs began to act like real people, with real aspirations and shortcomings that of a person. And they realized that there was much more to what they were creating than they originally thought. So both in game and in real life, Abel tried to bond with the NPCs as though they were real players.

And of course that got more attention.

So in a bitter action of irrationality, the head used Caine to ‘delete’ Abel while he was in the game. Remove him from the server so he can’t mess up the project.

What ended up happening instead was not only that Abel died in real life to brain damage, but the player version of Abel ABSTRACTED upon the murder.

The abstraction caused a glitch in the program itself, making it so that any player that got in the game could NEVER leave.

Which is how Kinger and the other bug testers and players at the time got trapped there.

And well, the actual MURDER of one of the company heads and its employees suddenly being unable to leave a video game would NOT fly under the radar.

As just like the biblical text, the murderer would be punished. Both the A.I version of Caine, and the human version of Caine.

A.I Caine had to deal with the permanent consequences of the human players being trapped in the circus forever, with him trying and failing over and over and OVER again to save these players from abstraction. As they would begin to do so due to their mental instabilities in the unstable digital program, also killing them.

Human Caine would cause the entire company he built to be taken in a dark turn. They fired him, and he went to prison, and then the Digital Circus was from then on deemed negatively.

From then on, The Amazing Digital Circus would be deemed ‘Malware’. A dangerous virus where any user that got their hands on the program would be trapped in the game forever. As such, it was not only taken from shelves, but would fade into obscurity to the point where the 21st century barely heard of the game.

Of course, that didn’t stop some people from getting their hands on the malware and being too naive to see the warning signs.

Ragatha as, very likely, an older sister to a family or a teacher that tried to help a minor, relative or not. Jax as a virus creator himself who was just testing illegal malware for the lols. Gangle as a shy and closed off theater kid who just wanted a way to therapy without actually going. Zooble as a college dropout artist with dreams and ambitions and got lended the wrong hands. And Kaufmo. And every other player that fell for the trap of the malware.

I mean, you and I know malware is unsafe and no one should use it. But some people are either ignorant or stupid.

They all paid the price.

Obviously all these players got into the game at different times. We know this for certain. Kinger was one of the original players. Then it’s Ragatha, Jax, Gangle, Zooble, and you know who. Gooseworx confirmed this order.

But I mentioned that Kinger was a C&A Employee. There’s another character I strongly believe is one.

Pomni.

There’s a reason I claim the people from C&A are Kinger and Pomni and not anyone else.

It’s not just because of the evidence others have pointed out (Kinger mentioning bugs, his knowledge on how the place works, and Pomni looking as though she recognized the desk in the office scene, and her also knowing how the place works) , but it also has to do with their designs.

Notice how both of them are the only two who have a design theme that centers around royalty.

The King & The Jester.

And if Queenie was also an employee this drives the point even further home.

And since C&A created the game, that would make it the kingdom of this world. So of course the game would make them look like roles in royalty.

Anyway, Pomni. Whereas Kinger was a 90s employee at C&A, Pomni was a modern day employee.

We already mentioned biblical text. Caine being Caine the first murderer, Jax being Satan, Ragatha being the traitor… you know where I’m going with this.

Yes, there is the theory that the show uses biblical subtext and Pomni is this show’s equivalent of Jesus Christ. And it is HILARIOUS.

But I do have incredibly mixed feelings on it.

On the one hand, it does make sense in biblical context and for ‘I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream’ if you know the fate of the MC in that story.

On the other hand, it is a very risky direction to take. Not saying the writers can’t pull it off or I don’t trust them to pull it off. But if they go at it as though Pomni is a chosen one meant to save the others and the peak of moral hood in the shows lore, it would ruin her character.

I think Pomni works way better as a regular woman that is just as flawed and uneasy as the people around her, if not more so. But that’s my opinion.

As such, I feel like the show works way better as a character that is not a chosen one or doing all these good deeds for a purpose, but is just… a normal person.

So with C&A, 2023, we enter human Pomni. An accountant working at the C&A office for minimum wage. She doesnt have a life outside of her miserable job. No friends. No after work activities. No nothing. She just goes through the motions of life like there’s nothing else.

Maybe she has some college degree for game design, but no one recognized it, so it seemed pointless to pursue any dream in it.

