#but i'm getting into writing chapter 2 anyways. it's just from an unfamiliar POV for me :(

[m--rtyr]

i would give an update on the status of chapter 2 since it's been three months but how is the most concise way to say 'literally just wrote a paragraph about garroth being horny for god and it's not even gonna make it into the final chapter'

[thebigbiwolf]

Starvin' Darlin - Chapter 2

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Seeing Evelyn with Gale stirs up some unfamiliar and VERY unwelcome feelings in Astarion. And for some reason, she graces him with a midnight visit. I'm terrible with summaries but here's what's in store for you:

* A bit of possessive!Astarion if you squint

* More pining

* More biting

* Deep DEEP emotional constipation (my personal favorite)

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Read on AO3: Here

Word Count: 5k

A/N: School and life have been kicking my ass but I finally got around to finishing this chapter and I couldn't wait to post it! I'm having so much fun writing in Astarion's POV. Huge thank you to my bestie @imaginarydromedary for being the best beta ever and for your endless patience with me.

The morning that follows that fateful night in Evelyn’s tent goes rather well, all things considered.

She approaches Astarion first. A pleasant surprise, considering they could hardly look at each other after he ravaged her the night before. 

He looks over the novel he had been skimming, Shanties for the Bitch Queen . Admittedly, not one of his favorites, but reading material was scarce these days. He closes it with a soft thud and rises to meet her, all pleasant smiles and perfectly coiffed hair. 

“Good morning.” he says, a curious tilt to his head. 

She looks a bit more pale than usual with faded, grim circles forming underneath her eyes. Her bun is a bit unruly, some strands falling into her face and parted by the wine-dark bone of her horns. She either didn’t sleep well or is still reeling from the anemia. 

The bruise he administered had spread and darkened, plainly visible even under the black ink of her tattoos. It seems she found no use in hiding it, then. Very well. It’s not like they keep extra scarves laying about the camp, anyway.

“How do you feel?” he asks, gently. He doesn’t mean to provoke her, but his curiosity is getting the better of him, and the slightest hint of shame is beginning to burrow its way into his conscience. Ugh . He thinks he prefers the tadpole.

“A bit woozy.” She responds, “I woke up this morning with the intention of asking you how one usually fares after being drained, but then I remembered,” she stops herself when she realizes what she’s about to say: I was your first. Unspoken, but lingering between them . It makes him want to laugh; A woman with a reputation such as hers acting so bashful .

“It’ll pass,” he reassures, “Just be glad I’m not a true vampire. A bite from one of them and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self. All of a vampire’s hunger, but few of their powers.”

“Speaking of hunger,” Evelyn says, realizing she’s famished. She turns from him and begins making her way towards the campfire. Finding that only charred logs and old cinders remain, she runs the black tip of her boot through the ashes with the intention of stoking the fire back to life, dust clouding, then dispersing before her.

He follows closely behind, observing. She seems well, all things considered. A bit out of sorts, but nothing a bit of rest couldn’t cure.

“You know, I had considered bringing you an apple,” Astarion starts, hovering by the pit, “Leaving it by your bedside before you rose for the day - ever the gentleman, but,” he clears his throat. 

That newly recognizable twinge of something is curling its way back into his chest, causing him to squint in discomfort. 

In truth, he didn’t know how she would react to him encroaching on her space. Not after that dreadful attempt on her life. He is a monster, after all. That, and she had already been so insufferably forgiving. Such kindness is likely to reach its end sooner rather than later.

“I - erm, didn’t want to disturb your rest.” is what he finally settles on. Polit , he thinks, Best not overdo it.

“That would have been nice of you.” She says it quietly, more to herself than to him.

“Oh, darling, you have no idea how nice I can be.” The flirtation sneaks its way out of him on an impulse. He’s about to apologize, something he seems to be doing a bit too often for his taste, when out of the corner of his eye, he catches one of their companions making their way towards them. 

“It appears we have company.” Astarion sneers, “And here I thought I was going to have you all to myself this morning.”

To the elf’s surprise, most of them were quick to come around to the idea of a vampire spawn slinking about. Especially once they found themselves in the middle of an ambush, and Astarion very quickly made good on his promises to her. 

Newfound strength coursed through his body, her blood weaving threads of heat through his veins as if it were his own. His speed was unmatched, cutting down half a dozen goblins before they had a chance to wail.

 It was exhilarating . 

The day flew by in flashes of red. Despite the many unnecessary stops Evelyn insisted on making to help undesirables, Astarion’s emotional high managed to remain relatively intact. That was, until their group settled in for the night.

As most of the others retired to their tents, the elf prepared for his nightly ritual: sifting through his collection of tomes and selecting one to read under the stars - his favorite way to end the evening. 

It was supposed to be perfect. Uneventful. Quiet .

But, there was Gale: lost in thought and muttering to himself, or maybe to the conjured image of some woman’s head floating above his hand. Astarion may have been able to ignore that in itself, but the sound of light footsteps drew his attention. 

Evelyn was approaching the wizard. 

He scoffs. Of course Gale was showing off in hopes of procuring her attention. The man was practically putting on a damn light show in his desperation. It’s not enough that the wizard eats valuable items they could be using to pawn for coins, but does he really have to be such an unbearable distraction as well?

“Pretty,” he recognizes the word as it leaves her. The sound of their chatter was too faint for it to carry its way to his beautifully pointed ears, but he could just barely read Evelyn’s lips at this angle.

