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wavesoutbeingtossed · 3 days ago

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Talk to me about Cornelia street/the Bolter! I have thoughts but I want to hear yours!

aaaaaah I’ve been having a moment with Cornelia Street from Lover Live From Paris so this seems like an excellent time to segue to the Eras mashup version! You know I love me a Girl And Her Guitar Doing A Bit At A Coffee House moment.

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(First of all, the way her voice has become even richer since 2019 is so wonderful. At the end of the Cornelia Street section when she belts out “And baby I’m so terrified of if you ever walk away, I’ll never walk Cornelia Street again,” she does this lovely crack with her voice at “again” that just sounds sooooooo good. She does it again a bit at “as she was leaving”/“felt like breathing” a couple of times after that too. I love when she lets a bit of the country girl out for effect.)

This is such a cool mashup because I love how it comes down to “I don’t want to lose you, I hope it never ends,” but as she was leaving it felt like freedom.

It once again tells the whole story of a relationship, from the rush of infatuation at the start to fleeing for her life at the end when it’s over. I also just realized that it starts with “we were in the backseat drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar/‘I rent a place on Cornelia Street,’ I say casually in the car,” and The Bolter chorus is “Started with a kiss, ‘Oh we must stop meeting like this,’ but it always ends up with a Town Car speeding out the drive one evening,” so there’s a parallel with the car driving them to the beginnings of their home at the start of the relationship and the getaway car taking her away from it at the end.

Also love how the dialogue in both songs are like, these bits of flirty banter, but become so heavy with the context of the song filling it in by the end.

“We were a fresh page on the desk, filling in the blanks as we go,” is one of my favourite lyrics (and is sisters with one of my other favourites, “don’t read the last page, but I stay when…” in New Year’s Day) because isn’t that what all young love is about? When you haven’t written your story yet, and you’re figuring things out as you go along. Which, incidentally, is paralleled at the end of with The Bolter and “ended with the slam of a door, but she’s got the best stories,” but also, “all her fucking lives flashed before her eyes,” because Cornelia Street and the moment it represented became one of those many lives! And she had to leave it just like she left all the other versions of herself! She ran like it was a race! And then she took a detour! And now she’s off to the next race!

I love how she transitions from “there’s escape in escaping” in The Bolter bridge back to, “I hope I never lose you, I’ll never walk Cornelia Street again,” because to me it’s almost the story of: She kept leaving until she found a reason to stay (Cornelia Street), then got scared that she was going to be the one who got left because finally that moment in time was worth fighting for. It’s like the facade of The Bolter persona drops and the tenderness of Cornelia Street takes over, like: I didn’t want to have to leave this time, but I had to do it to save myself. I’m never going to walk Cornelia Street again, but maybe that’s OK, because it too is just one of my many fucking lives that I’m leaving behind to find my new self. It felt like the time she fell through the ice and came out alive.

I also love how at around the 5:00 mark, when she’s ad-libbing building up to the outro with “as she was leaving, it felt like breathing,” the last time she finishes the section with, “it looked like freedom.” And then it transitions into “I don’t want to lose you, I hope it never ends, but as she was leaving, it felt like freedom.” It very much feels like another version of, “I’m just getting colour back into my face”! Like, she thought losing this was going to be the worst thing that could ever happen to her, but she had to listen to her gut in the end to run, and that actually brought her back to life and let her reclaim her life.

And this is maybe a tangent, but one thing I always took out of The Bolter, aside from it being a song of all time, is that to me one of the things the song is saying is: her gut would tell her it was time to go, but the way she went about it was destructive— yet that doesn’t mean she wasn’t right to listen to the cracks in the floorboards. And by mashing it up with Cornelia Street, it’s like this story is saying: the cracks (her gut) told her she had to go, and thus she had to walk away from Cornelia Street for good. And just because she once didn’t want to lose this doesn’t mean it wasn’t ultimately the right decision to leave. I love the parallel between her being terrified of her lover leaving her in Cornelia Street to her having to be the one to leave them by the end of The Bolter. Again, it’s just kind of the full circle of it all, and you get the first and last page of the story.