She suffered major depression and generalized anxiety disorder her entire adult life, and by 25, she’s lost all hope that her existence means anything.

What’s her entire existence if it’s just working 9-5? (See what I did there?)

I also made a prediction in a previous post that the human that had Caine as a self insert is Pomni’s parent. So that adds another context to it whether it’s true or not.

And then on a slow day of browsing, she stumbled across information on ‘The Amazing Digital Circus’. Which was listed as a malware that’s killed several people as well as their devices.

She learns through her research that it was a project meant to take people into an immersion of another world of wonders and endless fun.

And as someone who got into games to immerse herself with fantasies and escape from reality as a kid with parental issues (If ‘human Caine’ is her dad), it was the exact thing she needed.

So late at night, Human Pomni snuck into the office to find the tech of the Digital Circus that got abandoned in the back long ago.

But rather than have any intent to fix it, she booted it up to put the headset on. Basically committing suicide.

Yes, I believe human Pomni had committed suicide when she put the headset on. I have a post about this.

She had no intention to save anyone in the game or to even live her normal life, but she was thrusted in a position where she didn’t expect her escape from reality to be so literal. And survival instinct got to her immediately as a result. She didn’t want to go through with the game anymore and tried to escape what she did, but couldn’t.

But for what we’ve seen so far, Pomni has grown to not only care decently about the others, but find a reason to live.

Since abstraction can be read as mental suicide, then it’s a fate Pomni could strive to avoid at all costs. While she can’t escape death, it wouldn’t be by her hand and there would people that’d save her if she tried.

And if that continues to be emphasized, then it goes to show that Pomni is and has always been just a normal person, regardless of her upbringing and circumstances.

So, with that said, what would an ending look like?

I actually don’t know what they could be going for. There’s a lot of possible routes they could take and two episodes is not enough info for an ending to possibly predict it.

That said, I do have two ending theories:

1: Caine gets redeemed

I believe that Caine will get a redemption arc.

Yes we all hate him for GummyGoo, but hear me out.

This character is an AI just programmed to carry certain beliefs. But Episode 2 proved that these AI are capable of questioning things and having beliefs like people would. Which means Caine is capable of maintaining his own beliefs. Which means those beliefs can be altered.

If Caine isn’t evil and is doing what he thinks is best for these players, then all he needs to do is see that his ways are only causing mental damage and he’ll be open to hearing out what would actually help.

So… maybe he’d let them go??

If that’s even possible. There’s still the barrier that is keeping them trapped in the circus that we don’t know about yet.

So basically Caine is like Inside Out’s Anxiety, a clear antagonist that is just doing what they think is best even when it’s not, but realizes the faulty ways of thinking and seizes control in the end.

2: Everyone BUT Pomni gets out

I dont think Pomni is gonna have a happy ending.

For two episodes now, she’s had a mental break of some sort, and while it may not be related to psychological trauma, it could happen again an Episode 3 as well. And so on until the end of the show.

Will she abstract? I’m not sure.

Unless you say, if my Abel theory is correct, her abstraction overrides his and allows the human players to leave the circus.

Why would her abstraction glitch be enough to do that and not the others? I’m not sure. Unless we’re talking about Jesus symbolism.

Which in that sense, I can see her pursuing the same path Abel did in treating the NPCs like people and allowing them chances to act as people. Within circus grounds I mean. Count that with the show suggesting bonding with the other human cast members, then I can see Pomni’s story arc mainly being about reconnecting with the real self she lost when she came to the circus. Maturing into an emotionally realized woman that wants to live and strive and also helps the people (NPC AND human) around her live and strive too.

I also got this idea from Oreo’s fan song “The Show That Never Ends”, and the bridge lyrics. (They also did Digital Hallucination… which, you know, fan song gold standard)

“I dont think I can go on” “Don’t wanna lose myself” “I’ll try putting a show on” “I’ll try biting my time, I’ll find a way out of here” “I’ll never stop, I’ll never give up on life, I’ll get out of this place tonight, or tomorrow, this horrible hell can’t hold me forever whenever I get the chance”

So, no, I don’t think she’s giving up on trying to leave. Think about it 24/7? No. But she isn’t giving up on the possibility, especially when a clue presents itself.