Gale startles, dropping his hand along with his focus. The woman’s visage vanishes. He looks embarrassed, shifting uncomfortably as he no doubt explains himself in some horribly mundane fashion.

Astarion returns to his book, scanning over the page, but the words refuse to settle in his mind. He stares at the ink, willing the sentences to fill his head with anything other than the nonsense unfolding in front of him, but his focus stubbornly remains on the chattering pair.

Gods, he’s talking her ears off. 

At any moment, Evelyn will dismiss the man, embarrassing the hells out of him, which will make for an excellent show. That in itself is enough reason to keep watching. But the longer this goes on, the less he’s sure. 

She seems to be enjoying their chat, nodding in agreement at Gale’s words, listening to him without so much as a hint of impatience. Gale then steps behind her, a bit too close for the likes of an average, friendly conversation. His chest almost touches the woman’s shoulder as he moves into her space, the cloth of his nightshirt just barely grazing her. 

Something within Astarion begins twisting in protest. His thumb runs over the long-forgotten page in circles. The rough texture reminds him that yes, he was supposed to be reading, or at least attempting to look disinterested, but he can't will himself to turn away.

Gale smiles softly down at her, then begins to move his arms in a way that could only be described as a poor imitation of a wounded bird. Purple light emanates in front of the two of them in response. More magic tricks. Of course. As if that would be enough to impress the woman who’s supposedly been at the receiving end of every imaginable courting attempt in Faerun. 

Astarion rolls his eyes, content to continue his chapter of The Realm According to Bumpo, before he notices Evelyn following suit, imitating the very same motions. She, however, has a grace about her, unlike the bearded beast at her side. Her movements are quick and decisive, abandoning all flattery for precision. The burst of light emanates from her palms, just as it had for the wizard.

She looks pleased. Elated, even. This is the first time he’s seen her smile since she made a fool out of him in her tent, caressing his body and reveling in its reaction, like he was some sort of toy. Though her expression looks different to him now. He can’t quite place his finger on why.

He swallows, attempting to alleviate the tightness in his throat. 

A purple aura starts radiating around them, dancing and swaying in waves, as if the two were surrounded by a flowing channel of lavender, smelling of rosewater; the sun setting over a dark ocean. Even from a distance, the sight pulls at something inside him. An unwelcome ache settles within his chest.

Evelyn turns to the man next to her, unaware that they’ve been drawn closer by the magic enveloping them. She tilts her head back to meet Gale’s gaze. The way he’s looking at her, the flecks of gold in her irises locked with his: deep, brown, and moving, makes Astarion’s skin itch.  

He finds himself wondering what color his own eyes were before his transformation. Were they so seemingly honest, so trustworthy in their melanism, before they became what they are now? Sharp, red, and tinted by bloodlust. Wouldn’t they be boring? 

“You’re staring.”

He’s pulled from his brooding by the sound of Shadowheart’s observation. He hadn’t noticed her approaching him, distracted by that sickening, sweet smell. “Or has the tadpole gifted you with the ability to telepathically commune with books?”

“I’m simply admiring our wizard’s talents.” Astarion says, dismissing her with a wave, “Making sure all those expensive boots and rings haven’t gone to waste. It would be a pity, wouldn’t it? Unnecessarily sacrificing clothes that may have suited you while you’re having to traipse about in a tin can?”

The cleric snickers, “I see. Is that why you look like a kicked pup? Or, are you upset that your master’s replaced you with a new lapdog?” 

He slams the book closed. The sound surprises Evelyn, and the magic surrounding her and Gale dissipates. 

He doesn’t dignify Shadowheart with a response, nor does he spare a second glance at the others before retreating to the quiet solace of his tent.

”That wretched little…” He grumbles to himself as soon as he closes the entrance, tossing Bumpo atop the other novels in his collection, all piled haphazardly on the small desk occupying a corner of his living space. 

This type of reaction was unusual for him. Astarion would normally be happy to engage in petty banter. The more scathing, the better, but Shadowheart had somehow weaseled her way into a tender area. It left him feeling exposed, and a bit nauseated at the idea of allowing someone so clearly beneath himself, at least in terms of wit, to get the better of him. 

Taking a deep breath, Astarion focuses on releasing the tension in his jaw. Best not to let this ruin his entire night, he reasons, before lighting  several half-melted candles littering his quarters. Their flames emanate a soft, golden glow, and the process is meditative enough to finish soothing him. 

He doesn’t have watch tonight, so he allows himself some extra comfort, removing his shirt before sinking down into the soft furs of his bedroll. Astarion closes his eyes to trance, thinking the extra rest will do him some good, but the image of Evelyn rushes back to his mind -  the way her soft lips parted in surprise, realizing her and Gale’s close proximity, and how his gaze flitted down to her mouth in return..

The wizard should be wearing a damn collar around his neck with how she commands his attention. It’s pathetic.

It couldn’t be a matter of coincidence, surely. She must know the effect she has on the man. If Gale harbors feelings for her ( yuck ), even if it were the result of close quarters, Evelyn could use it to her advantage. She had just revealed the effectiveness of similar tactics to him last night, and a powerful wizard would be a powerful ally. 

Whereas, Astarion is just… a vampire spawn. Not even a true vampire. A slave. A nobody.

He rubs his face in frustration. The Sharran did��have a point. Astarion may have an insatiable appetite, happy to receive all matters of attention from whatever suitors decide to shower him with it, but what about her? What if Evelyn found him less interesting, less worthy of her time and, subsequently, her protection? 

