#Tragic Kindness

[abigailmoment]

In The Absence Of Stars

Tags: Tragic Kindness, Post-Solitary Confinement, Disassociation, Vampire Spawn Culture, Terrible Hurt and Strange Comfort, Starvation, Healing from Trauma, Polyamory, Community Building, Eating Disorder, Codependency, Self-Harm Through Neglect, Prevented Suicide Attempt, Familiars As Service Animals, Learning, Getting Better, Hurt and Actual Comfort

-

Astarion's neck prickled and his hands tightened around his mug. He knew he had limited time. And he knew he was doing this wrong. He was at a table in the back corner, and that was wrong of him. He should be at the bar. He should be on display. That's how you drew people. Pretty didn't work if it was hidden in a corner.

Pretty didn't work if it was hidden under stone.

"Are you all right?"

Someone was close. Someone had gotten close, and Astarion hadn't even noticed. Something inside of him flinched, but the impulse didn't make it to his body. There was a strange delay between mind and movement.

When he did move it was to look up and try to make sense of the shape next to him. Tall. Green. Teeth.

"You're not all right," said the half-orc.

-

This was inspired by this story by @ineadhyn.

I made the Samaritan a half-orc because I needed someone who would be completely unafraid to walk someone else home at night in Baldur's Gate. By the end I realized that the kind but assertive voice I had for him was based quite a bit on Finch, who belongs to @everchased and who therefore should be credited for inspiration.

It obviously isn't actually him, because that would be unbearably hideous, and also he's in the future, smiting evildoers. Possibly this is some great grand-uncle.

-

Astarion couldn't talk properly.

He was out, but his voice was back in the crypt. Trapped under a slab. Dusty and broken.

He ordered a drink by pointing. He had coins in his pocket. He had found them months ago. There was loose change in tombs, if you looked hard enough. For long enough. Funerary rites. Coins for the dead. Meant for a different corpse. His now.

Five copper for a year of solitude. Not…not a very good price.

It was enough to buy a very cheap drink that he didn't want. A necessary prop, he remembered.

He remembered the rote things. The need to get a drink to justify existing in this space. He remembered where this space was. The taven's name had changed, he was fairly sure, but it was much the same. Dingy, but not filthy. Populated by few groups, mostly solitary drinkers. Poorly lit.

Even the dim lantern light made his eyes hurt. Everything seemed so bright.

The light was better than darkness, anything was better than darkness, but it had been so abrupt. Nothing and nothing and nothing and then an assault of light and hideous movement. Dragged out by Godey. Washed by Aurelia. He had mauled a rat to tatters and not had time to pick the skin out of his teeth before he had to leave. He had to find someone. As he always did. As if it hadn't happened. As if the last year hadn't happened.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to fold down on the floor and cry.

He took his drink and went to find a place to sit. He held it with both hands. His grip was about as reliable as his voice. He found a table. He held his drink as if it meant something to him. He sat still.

This was…this was bearable. This moment. Sitting here. Away enough from the lanterns that they didn't blind so much. There was movement and noise, which was good because if it got too quiet he might actually scream, but it wasn't all around him, like it had been on the street. It wasn't doing anything to him.

At the moment.

Astarion's neck prickled and his hands tightened around his mug.

He knew he had limited time. And he knew he was doing this wrong. He was at a table in the back corner, and that was wrong of him. He should be at the bar. He should be on display. That's how you drew people. Pretty didn't work if it was hidden in a corner.

Pretty didn't work if it was hidden under stone.

"Are you all right?"

Someone was close. Someone had gotten close, and Astarion hadn't even noticed. Something inside of him flinched, but the impulse didn't make it to his body. There was a strange delay between mind and movement.

When he did move it was to look up and try to make sense of the shape next to him. Tall. Green. Teeth.

"You're not all right," said the half-orc.

He leaned over and Astarion didn't know what to do. Scripts were jumbling together in his head. There were all sorts of things he was supposed to do when someone leaned into his space and he wasn't doing any of them. Just sitting there. Like a mouse. Or a statue.

"I think you've had a little too much…" the half-orc was saying, because he was leaning over to look at Astarion's drink. He stopped talking briefly when he saw it was untouched.

"…something," he still maintained, with a fair amount of confidence. "Are you here with anyone?"

Astarion shook his head. Always no to that.

The half-orc looked relieved that he'd actually responded, and eyed him critically for a moment. Then he sat down in a chair across from Astarion.