But please Glitch, do something with her character besides ‘me find exit door’ (Episode 2 comes out) oh wait, you did. Awesome.

But while I do see that character growth from Pomni and the others minus Jax, I do think in Pomni’s case specifically it will not be enough to save her from the damage Caine and the circus will do to her.

And when all’s said and done and the answer presents itself that the only way for anyone to escape the circus is with a sacrifice, Pomni breaks before anyone else can volunteer. She gets left behind in the game. She abstracts. She overrides Abel’s glitch and fixes the game so the humans can leave and the NPCs can carry out Abel’s wishes again.

And if her abstraction doesn’t do it, then it definitely would break Caine and get him to open his eyes. The damage he’s done that got them to that point, that the loss of Pomni has only himself to blame. And it causes him to turn for the better and save the others.

So yeah. Jesus sacrifice to save humanity. And NPCs. And Pomni is just in coding heaven I guess. (Maybe Ragatha is also there on the other side. Raise a glass to freedom (I’m sorry))

It would also be a contrast to the Pilot. Where at the start of the show, Pomni only thought about herself and was willing to leave by herself, she’d get everyone but herself out and think of them first.

Kinger, Gangle, and Zooble are characters I see very likely to leave the game in this scenario. So they’d get happy endings.

Jax is a maybe. Depends on if he doesn’t get a Disney villain death first. Otherwise it’d just be ‘Eh, fine, leave you jerk, you don’t deserve it.’

But maybe if he is a criminal in the human world it can be ‘Have fun in prison’

Ragatha. We talked about it.

But Pomni is one that is very likely to not get a happy ending.

And Caine is a different story because he’s an AI who can’t and has no interest in leaving. But in a redemption moment he’s a much more experienced and empathetic ringmaster for it and that’s enough. And failing Pomni would make him a bittersweet character, as while he’s better as a person for it, it came at the price of a character he mistreated.

And if any of my theories over this post were correct, then while Caine is not Pomni’s father, he is a creation of her father and a self insert of him. So take that what you will and how much harder that hits.

Daddy’s gonna look after you. Even when you’re in coding heaven.

So in conclusion…

Uh… everything I said in this post is total BS and is 90% sure to not happen at all.

And I don’t demand any of it to.

This was just me as a fan doing some silly speculation as a form of investment in the shows story. And I am not going to get upset at anything here getting proven wrong in future episodes.

I mean based on Gooseworx’s posts I think it’s a given that I’m gonna be thrown a curveball.

I’m gonna be SO OFF, and then when the episodes come out we can all go back to this posts and laugh at my face at how WRONG I was.

Please don’t take anything I say here like it’s already canon, cause it’s NOT. Just, have fun while it lasts I guess.

Maybe I shouldn’t become a theorist.

#amazing digital circus #digital circus #tadc pomni #tadc theory #tadc caine #tadc gummigoo #tadc zooble #tadc kinger #tadc gangle #tadc ragatha #tadc jax

46 notes · View notes

allwaswell16 · 1 year ago

Text

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in November 2023. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #56 | ko-fi | fic recs

- Louis/Harry -

🍂 Train Tracks and Porcelain by @jaerie

(E, 41k, historical circus au) Shadows were forming into people and things and, there in the middle of it, Louis watched the humongous head of an elephant emerge from a box car right in front of his eyes. Or a Water For Elephants inspired AU

🍂 Big, Bright World by RealName

(M, 35k, office au) Every day, Louis' feelings became more intense, more immediate, each little smile and gesture and silly flirtation mounting up into something palpable, with a life of its own. The only problem? Harry was engaged to someone else and had been from the moment Louis started working at Visionary.

🍂 two feet standing on a principle by Anonymous

(E, 10k, exes) Harry is a famous fashion model and Louis works at the mall, nobody knows they broke up two weeks ago.

🍂 you make my whole world feel so right when it's wrong by orphan_account

(T, 6k, mpreg Harry) Harry is pregnant and stops at the mall to buy cheap baby clothes. Louis has extra money from working a long shift, and he can't think of a better way to spend it than on him.

🍂 make my wish come true by deblond / @braveryandtea

(T, 4k, Christmas) Louis works as Santa’s elf at the mall. He meets Harry.