No. His ego balks at the suggestion. 

Besides, he had felt her lust for him not 24 hours ago. It moved through him as though it was his own, and the taste of her still lingers on his tongue. He heard the hitch in her breath - felt it under his own lips, and reliving the memory still stirs a familiar hunger within him. 

Though, they still haven’t spoken about it. 

The usually quiet, insecure part of him wonders if she’d just rather forget it altogether. He could empathize with that, at least. It’s easy enough for him to imagine their last encounter may have left her feeling disgusted, used.

Guilt worms its way back into his mind, cozying up right next to his tadpole but oh, so much worse . 

He hasn’t felt like this since the beginning of his servitude. He assumed the emotion had been neglected long enough to be left entirely behind him, overshadowed by the threat of whatever new, interesting ways Cazador would think of to torture him at the mere suggestion of disobedience. But here, in the thin veil of safety he’s allowed himself to believe shrouds him, he aches. 

It’s unbecoming.

Instead of resting as he should, Astarion isn’t quite sure how much time he spends ruminating on ways to quietly rid the party of Gale, before he hears the faintest rapping at the canvas of his tent. 

At first, he believes he imagined it, and gives the noise little consideration before settling back into his trance. But then, he hears it again: quick, rapid tapping. A knock. 

It surprises him. He hurriedly moves to stand. In the faint glow of the candlelight, the shadow at his doorstep dances against the closed fabric, smaller than himself and horned. A visit from Evelyn at this hour? Strange.

He undoes the ties and opens his space to her. 

Her hair is undone, dark waves falling over her shoulders and obscuring the marks he gave her. She’s wearing the same clothes she wore to bed last night, the very same black breast band. It smells as if it's been washed, though, with no lingering scent of her blood. Her loose, matching trousers settle high on her waist, just above her navel. She looks exhausted. 

Being run ragged by the events of the day while also having to contend with a missing pint or two of blood may have had more of a negative effect than anticipated. 

Evelyn doesn’t say anything at first, but he catches her eyes glancing at his bare chest before retreating back to his own, cementing themselves there. He raises an eyebrow at her, smirking, and thinks about teasing her. The temptation threatens to get the better of him, but he refrains, not wanting this unexpected visit cut too short. “Need something?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

Her stare is unwavering, a commitment worthy of admiration.

“Right this way.” Astarion bows slightly towards her, an arm raised behind him to gesture her inside. She steps past him, careful to not brush against his exposed skin. He closes the entrance behind them, shutting out the ambient noise and drowning them in silence. His space is large enough to accommodate himself and his essentials quite comfortably, but it's infinitely smaller with her here.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you.” there is a hoarseness to her voice. She must have woken up just before making her way over.

“No, actually. I was just catching up on some reading.” Not entirely a lie. He had been reading at several points tonight. “What is it you want to discuss? I’m assuming there’s a reason this couldn’t wait until morning, not that I mind.”

“It's about you.”

Oh. No midnight gossip, then.

"I’ve been thinking about how we’re going to continue feeding you.”

“You’ve been up all night tossing and turning because you're concerned about my eating habits?” he responds, unamused, and crosses his arms.

“I have not been tossing and -” she’s about to argue with him, he thinks, but her exasperation causes her to lose her concentration. She breaks eye contact, distracted by the toned curves of his biceps, then snaps her gaze to the floor. “Would you please put on a shirt?”

“Ha!” His laugh is humorless. “I’d like to think we’re well past the point of propriety. Besides, you're in my tent.”

Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose. “I knew this was a mistake.”

“Come now, darling. Why are you really here?”

She sighs in frustration, as if he should already know.

“I wanted to talk about last night.”

“Ugh, I’ve already apologized. What more do you want?”

A moment passes in uncomfortable silence. He can practically hear the gears grinding in her head as she searches for the right words, and he'd give anything to reach out with his tadpole and take the unfiltered thoughts from her mind. Instead, he takes pity on her.

“Unless, you’re looking for another nibble?” 

It's a joke, a way to clear the tension from the air. Entirely unserious.

She doesn't laugh.

Instead, she looks around the room: first at his assortment of decorative pillows, then to the empty elixir bottles piled in a corner, anywhere but himself. "Well, I - I don’t know.”  She clears her throat. “I just figured after today’s performance, it may be for the best.”

Wait. What?

He stiffens, so taken aback by her suggestion that the elf almost believes he’s still mid-trance. 

“What?” 

“I may be willing to help you again, when necessary.”

She has to be joking.

“You’re joking.”

“No. I’m serious, if it would help.”

“It would.”

“Then, yes.”

They stand almost toe to toe, Astarion once again absorbing her warmth. He hadn’t noticed their height difference the first time they did this, too busy devouring the poor woman like some deranged beast, but it's notable here, on equal footing. Peering up at him, her nose aligns with his collarbones.

"Tonight, then?" she asks.

"Eager, are we?"

She shrugs with indifference, "Just in case we run into any trouble at the goblin camp tomorrow."

The very picture of practicality. What else did he expect?

"Alright, then."

"Alright."

That nagging sensation begins to tug at him again - the very same one he felt as he had stepped out of her tent last night. A weak but unshakeable tension, like a magnet, uncomfortable as it is alluring. The force of it draws his body closer to hers where she stands, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Underneath her calm exterior, Evelyn’s heart is pounding. Though her breaths are steady, controlled, he can hear it from where he stands. For a moment, those are the only sounds filling the space between them, until the tiefling speaks up.