(also on a other tangent that just made me think of the parallel between “We bless the rains on Cornelia Street, memorize the creaks in the floor,” and “That's when she sees the littlest leaks down in the floorboards and she just knows she must bolt”! Like the things that made up the good times and felt like home eventually broke them apart! Remember looking at this room we loved it cause of the light, now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time!)

Thanks so much for this one! This was such a wonderful mashup to revisit! I love how in so many of the mashups, it feels like she’s using the older song as a memory and the newer song as the reflection upon it.

#Cornelia Street #The Bolter #surprise songs #Indy n3 #mashup madness #<- is that what we should call this now? Lol

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writeshite · 2 months ago

Text

Nothing Do Us Part

Summary:

The bastard smiled at you before picking the lock and forgoing any caution. “You shouldn’t be here,” You argue weakly. Astarion huffed, the cell door now wide open; you had yet to reach out in any manner, “Neither should you,” he counterargued, “you’re filthy, bloody and thin as a rake.” He took the first step and grabbed at your hand, staring disappointedly at the cuts and bruises lining your skin. “I’m taking you home to Hells with the Harpers and whoever else thinks they can take you from me.”

Pairings:

Astarion x Male!Reader

Tags:

Long-Haired Astarion | Bhaalspawn Reader | Ascended Astarion |

Words: 1828

Author's Note:

Guess who's not dead lmfao (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧ I found out there's a Bhaalspawn ending where they turn themselves in, and I was like, Ascended Astarion would not be happy about that.

The spawn came at first light, walking into Crimson Draughts with a curt smile; the curly mop of white that Araj had once hopped to brush her cheek whilst her life danced on the edge was now long curled trusses of hair reaching past his shoulders to his mid-back. “I need you to find someone.” His words went in one ear and out the other as Araj examined him; he was different from when she’d first set eyes on him and his intriguing companion in Moonrise.

“I’m surprised to see you alive, spawn,” she remarks. “I’d thought you dead in Moonrise.”

“Oh, hardly,” he laughs, “but I’m not here to discuss past adventures. As I said, I need you to find someone.”

“I heard you the first time, and I’m not a bloodhound,” she corrected.

“Hence my request, an expert of the sanguine arts, I believe is what you called yourself,” he fished a vial from his pockets, “I will reimburse you in as much gold and whatever equipment you require, as long as you find who I’m looking for and place an unerasable tether on said person. Understood?”

“Whose blood is it?”

“Hardly any of your concern, is it? Now, will you take the job, or shall I pursue Sorcerers Sundries to find someone more willing to take my commission?”

Araj huffed, “My, my, aren't we touchy? I’ll take your commission.”

The blood was intriguing. It radiated malice and murderous intent—as odd of observation as that was—the red would bloom darker colours before shifting back to red, and the odour was equally as odd, smelling too much like blood, a sharp, strong iron that piqued her interest. A godling’s blood? An Aasimar, perhaps? Though Araj wasn’t certain if such creatures bled, regardless, she had no doubt the spawn had brought her the blood of someone divine; whether said person was of the holy or unholy persuasion, she remained uncertain.

The Upper City was abuzz when Astarion returned; artisans, sages, pole-carters, and all manner of people traversed the streets of the Upper City. Astarion weaved through the crowd to his home in Manorborn, Ancunín Castle—his haven of estates he’d parted from a few patriar families—he’d spent quite some time hunting down artificers to add to his horde of spawn; he'd set them to work and rebuilt the castle from the grounds up to better suit his needs.

“Welcome home, Master Astarion,” Harette greeted him, a small bow accompanying her words; she took Astarion’s coat and folded it away as she caught him up on the morning’s events, “The artificers finished installing the sun-sift glass over the courtyards and atriums, and have begun casting warding glyphs per your instructions. The dungeons have been refurbished for the Rillyn’s children's stay, and you’ve a new bundle of invitations from other patriar families arrive this morning.” She finishes her morning catch-up as they reach his study.