"Did you drink something?" he asked Astarion. "Or eat something?"

A rat. It had been a moment of abject ecstasy and nowhere near enough. But that's not what was meant. Astarion shook his head.

"Did something happen to you?" the half-orc asked.

Astarion didn't shake his head. He didn't nod. What was he supposed to say to that?

"There's a Fist officer on the street outside," the half-orc said. "Do you need me to…?"

"No."

Then Astarion coughed, because there was still dust in his throat.

"Okay. Okay." The half-orc was holding his hands up. "Not that. That's fine."

Astarion finished coughing. He took a drink of pointless liquid. His hands were shaking. He was so useless right now. If even this was too much, he had no idea how he was going to…

"Do you live nearby?" the half-orc asked him.

That ticked a familiar note in Astarion's brain. That was part of a script, but it wasn't part of this script. Whatever this was. Astarion just stared at him.

"Look. I'm going to get you home, all right?" the half-orc said.

Something inside of Astarion froze. It couldn't be this easy. It was never this easy.

He nodded.

And it was easy.

Astarion was helped to his feet. He was steered very gently around the tables, chairs and other solitary drinkers. The door was opened for him.

They walked through the dark streets. No one bothered them, because one of them was six feet tall and had tusks. Astarion didn't even have to talk. He just pointed down the streets where they needed to go.

The half-orc kept a hand on Astarion's arm. Not possessive. Astarion knew possessive. It was like he was concerned Astarion might fall over and wanted to be in a position to do something about that if it happened. And it had been a year. A year since any kind of touch like that. And it was light enough that it didn't overwhelm, and Astarion felt like his body was somehow devouring it through the point of contact on his arm. Like the rat. Abject ecstasy and nowhere near enough.

And Astarion kept pointing down streets leading them closer and closer to his home.

It felt like there was a mortar and pestle inside of his chest. And every step he took turned the pestle and ground away at something. Something slender and enduring. Something that he hadn't realized he still had, didn't remember the name of, and that he was slowly destroying by doing this. A feeling like watching the night sky and seeing stars winking out.

They stopped at the base of the main stairs, that led up to the familiar mahogany door of the least convoluted entrance.

"You gonna be okay from here?" the half-orc asked.

He sounded a little intimidated. Because Astarion had led him to a castle.

And there was a moment, when the dying, ground down thing inside of Astarion's chest fluttered. A keening desire to do something, anything, other than what he was currently doing. But it was an impulse that didn't translate into motion. A death rattle. Because he was fresh from a lesson about sentiment. And the night sky was black, like the inside of a tomb.

"Would you mind…" Astarion started quietly, and stuttered, but managed to thread the words together in the end: "I may have trouble with the stairs."

"Sure," the half-orc said, immediately.

And he helped Astarion up the stairs and into the Szarr Palace.

-

This was supposed to be a short story about the POV character.

It is now an ongoing series about the half-orc. There are going to be about twenty chapters. I have all of it outlined and much of it written.

Gods preserve me. The rest of it is on AO3. -

[frenchublog]

[ellenchain]

kissing the trauma away

[warren-keplers-funk-band]

every time i want to be absolutely ruined, i just think about the fact that, despite being only five seasons, in-universe bbc's merlin spanned over a period of ten years.

ten years during which merlin dressed and undressed arthur every day. took care of his armour. stood and fastened the clasps when arthur was going out to battle. what imaginably could be more quietly intimate than that?

ten years during which merlin withstood being underestimated, withstood all that he had done for arthur being unacknowledged, just so he could stay by his side.

ten years during which the most powerful magical being in albion chose to stay by arthur's side as his manservant, and his friend. destiny be damned.

that utter devotion, loyalty to each other? arthur's reciprocated loyalty to and love for merlin despite the fact that, in his mind, he was just a human servant who hadn't saved his life nearly half as much as in reality?

I'M DEAD. BOWLED OVER. IN RUINS.

[sol-insidious]

Post-Episode 5 reaction

[eaissilyy]

Golden Lineage brothers (-Minus Mohg because he’s an independent man who prefers to call himself the lord of his own right) fishing trip be like:

(Godwyn is fully on board with this. They sent the pics to Godfrey who’s hiking in the most random ass place ever and has no connection until next month. Godwyn also sent the pic to Godrick who posted on private account ‘why am I NOT invited’ it’s because Morgott hates his lazy ass and Mohg has an unknown beef with his nephew.)