“You’re tall, for an elf.”

An oddly-timed observation, but a true one. His brother, Petras, was always outwardly envious of him for it. Though, he's not sure why it sounds so flattering coming from her lips.

“How kind of you to notice.” 

She scans the room, searching for something, until she spots the table. Her fingers run along the dark ringlets in the wood, tracing the hardened puddles of forgotten wax, until they reach his heaping pile of books. She taps her fingertips on his leather bound copy of Bumpo . 

“May I?” 

He nods, unsure of what’s been asked of him. 

Evelyn gathers the novels in her arms before piling them carefully onto the floor in a few leveled stacks, clearing the space. ”That should be enough room for one of us to sit,” she says, evenly. 

Then, there is a heavy silence; anticipation. It hangs in the air thick as smoke, twice as suffocating. She's only taken a few steps from him, but it’s as though she’s crossed an ocean. The distance between them begins to develop its own gravitational pull, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“Whatever’s most comfortable, dear."

The tiefling nods, then plants herself on the table’s surface, legs hanging over the edge. Evelyn is now eye-level with him, her irises glossy; catching and reflecting what little light dances off the few remaining candles beside her.

She tilts her head at him, expectantly. Her face remains neutral - practiced, as though she feels nothing at all; as if she isn’t trying to drive him mad.

She’s back to playing her little games.

Fine.

Astarion’s posture straightens as he strides towards her, confidently closing their distance. He places his hands at her sides, not quite touching her, but still close enough to feel the heat emanating from her body, even through her clothes.  

“Now, where would you like it?” The question sounds innocent enough, but the double meaning is not lost on her. 

Her grip tightens at the table’s edge, knuckles whitening. 

His head tilts downwards, looming over her like a predator, and the scent of vanilla invades his nostrils. The sweetness settles on his palate before spreading across his tongue, coating it with a rum-like burn. He runs the flavor over the sharp edges of his teeth.

"I could do it here," he whispers, dipping his nose and running the tip of it along her nape. He quietly revels in how she prickles beneath him, her body betraying her feigned indifference.

"Or, here." One of his thumbs trace the flat of her wrist in slow, circular motions, causing the pulse beneath it to flutter.

"Or…" His other hand slides atop her knee, fingers gripping and parting her thighs just slightly…

She snaps them shut.

"Just do it, dickhead."

He hums a laugh. 

“As you wish.” 

The cool brush of Astarion’s lips on her neck has Evelyn’s heart racing, a frantic drum beating against his ears. It’s just as intoxicating as he remembers, threatening to muddle the edges of his mind. “Just try to keep still for me.” he whispers.

The warning is sincere, but the stubborn woman misinterprets him. Thinking he’s toying with her, she opens her mouth, intent on insulting him, but stops short, whining pitifully when his fangs break the surface of her skin. Her body flinches at the initial discomfort, but otherwise remains virtually motionless; compliant.

Drinking from her now feels like an entirely new experience. This time, he anticipates the raging current - knows how to find his footing. Rather than being ripped under, it feels as though Astarion is floating, enveloped in warmth unlike any he’s ever known. At best, he would imagine it similar to a hug, had he ever been on the receiving end of one.

He begins to lap at the wound to keep it from closing, the press and drag of his tongue drawing out a few small, involuntary twitches from the girl. She’s being so good for him, staying put like she’d been told; fighting her own restlessness, the urge to squirm in place.

If only she would allow him to reward her, to offer his body in exchange for this endless parade of favors, he would take the chance in a heartbeat. It would be so, so easy with her, unlike any miserable encounter he’d been forced into partaking in the last few centuries. He knows he would enjoy her body, along with all the lovely little sounds she would make for him; the temporary bliss.

And it would be a fair price to pay for keeping him safe, fed, and warm . 

The mental image has Astarion’s hand moving without his knowledge, too engrossed to notice his own palm caressing the side of her face. His thumb traces the edge of her cheek as he holds her there, allowing the weight of her head to rest against his fingers. Dark strands of hair brush against his knuckles, bringing him back to the present.

He thinks Evelyn hasn’t noticed yet, believes himself safe to correct the mistake without any mutual discomfort.

Which leaves him infinitely more overwhelmed when her smaller hand grazes up the length of his arm, wrapping it around his wrist to keep it in place. Her body relaxes into his touch, seemingly more grounded. 

The intimacy is like a punch to the chest.

She’s suddenly too close for comfort. It’s claustrophobic - suffocating, strangling him along with whatever sense he had left, apparently. That damned vanilla, the dizzying scent of her blood -

Air, he thinks, I just need some fresh air.

Astarion pulls away from her, readying an apology and an excuse to swiftly dismiss the woman. 

But when Evelyn meets his gaze, the words die prematurely.  

She is a vision , freckles dappling her skin like star-covered porcelain, now flushed red from nose to cheeks. The whites of her eyes have gone glossy, dazed and dream-like, tempting him further into her space.

Her tongue darts out to wet her parted lips, the small gesture commanding his attention. He finds himself entirely fixated on them, as if it would take another life-altering, unnatural disaster to pull his focus away. 

Evelyn’s lashes flutter in recognition, then she quickly releases his wrist. The residual heat fades before he can appreciate it, leaving him cold once again. 

“Oh, sorry.” 

“My apologies."