“Thank you, Harette,” Astarion sat at his desk, dismissing her; he sifted through the invitations on his desk—Belt, Hullhollyn, Tillerturn—letters to their parties, brunches, and whatever else Astarion read through. He replies to them, declining their invitations with kind apologies and half-felt promises to join the next festivity; far more pressing matters needed Astarion’s attention. The Fist and Harpers had done a better job than expected covering their tracks whenever they moved you, but Astarion had come close a few times before, hence the need for the Drow, much to his displeasure. He may have been impervious to sunlight now, but the harpers had enlisted the help of Lathandernites and Selûnites, and Astarion wasn’t going to chance his resistance to sunlight, much less holy light. Astarion had been greatly against you turning yourself in; the stubborn persistence he’d usually find adorable became annoying, “If you’re worried about rampaging, you shouldn’t. I can keep you in line; I’ve done it before.”

“I wasn’t Bhaal’s Chosen then, just his progeny,” you’d corrected him, “I barely managed to hold myself back from harming you in the Shadow-Cursed Lands; I can’t—”

“I’m not some runaway spawn anymore; I’m a Vampire Ascendant.” Astarion had corrected bitterly, but despite his reassurances, he hadn’t been able to deter you from the decision, but it didn’t deter him. Some coin in the right purse and spawn or two in the right place, and he could visit you whenever he pleased, “You should leave.” You’d clung to him regardless of the venom in your words, desperate for some semblance of comfort; your initial prison had been some small nook under Wyrm's Rock Fortress, illuminated by torch and what bioluminescent fungi managed to break ground.

“I told you, pet,” he’d dug his nails in your back, later carving his name along your spine “lovers forever.” He absentmindedly traced the gauntlet you’d torn from Gortash’s body and had modified for Astarion, “I’m not sure if I should be honoured or revolted in some manner,” he’d joked then, yet the gauntlet still held its powerful magic and had been a constant presence on Astarion.

“I don’t remember much; I think I tore this from some patriar’s arm or stole it from a wizard before giving it to Gortash, I don’t know. What I do know is that I love you more than anything.”

“I’m meant to be a fearful Vampire,” he’d huffed, softening for a moment, “you make it quite hard to do so, pet.” Even as Bhaal’s murderous lunacy consumed your mind, a minuscule part of rationality remained, just enough to leave Astarion unharmed during his visits; the same could not be said about the Harpers tasked with guarding you. Astarion’s last visit was met with an empty prison and no Harpers in sight. Clever bastards had a headstart; he was almost offended by how well they predicted him following after them, but not surprised as Jaheira and Minsc had involved themselves in your transfer elsewhere before their expertise and skill were requested outside Baldur’s Gate.

The Drow asks for quite a hefty sum and a new plethora of equipment to complete her work, but she does manage, creating a tether as he’d requested; Astarion pays her for her service and prays he never needs it again. The tether leads to Myth Drannor, in the Dalelands, south of the River Tesh and some distance from Shadowdale; Astarion sneaks himself under the guise of a Harper, replacing the one he’d fed on some time prior, while he may have found where you were he now needed to find where specifically in Myth Drannor you were.

Everything was bloody. The floors of your cell were smeared in blood and dirt; the effigy you’d built yielded no response from your father. Nothing did. Pleading, crying, screaming, and tearing at your meat suit did nothing but elicit silence from the Lord of Murder. Your breaths were rugged and short, coming in quick succession as you fought to keep yourself in control of your person; Bhaal’s silence drove your mind to wander, to sing for blood; you shook your head and screamed, whacking the piled rats and punching the nearest wall. You repeated the action until you felt less like clawing at your meat suit.

You were quick to notice the pale elf approaching your cell, and you shook your head as your eyes widened when you recognised Astarion. The bastard smiled at you before picking the lock and forgoing any caution. “You shouldn’t be here,” You argue weakly.