I LOVE GODWYN AS A LOVELY BROTHER but I believe given the opportunity Mohg would annoy him so much bye ✋✋

[crabussy]

"humans are inherently evil" "humanity deserves to go extinct" okay. if that's the case why are we such a community based species. why have we seen evidence of careful amputations in ancient humans that allowed them to live longer, fuller lives. why do we have thousands of years of evidence of toys made for children by their guardians. why do we consistently find burial sites where the deceased has been buried with items of significance because the people in their life cared about them even after they were gone. why do strangers help strangers without any reward. why are most of the people you meet each day not cruel. we have ALWAYS been kind. I know it is so so easy to get swept up in all the horrible happenings in the world. these things can be extremely important to know about. but please, please please know that there are so many kind people in the world. you are one of them!

I BLOCK DEBBIE DOWNERS ON SIGHT. REEVALUATE YOUR WORLDVIEW OR SCROLL PAST AND HAVE A LOVELY DAY ALSO READ MY TAGS

[renirae]

what I think the season one archival staff would dress up as for halloween!!

Jon - would not dress up. he has a professional image to uphold !!

Sasha - I feel like she'd go with a classic, like maybe a witch or a vampire!! or something matching with Tim :)

Martin - probably wouldn't have the courage to do anything fancy, but after badgering from his coworkers (aka mostly Tim) he would go for one of the classics too, like a ghost/mummy/zombie?

Tim - would absolutely go overboard with something extravagant and lots of accessories, but also maybe not something actually getting too close to the supernatural. so like, a pirate? or a movie character? OR something RIDICULOUSLY spooky (specifically to annoy Jon lol)

alternatively:

a few days before halloween, Jon walks in on the archival assistants discussing how they're going to dress up. he frowns and tells them wearing halloween costumes is actually against the office dress code, as dressing in such a ridiculous way would be highly unprofessional.

he walks in on halloween to see all of them dressed up as him.

(and yes they absolutely deny it - them? dressing up for halloween against Jon's strict instructions?? they would NEVER!! they simply decided to all wear dress shirts, ties, and sweater vests on the same day by pure coincidence :))

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

they r very "as the world caves in"/"die with a smile" coded and y'know what. good for them we need more of that kinda love in this world

[egophiliac]

I have never been more concerned for a JP update from your art than I am seeing a Cheka knowing the context of Leona’s dream.

My bois ok right?????? My sweet nephews ok right??????

well

uhhhh

I'm sure the real one is fine :)

[cortex-rampage]

I find the way that BBC Merlin set up Merlin's powers in the first episode to be quite funny. I mean, we see this sort of lanky guy and it is established that he is Merlin and (according to our own common knowledge) therefore he is the most powerful warlock ever. Okay, cool. One might assume that he has come to Gaius to develop his powers, that maybe he's only in the beginning of his magical journey. But instead the exposition shows Merlin, in the pilot episode of this 5 series show, stop time and employ levitation to save someone's life with magic, and then it is announced that prince Arthur is essentially his soulmate, and their joint power will create the most glorious age Camelot has ever seen. Quite an exciting set-up. And then for the rest of the entire show this man who we know possesses TIME-ALTERING POWERS mostly uses them on-screen to do common chores and annoy and prank THAT SAME Arthur. Like that one post said, "All of it's destiny and all of it's his fault." :p

[fawn-tongues]

Loop and Mirabelle hours (3am)

[shkika]

mmm bobots...

[kirby-the-gorb]

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

There's something to be said about Nine and Twelve as parallels, about them being these seeming grumps with hearts of gold who must relearn optimism while being fundamentally kind at the end of the day, and Eleven and Thirteen as parallels, as these lonely tinkerers who travel with multiple companions at the same time but push people away before they get too close because they are creatures built on grief, and Ten alone, as something that is all and none of the above, who starts out as a creature born of love but who loses said love and is willing to die and must find grounding but loses said grounding and declares himself the Time Lord Victorious because if he cannot have love he has to have something, anything, he can call his own, and about how all five of them are shaped, fundamentally, by their grief and their guilt over the Time War and being the last of their kind and how every companion leaves them and they will always, always be the last one in the TARDIS, always be the last one surviving, no matter what, and yet all of them, at the end of the day, die to save someone. Die to be kind, just one more time. Because that is what ties them all together. That is what makes them the Doctor.

[anetherealpoetess]

it's vital for my mental health that the show introduces celebrían and we get to see this man fall in love with his wife