Their speech overlaps, then silence fills the room again, and they are left to stare at each other. His hands suddenly feel much too idle at his sides, itching. He throws on a polite smile, a familiar mask, but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Astarion has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His hunger is sated, and he should feel satisfied. He should feel like a new man. 

So why, then, does he only feel this intolerable weight in his chest?

Why does his stomach turn at the idea of her so carelessly offering herself up to any vampire spawn, let alone himself , despite the obvious danger? 

Why is he so deeply frustrated by her lack of self preservation?

Isn’t this exactly what he wanted; to have her crawling back for more?

He can't help but wonder if this sudden apprehension is part of her little plan: to confuse him, drive him to distraction, then bring him to his knees like every other unfortunate man she’s had in her sights before robbing them and tossing them aside.

Out-seducing a vampire would admittedly be an admirable feat, but why? What could her angle be, when Astarion has nothing to offer her? 

“Are you alright? You look… lost.” 

He blinks back to the present. 

“I - ” He coughs, " Ahem . Yes, dear. Of course.” 

Hot, crimson streaks drip down the sharp bone of his chin. He springs into action, away from her unfavorable concern, and grabs his nightshirt from off the floor behind him. He has just the one, beautifully embroidered and sewn back together countless times by his own hands, now being used in place of a common napkin. 

Evelyn gasps. The sound is like ice, piercing his chest when he realizes his mistake. The devil’s never seen him without a shirt on before now. Meaning, she had never bore witness to the elaborate poem carved into his back - ugly, raised scars painting his flesh and soiling his otherwise perfectly sculpted muscle. 

He regrets not humoring her request to redress earlier. 

The elf plays off the noise as if he hadn’t heard it, turning to hand her the clothes and hoping she knows better than to mention anything of it. She silently takes the garment from him and places it where he had bitten her. A blooming red stain soaks into the pale fabric. He’ll have to work on getting it out for the next several days, if it decides to come out at all.

Evelyn finally moves to stand, teetering a bit from lightheadedness. Astarion reaches out to steady her, but she shakes her head, declining. 

“I’m okay.”

He retracts his hand. The damned thing’s gotten him into enough trouble tonight already. 

“Well then, you should get some rest.” 

She scoffs, “Wow, not even a thank you?”

He lowers his voice, practically growling at her, “My dear, if you’d allow me to properly thank you, you wouldn’t be leaving this tent. Maybe not for the next week, if I’m feeling generous.”

A pretty little flush once again spreads across her face. He’s rather pleased with himself, thinking he’s finally stunned her. 

“And if you weren’t feeling generous?”

Rising to meet him, then. She is playing a very dangerous game.

Astarion closes what little distance there is left between them and grabs her face by the jaw, grip firm . The force has her stumbling, the back of her thighs meeting the hard edge of the table. Wood digs into her skin as the legs grate loudly against his decorative rugs, shifting from the sudden push.

Evelyn’s eyes shut, brows furrowed and panting as she clutches his forearms to steady herself.

To his wicked delight, she does not pull away.

His thumb drags over her bottom lip. The effort she’s expending not to whine at his gentle touch has him reeling. Her skin burns beneath his palms. 

“Then, I’d strip you, tie your limbs to this desk,” he murmurs against her lips, before tilting to whisper his confession hot in her ear. 

“And you wouldn’t be leaving this tent. Ever . ”

He abruptly releases her, turning away and waving her off. 

“Now, go. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Not sparing the woman a glance, he begins gathering his books and setting them back onto the table beside her.

She says nothing in response, but he hears her tear open the entrance to his tent and step out into the night.

[zodiacdragon334]

Crimson Sun AU Introduction!

Well, I'm sick, jet lagged, and it's 6 am and I can't sleep. So, no better time to actually do this. This is a new AU project I've been cooking up for about a month now I'd say, give or take. And it's very, very fun! In my opinion anyways.

(And yes, I'll be finishing Dragon's Blood before I start posting this one, don't worry)

So this AU was born from a combination of three things in the cauldron of my brain.

1. I wanted to write Gunpowder Boys.

2. I wanted to write Impulse.

3. I happened to be watching a friend play Deltarune at the time.

SO.

Crimson Sun (the first part anyway) is a crossover AU between Hermitcraft Season 8 and an apocalyptic timeline of Empires Season 1, which is inspired by the premise of Deltarune! It's not a crossover with Deltarune, there's only going to be MCYT characters, but it's inspired by the whole structure and concept of the game. This first iteration is very loosely based on Chapter 1, but if I get to it and am still inspired, I do intend to write other stories based on other Deltarune chapters.

This first one is going to be from Impulse's POV with a heavy focus on him, Pixlriffs, and fWhip.

So it's the end of Hermitcraft Season 8. The moon is crashing, the world is ending, and the members of Boatem are getting ready to leave. Except, Mumbo and Pearl are nowhere to be found, the rocket is falling apart, and there's something very, very weird going on with the Boatem Hole. Strange, pulsing darkness that very much looks nothing like the familiar void. Time's running out. Impulse, Grian, and Scar eventually find Mumbo tangled up in wires and debris with Pearl trying to help him, but they can't get him out in time and he falls into the Boatem Hole.

And disappears. With no death message or anything. He's just gone.