- Rare Pairs -

🍂 take me back, take me back by eynap / @panye

(E, 32k, Niall/Shawn Mendes) Niall invites his new friend Shawn to Zayn and Liam's three-day wedding in Napa Valley, California. He gets way more than he expected.

🍂 must be love by @nouies

(NR, 6k, Louis/Andrew Garfield) AU where Louis doesn’t know how to approach his neighbour, and Andrew keeps receiving homegrown vegetables at his door.

🍂 lonely in [paris] by f_ckromeoandjuliet / @louiesonlyangel

(T, 5k, Louis/Awsten Knight) Alternate version of Louis's tour where he's in a secret relationship with Awsten Knight from Waterparks. Based on Awsten tweeting at Louis.

🍂 Feeling Feline by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 4k, Louis/Niall) “Not medically wrong,” the blond one says. “But I swear, and I know this sounds nuts, but I don’t think he’s a cat?”

🍂 it's the summer of our love by localopa / @voulezloux

(G, 3k, Louis/Ryan Ross) ryan is in love with his best friend and gym bro, louis. the problem? ryan is straight.

🍂 Got My Chaos Automatic by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 3k, Zayn/Louis/Liam) the one where Louis comes home from tour feeling exhausted, yet antsy. Luckily, Liam and Zayn are there to put him back together

🍂 Crush by @allwaswell16

(T, 1k, Louis/Niall) When Niall stops smiling around the office, his co-worker Louis sets out to lift his mood with the help of their office mates.

- Trick Or Treat Fest -

1D Trick Or Treat Fest / @1dtrickortreatfest (each 666 words)

she bit someone by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus

Sounds horrifying..... tell me more by @lunaticcat009

In The Dark by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

Ghosted by @haztobegood

Summon A Demon by red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

Slow Dance with the Tension by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

I See You by @neondiamond

Lipstick stain fades with time by @lunarheslwt

Watch How Good I'll Fake It by mmaree / @zqua1d

Irresistible by mmaree / @zqua1d

find a way (to send me a sign) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

when love gets involved by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

Harryween (series) by @babyhoneyheslt

Fruit Bat by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

Odds Are That We Will Probably Be... by @lululawrence

A Witch's Longest Day of the Year by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

pasta-tively sweet by shiptattou / @wecantalktomorrow

perfect pumpkins by shiptattou / @wecantalktomorrow

Fa-boo-lous Halloween by bluegreenish / @greenblueish

Still by downcamethelightning / @downcamethelightnings

#28th appreciation #ficrec #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghome #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #ficsfor4am #1dsource #larry fanfiction #1d fanfiction

81 notes · View notes

mizimuse · 1 month ago

Text

Siblings Circus || Slytherin boys+Pansy edition

1. Draco Malfoy

Draco is literally the sibling who cries over spilled pumpkin juice.

You take the last of the cereal: "Are you trying to starve me?!"

Every tiny thing is a full-blown disaster. Got a higher grade than him? "You’re sabotaging me!"

He’s always snitching to your parents: "Father will hear about this... and so will mother, the house-elf, and probably the entire Wizarding World."

You can’t even argue with him because he ends every fight with, "It’s because I’m the older one!."

You: "Draco, it’s literally just socks."

Draco (clutching his pearls): "You wouldn’t understand!"

2. Theodore Nott

Theo never argues, but you’ll suddenly get in trouble for things you didn’t even know he noticed.

You: "How did mom find out I skipped Potions?"

Theo (smirking while reading a book): "Don’t know. Must be magic."

He’s also the king of saying nothing but judging everything.

You: "Do you ever clean up after yourself?"

Theo (with a shrug): "Do you?"

When you try to argue, he just gives you a single eyebrow raise and goes back to his book like you're not worth the oxygen.

3. Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo is the sibling who wakes you up at 3 a.m. with: "Let’s duel, right now."

He’s constantly getting you into trouble and laughing while you suffer.

You (dodging hexes): "Can you calm down?!"

Mattheo (grinning like a maniac): "Nah, this is fun!"

If something breaks, it’s 100% his fault, but somehow, you get blamed.

You: "Mum’s gonna kill us!"

Mattheo: "You mean, you. I’m innocent."

He lives for chaos and will start fights just to see how mad you’ll get. "Bet you can’t throw a better hex than me."