Astarion huffed, the cell door now wide open; you had yet to reach out in any manner, “Neither should you,” he counterargued, “you’re filthy, bloody and thin as a rake.” He took the first step and grabbed at your hand, staring disappointedly at the cuts and bruises lining your skin. “I’m taking you home to Hells with the Harpers and whoever else thinks they can take you from me.”

“How did you find me?” You stared at him desperately, holding his hand for dear life.

“That drow we met at Moonrise has her uses,” he responds, tugging at your arm, “we can catch up when we’re far from here.”

You followed without resistance, shuffling along the dark narrow corridors, it was luck that you didn’t bump into anyone on your way out, or the journey back to Baldurs Gate. It’s another miracle Astarion sneaks you through to the Upper City without spilling any blood. He led you to a large set of manors lumped under one estate by the looks of the courtyard, a handful of people moved about tending to said courtyard—sweeping, trimming the hedges, polishing the statuettes, and cleaning the fountains.

“Nice home,” you commented.

“Thank you, pet,” the elf is cheerfully proud of his home. The servants stop in their work when they spot Astarion, and all bow, returning to their work respectively once the elf walks past them. The interior is as lavish as the exterior—a richly coloured rug drew a path along the floor; at each side, paintings and columns alternated along the walls as chandeliers lined the ceiling above. More servants are also busy at work here; they bow the same as the ones outside and only continue their work once Astarion has passed them.

The servants give you uncertain glances, confusion and fear in their expressions. “Ignore them pet; they should know better,” Astarion hissed, and their gazes darted away.

“Are they spawn?” you inquire.

“Most,” he shrugged in response, leading you through the halls to a room devoid of anyone else close by. His room, no doubt. “Some outsiders from the Outer City looking for a new life.” He led you to a tub and ran it with water and just about every perfume and soap he had at his disposal and all but begs you to step into the tub. It takes five cases of andanthe and shampoo to clean your hair thoroughly and two pitchers of a strong-scented liquid wash soap to wash out the dirt from the skin. Astarion picks up the skin and food between your teeth and shoves a whole stick of tooth powder down your throat.

“Is this necessary?” you cough at the strong, minty taste as the tooth powder turns to foam in reaction with saliva.

“If you want my cock and tongue down your throat,” Astarion scrubbed your second set of canines, “then yes.”

The water is dirty brownish-red when you step out of the tub; it’s strange to be without grime after so long, you look at yourself in the mirror. Despite everything, it was still you.

Astarion draped a fluffy towel over your shoulders, “Tomorrow, we’ll get a tailor and cobbler in here for you.”

“You want to doll me up?” you snort.

Astarion rolled his eyes, “You need to blend in,” he lightly chastised, “and I have an appearance standard to adhere to.” He huffed, drawing a chuckle from you. “After the tailor and cobbler, we’ll take care of your hair.”

“Hmm,” you nod as he dried off your body. “Whatever you say, starlight.”

End Note:

This started off as a Drabble but then we ended up here with another AU 🤪💀. The way I had to go look at a map of Baldurs Gate and was reminded how shit I am at reading maps lmfao 😭 I have read the Forgotten Realms wiki on so much for this fic. Stay Hydrated.

#astarion x bhaalspawn male reader #ascended astarion x bhaalspawn male reader #I found out about one of the other Durge endings and decided to run with it o(｀ω´ )o #long-haired astarion should do things to me that would make the Hells sing and weep in ecstasy or something like that (☆ω☆)#I also remembered kaomoji existed and now they're a part of me #🔪🩸🦇 Blood & Lust 🔪🩸🦇#I didn't know what else to call this au lmfao #I think they match each other's freak (´｡• ω •｡)#half of this was typed on my Mac the rest on my phone 😔✌️🏾#originally I was going to have Astarion refurbish Cazador’s manor but 1. I hate the man and 2. I don't know if there's a floor plan #so I decided to give Astarion a new home and I wish we got to see the upper city so here Cazador Gortash Astarion etc. were/are in the UC #baldurs gate 3 imagine

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