And they can't leave their friend. So the rest of Boatem follows him. And they all land in a strange world of ash, ruins, towering crimson tentacles, a fungal infestation, and corrupted monsters roaming the lands. With the members of Boatem scattered across the land and transformed by the world, Impulse is suddenly alone with unfamiliar powers and a sharp object pressed into his back by two survivors who really don't like the look of him for some reason.

So that's where the Deltarune inspiration comes in! This timeline of Empires is the dark world, and there's the whole physical transformation thing that happens with Kris and Susie in the game. And Impulse and the rest of Boatem are trapped here until they can find a way back to Hermitcraft. Namely, by doing an equivalent to sealing the dark fountain, which is in this case, sealing Xornoth.

I'm going off the members of Boatem being more or less human in Hermitcraft, but showing a lot more of the typical fanon hybrid traits in this 'dark world.' So we've got Demon Impulse, Watcher Grian (he was an avian in HC), Vex Wizard Scar, Moth Pearl, and Shapeshifter/Cryptid Mumbo.

Now, a bit from the other side:

This timeline of Empires very, very far from canon events. It's a Xornoth wins AU. An apocalypse AU. After the death of the Ender Dragon, years before the members of Boatem land in their world, Xornoth wasted no time in their plans for world domination. Corruption flooded over the land, over every empire, corrupting the rulers into the demon's puppets. It leaves ruins and devastation in its wake, and reacts particularly poorly with what lurks underneath one particular empire, seemingly sealing the fate of the world.

Because there's massive veins of deepslate redstone ore underneath the Grimlands. And what happens when that mixes with corruption? It explodes. And that sets off the Rapture early, covering an already corrupted and inhospitable world in ash.

But there are survivors.

Pixlriffs, in his guilt over the Dragon's death, leaves Pixandria behind for exile. But soon enough, word reaches him in a distant village of the destruction he left behind, and despite what he feels about himself, he can't ignore the problem and returns to look for survivors. What he returns to is the shattered remains of Pixandria and the Vigil in pieces, rendering respawn itself unstable and unreliable. He finds the oceans drained, Mezalea silent and covered in ash, the Overgrown, Gilded Helianthia, the Undergrove, and the Crystal Cliffs either eternally aflame, or already nothing but burnt out husks. Mythland, the Lost Empire, and Rivendell, all seas of corruption. And the Grimlands nothing but a smoking crater.

And in the rubble, barely alive and clinging to life, he finds fWhip.

He survives, despite the odds. And they find themselves at an impasse. fWhip has lost absolutely everything, and has no reason to stay anymore, presuming Gem and Sausage and Pearl to be dead. But Pix, now that he's returned and fully sees the consequences of his compliance in the Dragon's death, can't bring himself to turn his back again. And fWhip can't leave his only friend behind.

So they do what they do best. They raid Pixandria's ghast farm, which was far enough away to escape the corruption, collect all the gunpowder, and spend the next five or so years being absolute nuisances to Xornoth by exploding things. They're the only reason why Xornoth has not finished their fortress after years. But still, Xornoth never manages to catch them.

After living in this world for five years, locked in a stalemate with their adversary and running out of places to hide, they've seen full well the power of a demon. Pix pushes forward, never letting go of his guilt and insisting to himself that it's his duty to stay and make things right. fWhip grows cynical and jaded with nothing left to live for.

Now just imagine how they feel with another demon falls out of the sky one day. Except this one is lost and confused, with no idea where he is, where his friends are, and keeps talking about something called a Boatem and the moon crashing. And he doesn't even seem to know that he is a demon either.

fWhip doesn't trust Impulse in the slightest, convinced that he's just another minion of Xornoth sent to lure him and Pix to their deaths. But Pix can't help but think of a book of prophecies he has stashed away, basically all he has left of Lizzie, with words written long ago speaking of hope, brought by fugitives of the moon wearing the appearance of the enemy. And maybe, just maybe, this could be the opening they need against Xornoth. Or Impulse could be the final nail in the coffin for an already doomed world.

One more quick note about Pearl specifically. Because she's got a False Symmetry kind of situation going on. Yes, there's two Pearls! And yes, that's as confusing for Impulse, Pix, and fWhip as you think it is. Empires Pearl and Hermit Pearl are both here as separate people, and both have their own distinct roles in the story.

So that's the premise of Crimson Sun! I do intend to make a masterpost for this and have this intro, some other posts, and the eventual fic linked to it. I think it's a very cool premise at least, and I'm looking forward to writing it once I'm done with Dragon's Blood. Feel free to send me asks about it if you've made it this far and are interested in knowing more!

Oh, and yes, I do intend to have more fics part of this AU based on the remaining chapters of Deltarune. I don't have any plot ideas for Chapter 2 yet, but I have decided that fic will feature Impulse, Skizz, Bdubs, and Martyn (because of the datastream defender thing), and the dark world will be in Impulse's season 10 cyberpunk city. But that's all I've decided so far. And one thing at a time. Got to finish the first one.

[simon-newman]

A lot of the slavery seems forced and it's a cheap plot tool to put people on the same team and avoid making MC a Gary Stu by having girls just "take a liking to him" and suddenly they're on the team.

And it goes both ways - I recall at least 2 titles where isekai'd man was born into slavery.

And what is Saito other than a magic slave in everything but name?

What this unfortunate trope exposes is how some people have no understanding how world works - I've seen multiple moronic takes on the subject on this very hellsite - people suggesting how a "Real good MC" should "solve" the slavery problem if he really cared. Those suggested "solutions" I've seen ranged from "start a revolution" to "start buying and immediately freeing all the slaves he can" which... There are so many reasons why this just wouldn't work - I'm astonished people lack the understanding as to why.