4. Blaise Zabini

Blaise acts like nothing in the world bothers him, but somehow you always end up doing his chores.

You: "Why am I cleaning your room?"

Blaise: "Because you love me. And also, I bribed you with chocolate frogs."

He never panics—even when everything is falling apart.

You (freaking out): "Mum is going to flip out when she sees this mess!"

Blaise (not even looking up): "Nah, that's a you problem.'"

He’s also impossible to prank.

You (trying to hex his shoes): "Why aren’t you reacting?!"

Blaise (yawning): "Because I saw this coming an hour ago."

5. Lorenzo Berkshire

Lorenzo is that sibling who can be half asleep, totally unprepared, but still smarter than you.

You: "Did you study for the test?"

Lorenzo (yawning): "What test?"

Yet somehow, he always aces it. It’s actually infuriating.

You (gritting your teeth): "How do you keep getting top marks?"

Lorenzo (shrugging): "Dunno. Gifted, I guess."

He also never gets up on time, and you end up dragging him everywhere while he’s still half asleep.

You (knocking on his door): "We’re late!"

Lorenzo (muffled): "We’ll be on time… eventually."

6. Pansy Parkinson

Pansy’s the sibling who’s always borrowing (aka stealing) your clothes and claiming they look better on her.

You: "Is that my sweater?"

Pansy: "Yes, but let’s be honest, I pull it off way better."

She’ll also sass her way out of every chore and somehow get away with it.

Mum: "Pansy, why aren’t you cleaning?"

Pansy (smiling): "Because I’m delicate and chores are bad for my complexion."

She’s the type to start drama, then sit back and watch it unfold while sipping tea.

#slytherin imagine #slytherin headcanons #slytherinxreader #draco malfoy #theodore nott #matheo riddle #pansy parkinson

11 notes · View notes

justporo · 1 year ago

Text

A Night of Song and Laughter (Part 11)

In this Astarion gets scolded by a dwarf (naturally he hates it) and Tav and Astarion have to run from the police, because ACAB, amirite? (All Cityguards Are Beautiful) Also they really can't seem to catch a break...

There can only be one song for this: Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

(Gif from here!)

“Are we being kicked out?”, you asked the dwarf flabbergasted. “How rude and after we played circus monkeys for you”, Astarion immediately added and clicked his tongue.

“Nay, lass, it is nah that”, the dwarf answered and doubling over again trying to get some air in his lungs. Astarion looked quizzically at him and raised a pale eyebrow. “It’s the cityguard, they’ve been asking ‘bout ye. They’re already swarming in downstairs. Don sent me to find ye, he’s tryna hold their captain off by the entrance.” You turned to Astarion with shock in your eyes – would this night never end with all its damn surprises? The vampire looked just as shocked as you.

“Now, stop starin’ at each other, get outta here, come on”, the dwarf hurried you and waved for you to follow. “Maybe we can sneak ye out while Don is talking to ‘em. Gods, I always knew it’d be a bad idea to have no back entrance.” You swallowed but quickly went to follow him. So did Astarion.

You let the dwarf go a few steps ahead so you could lean back to the vampire while walking along the corridor. “Do you think this is about you showing Miyena and Eodin… you know?”, you whispered to him. “I don’t know but I don’t intend to find out”, he answered dryly.

“Did they say why exactly they were looking for us?”, you raised your voice to ask Kirin while rushing behind him. The dwarf threw you a look over his shoulder that asked if you were an imbecile and he actually even stopped walking. “Yeah, lass, of course. I brewed ‘em a nice cuppa and then we braided each other’s beards while talking ‘bout it. NAY! Of course, they did not!” Kirin was outraged and helplessly threw his hands in the air: “I don’t know and I don’t know what ye might’ve done to deserve it and I don’t want to know. All I do know, is, that there’s gonna be trouble. If they find ye, there’s gonna be trouble and if they don’t find ye there will probably be even more. We aren’t exactly popular with the city officials so they gonna take up any excuse they can get to annoy us.” Your brows furrowed at that and Astarion asked: “Thankful as I am for it, but why exactly are you trying to sneak us out then if you could just hand us over?”