In fact - I've read a novel last year that actually tackled the issue. I was even going to write a longer rant about the novel itself but it got buried in my growing mountain of drafts.

Anyway. In "Revenge of the Soul Eater" - stay with me for a bit here - MC buys a slave for only one reason - to cause outrage and provoke his old party members. In short - he has her keep moaning in the night (while not doing anything lewd to her) so that his old teammates would challenge him to a duel over her freedom.

After he gets what he wants he has no more use for her and offers to free her on the spot. An offer she refuses.

We are then given a chapter from her PoV and a good explanation. She's the oldest daughter from a family with multiple children where the father lost a limb and is no longer capable to provide for them. Until her brother comes of age and is able to work himself they have no income. Selling her into slavery got that family enough money to survive for 3 years. By that time another daughter will come of age and she can be sold - that money should be enough for them to survive before the oldest son comes of age.

"Just freeing her" far away from home just leaves a vulnerable girl alone in an unfamiliar environment and if she returns the money won't last the family long enough - she'll need to sell herself AGAIN to a new and possibly worse master. Meanwhile her current master allows her to gain job experience and a part of income her work earns - allowing her to send more money home.

(He still frees her a bit later and simply allows her to stay as a full time employee once his plans reach the stage where he basically runs an independent clan of adventurers)

I understand that the subject of slavery is very iffy especially in America but this was reality for a lot of societies before modern age - especially in terms of debt slavery and I think tackling it in the right way can do some good. The lack of understanding I've mentioned above is a good reason. If you think "just freeing slaves on the spot" in such setting is a solution then I'm sorry but you have little imagination as to what would happen to those people.

If people won't touch history books on the subject perhaps a decent explanation provided by fiction can give them an idea on how things would work.

The alternative is an idealistic, escapist reality where such things as poverty don't really exist. Which is also fine for fiction but not all fiction should be idealistic in that manner.

Well. You could also forget slavery and just show the poor families just starving in the slums of medieval/fantasy setting - in the same manner no MC in such stories would be able to help all of those people and I am sure this would cause another outrage because nobody wants to read about poor people starving to death in their fiction.

as someone who only read otome isekai genuinely wtf is going on in "men's" isekai variation 😭

[mymadmedleyw]

(mostly note to self)

plans for the near future - 2022:

- finish 'Change In The Core Of Heart' /2 - if nothing comes in, maybe tonight - all parts are given for that, but I added some things that changed the pace and things like that, so now I have to play puzzle with the previously written parts with the lately added ones to turn it to a whole

- (also I have in mind a short continuation for that - just in mind, no written down notes so far for that, not a single line, but it will be its closure, as 'On The Line' with its opening scene, CITCOH in the middle, and this one as the end - planned title: 'Speed Dial')

- (even before 'Side Hoes Week' I planned a short with Damon (technically playing between 'Huntress' and 'LoD'*), I'm not sure anymore when I'll finish it, but I have a guess, I won't connect it to the event - or I will, if it won't be weird to post it much later...)

*LoD will be my next 'big' after I finish with WTPH, little sneak peek scene/concept for it: 'Sailor'

- started the (short) continuation for 'Two Side Of A Dream Coming True' - I really want to finish that (hopefully and at latest next week), I am almost done with the first draft phase but yet I find it lame, but it might be just because it is unfamiliar for me to handle at the same time many characters

- thankfully I am almost done with the draftly scribbled down plot and ideas for my planned InvisoBang story - I'm troubled to start writing that or just perfect the notes and once, when I don't have anything else in mind to write, sit down with it

- praise the one, who noted to read WTPH first, to get a better picture for 'Green and Gold' series, and only start GG after that! - the two could be read independently though, but it gave me a good mood to go back to WTPH. The problem with that, I am avoiding that - very much. As much that once I wanted to sit back for it, instead an idea came to my mind about a story that now is planned for InvisoBang. Okay, bit of explanation here, because once I have to do it anyway...

-- rambling about WTPH starts here --

According to my calculation, there is only three chapters left for that. The next one in the line should contain parts from the last(?) one. So I have to write - or at least figure out - the last one first, then place scenes from that to chapter19. I'm not sure though 3 chapters will be enough. It might be rather 4.

Just as all of my chapters are mostly from different people's POV, I don't want to cut the chapters by switching between characters. I have a big problem to figure out whose sight to use for chapter20. Each choice has its benefits obviously, and tell what happens differently. Right now, I'm voting for Jazz, but then that would mean I definitely have to press everything to chapter21. It wouldn't be a problem, after all, that's an ending chapter - but! Then comes the question, if I should write a chapter22 or not. Chapter22 is technically the one from what I'd use scenes in chapter19. Each are from different POV. I'm not sure chapter22 would be long enough for an entire chapter, or not. If not, then I could use what I want to enlighten only in short scenes in chapter19. I'm not sure if I'd be satisfied with that solution or not - but I don't want to stretch for all eternity WTPH, three chapters to force myself to write would be enough torturing...