The dwarf had already reached for the handle of the door that would lead back to the gallery. He sighed defeatedly and turned around once more, putting his hands on his hips: “Come here, elf, if ye please.” Astarion surely didn’t look inclined to do anything of the sort. “I said come ‘ere, boy!”, Kirin said through gritted teeth and curled a finger at Astarion. That made the vampire cautiously step closer, on his face a mix of distrust and disgust. Kirin angrily waved him to bow down to which Astarion reacted only begrudgingly. When they were almost nose to nose, the dwarf spoke, spittle flying from his mouth and hitting Astarion who’s eye twitched murderously: “Let’s get one thing very clear, little elven lordling, or whatever ye might be. I am nah doing this for ye!“ He stuck one stubby finger towards Astarion’s face. “I’m only doing this for ye lassie here. Because. I. Don’t. Like. Ye. Pretty Boy!” H He

Astarion’s whole being screamed murder. You remembered a certain threat he had offered regarding the dwarf’s nicknames for him and quickly dragged him back towards you by a handful of his shirt. “Let’s just go, please”, you begged the both of them. The men stared at each other a moment longer then Kirin broke it off and waved you to go. The elf wiped his face off by rubbing his upper arm against his face, still wearing a disgusted facial expression. Then he looked at you as if asking for pity. “Knock it off, Astarion”, you simply told him and went after Kirin.

There still were plenty of people on the gallery and in the tavern as a whole. But you could quickly make out several men and women in silver armour prancing about the place. Most prominently at the entrance was the supposed captain of the group of guards in argument with Don. It wasn’t hard to make out that they were arguing quite intensely – you could hear their voices but not what they said. As the three of you were walking downstairs while trying to look inconspicuous you saw the captain wave an order to two of his men who immediately propped up their halberds towards Don’s face. The bouncer lifted his arms in defence.

You had arrived at the bottom of the stairs and Kirin motioned you to follow him, walking mostly along the walls of the big room. You tried to bypass the guests and tables and especially the guards that had spread out downstairs. While slowly but steadily passing through the crowd you noticed how Astarion swiftly picked up a cloak from behind someone’s seat and in one smooth movement threw it around his shoulders. He lifted the hood over his telltale white curls and then softly nudged you to walk between him and the wall so he could try and also hide you with the cloak.

As you came closer to the entrance you could finally make out the discussion going on between Don and the captain of the city guard. “Drop the act! Tell me where they are or watch me and my guards tear through every crevice of this shithole”, the captain just screamed at the bouncer. You were almost at the entrance through which people walked in and out of the establishment. Trying to not raise any suspicion you lowered your gaze and moved closer to Astarion – just a pair of lovers passing by.

“What damned act, I’ve been trying to tell...”, Don was just about to say as the guard crossed his arms over his armoured chest, obviously done with his opponents excuses. His eyes wandered while zoning out from the bouncer’s words… and that’s when he spotted you when you tried to sneak a cautious look. The captain’s head perked up as he saw you and he immediately raised a hand: “Hold, you there! With the red hair! I can see you you know.” You cursed under your breath and gritted your teeth. “Shit”, you heard Astarion say beside you. He stopped and immediately also dropped the hood trying to seem as honest and innocent as possible. Kirin disappeared into the crowd once more having failed his escort quest.

You opted to act surprised, looking at the guard in confused fashion and pointing a finger at yourself in a “Who? Me?” sort of way. “Yeah yeah, you, don’t look so surprised, you little dipshit. Are you Tav?” Astarion immediately hissed at him for calling you names and taking a step in front of you. But you grabbed him by his elbow and took a step forth yourself. “I don’t know, depends on who’s asking. For example, for someone calling me ‘little dipshit’ the name’s ‘kiss my goddamn arse’”, you said and smiled sickly-sweet at him. You knew that it was a terrible idea for you to piss of the city guard but you’ve just about had it for the night.

Astarion snickered softly beside you, earning him a more than displeased and with the wave of two fingers two halberds pointing at his face. The vampire rolled his eyes and mumbled something about the state of humour in this city.

The captain sauntered closer to you, you nervously already thought about how you could possibly get out of this situation. When the guard stood directly in front of you so that the silver of his breastplate shone in your face, he spoke down to you. You could see that he was human – and quite a lot taller than you, at least one head and broad-shouldered too. You also saw that only his chest was covered by plating.

“For the formalities’ sake: I am Captain Gerrit of the Third Division of the Lower City Guard. Now you know, now tell me who you are!”, he ordered. You raised your chin at him defiantly and crossing your arms not letting yourself be impressed by his display of rank. “What’s it to you, Captain Gerrit of the so and so?”, you pressed him further. Gerrit’s eyes narrowed at you, you could see that his patience with you was fading. You heard Astarion chuckle again behind you, then wince: “Ouw, keep those away from me, as far as I know, laughing still hasn’t been outlawed, yet.” “Watch it, elf”, Gerrit spat toward him then he focused on you again, angling his head. “Oh nothing really, only that I’d be taking you into custody if you happened to be that Tav”, he answered. “Because if you were that Tav, I know you’d belong to a band of thieves I’ve been looking to capture for the better part of a year.” “And who told you that?”, Astarion chimed in and stepped closer to you despite the weapons pointed at him. He curved around them and stood directly behind you and stared up at the captain who was also at least half a head taller than the rogue. “A tiefling woman with a, dare I say, severe case of resting bitch face and a whimpering man that looked like a beaten puppy? Because may I tell you they have been pestering us the whole evening and of course they’d tell y…”, Astarion went on but was interrupted by Gerrit now being very annoyed at the both of you and lifting a hand in harsh motion that even prompted the vampire to shut up. You felt your time to act was running out…

“You are indeed correct”, the captain offered from behind gritted teeth “and I also happen to know that they were also part of your little band of thieves and they are already in custody. And so are you two go…”

Time was up. With all the force you could muster you lifted your knee to kick the bastard in the balls. Gerrit simply hmpfed and was sent to his knees.

Astarion didn’t lose a moment, whirled the stolen cloak around the two other guards who were still pointing their weapons at him but could only react with shock. He had them wrapped up as if they were wearing an oversized scarf and then tugged on the ends to make their heads in their shiny helmets clank against each other. They went down as well and you both turned to fucking run.

You stumbled through the crowd, pushing people out your way, without a word agreeing to try and make it to the balcony again. You raced directly to the stairs while Astarion had to take detour to dodge the swipe of another halberd and then was blocked by another guard. But instead of trying to fight him, Astarion leapt for the table next to the guard, placed his hands flat on it and swung his legs over it in a swift athletic motion. At the staircase to the gallery another guard was just about to block your way, screaming “Stop!” at you. But he was kicked in the knee pits and also received a mug of beer over his head once it was in reach for his assailant – Kirin. “Don’t touch the lass!“, the dwarf screamed viciously as the guard fell on his face.

“Thanks”, you shouted to him passing by and racing up the steps. Even Astarion mustered a wink for the dwarf and then ran after you. You made it to the balcony without further interruption. By the noise you had heard behind you, you had precious moments until your assailants would even reach the gallery.

“The dwarf grows on me”, Astarion said breathlessly. You simply waved in agreement, trying to catch your breath. “And also”, Astarion continued, gasping for air “Tav Hammerknee strikes again, it seems.”

You didn’t even have it in you anymore to react to his audacity, so you just went to the railing to look down. “It’s a bit of a drop, but after everything… I think we can make it. Although I almost broke my neck one time trying to get down there…” Astarion walked up next to you and looked down as well: “From this height? Darling, I guess you can be happy your career as a thief is over you must’ve been terrible at it.” And with these loving parting words he climbed over the railing and let himself hang from the bottom edge of the balcony before letting go and landing elegantly in a deep crouch before standing up again.

He dusted some invisible lint off his shirt then looked up at you: “Easy.” Asshole. “I’ll have you know that the last time I was blackout drunk”, you spat back. “So barely worse than tonight.” You snorted at that and started to climb over the railing, copying his moves.

“I’ll catch you, love, don’t worry. I won’t let this be the end after everyth…” You had already let yourself drop into his open arms. The sudden impact drew all the air from his lungs, but he did safely catch you.

“Gotcha”, he whispered and slowly put you down. Then he tried to sort out the mess your hair had become. “Well, running from the city guard certainly was a first time for me.” “Aww, I love when I can be there for your first times, Astarion“, you cooed at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. He looked positively done with you.

“Let’s just go home?”, he asked you with a smile. “Let’s!”

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #a night of song and laughter #acab #the way he jumped over the table?#that was hot

78 notes · View notes