Other thing, once I want to go back and fix every typos and messy sentences in the earlier chapters, because knowing there are many, ruins my mood to think about continuing the story. Once, someone, bookmarked the story with a note that they can't follow the sentences and it gives a headache... yeah, I get it, English is not my native language, I think and put together sentences differently, because my brain works differently. (Our English teacher in high school always said us that we think Hungarian in English too, and we could learn how not to, but of course we will always work like that - it wasn't a critic back then, she taught us how to mix the two. In short, this means no matter how much I use English, how much I try, I'll always think Hungarian.) I use Grammarly though - right now, considering to buy premium - but earlier, when I was busy I only used Word's inner system to spot the mistakes, or Drive Docs. I know, I should have worked more on each chapters, to reduce to the absolute minimum the mistakes, but... no, I will do no excuses, I worked long on each chapters, weeks sometimes even just to fix and fix things again. My absolute average was at the end 1,5-2 weeks to write a chapter, and the same time to edit and post it before I'd hate it. Not even talking about, I tend to mix words, that in my mind sounds the same but not the same, or which are nearly the same in writing, like 'title - tilt', 'thought - though - through', etc, etc. I have a very long list for those. But I guess that could happen with anyone. Also, my main character is confused on mind, which means the sentences are allowed to end with no end...

Okay, sorry, don't mind me, that note just pisses me off because it still hurts. I'm aware of my faults, I'm aware I'm not native, I'm aware I should focus more on grammar, and thinks like that, and only posting things when those are perfect and shiny. But if I polish it - if it could happen at all that I could polish it to absolute perfectness - then it would still be weird, because I don't think or put together sentences the same way. I'm pretty sure, either native speakers do that...

But I accept help. If you spot any typos or mistakes, unclear sentences, stuff like that, please please please, write me, politely - if you can keep in mind that last part, that's my only request towards anyone, really. I might have just overlooked that typo during my numerous editing, because my mind most probably drained out that point to spot that, but I try. I'm not against correction. At all. I'm open to learn, I'm open to any suggestions. Any kind. How to structure sentences, when to cut those, what's the correct way for that to do. Anything, really. I try to learn too from reading others, but that can't be enough, you see. I'd be glad to hear how to fix my writing if you have advices to share with me - don't be afraid to do that. I always try to be better, to develop it all time.

Back to the point, the last chapters for WTPH are something that if once I get into, I know I won't have energy to do anything else. It would be hard. Actually, a part from the end that came to my mind first when I started to write the whole. I took the question 'okay, but how?'. And I answered it, and again, questions after questions, until I reached the point where the first chapter begins. Along the way, other questions appeared, chapter after chapter, things to add, but it was always an end scene to reach, a concept, a what-if. I want to do it properly.

I'm purposely and unconsciously too distance myself to work on it, knowing I have to get into that deeply to give out everything as it deserves to be written. And if I do that, it will drain me out. Also it would be a hard time too, getting back into the characters mind, how they think, what they know, connection to the others... I'm not just talking about Dan, Danny, Jazz or Vlad. I'm talking about the past. Yes, like how Dan was thinking previously, towards Vlad for example, before he came to Danny's time. What was the point that started to make him... else. Mostly you must know (or suspect) it already, but so far those were just hints or theories from each characters, not proven points. Nothing is true so far, only ideas. (But I have to confess, I mentioned everything even in the earliest chapters that was later recalled many times - but still, I'm sure those were not taken seriously, or something that could be important.) So, now, beyond having a hard time to get back to it, I have to close everything, make sense to things, keeping in mind, who knows - thinks - what... It is not easy. It feels to be looking o to climb a mountains, knowing, I'd trip at the top at cliff, and fall endlessly over and over again. It will consume me, but at the same time I know I want to work on LoD, which has a prologue, connected to WTPH's end point... besides GG...

Even if I don't plan to get into the main line for GG until I finish with WTPH or the planned InvisoBang one - I definitely should figure out a title for that... - but I can't get into it much until it has its base. (I mean as it's main mystery could be lead back to the end of WTPH too.) The whole is a mess, I know.

(Side note: the right order will be WTPH - LoD - GG, but! LoD is only a detour in the way. And just as GG could be read independently from WTPH, LoD or GG could be read definitely independently from each. Even from WTPH, if you want to, because the main things would be mentioned anyway. But as I said earlier, for the ones who read WTPH, I would recommend finishing that first - or skip prologue.)

-- rambling about WTPH ends here --

So to cut it short - I guess I'm already late with that... - a planned schedule (for 2022) in summary:

- the mentioned above short ones (maybe the Damon one too, but that's okay to do that before starting to share LoD, after all, it contains a main point for that...)

- start to write the InvisoBang one (or just expand the current scribbled down plot points to make it easier to write it once I could sit down for it entirely)

- go back to WTPH, and finish it (it really got into me that someone saved it to read it first before GG, so I guess I can't delay it much further... besides I really want to start sharing LoD this year, sooo...)

- (at some point open up that document that plays after WTPH, and what I wrote last year this time... it's a short, but thankfully it is - mostly - ready)

- once WTPH is done (I'm not counting some BOTP ones, I know I have a few in mind, but that's not the main line, so it not as important to count with that), I will start sharing LoD, also start for real writing GG

For clarity, LoD and GG even though playing after each other, but once again, you don't have to wait out the end for LoD to start reading GG. Besides I will work on both at the same time, so... The only 'important' thing that connects somehow the two were already mentioned in 'Two Side Of A Dream Coming True'. Dan having sometimes 'dreams' about Dani will be only briefly mentioned in LoD. Technically, nothing else is important within the two story. As I said, LoD is rather a detour for Dan. He won't be in the focus either in that, one of the main characters yes, but not in the focus, either what happened in WTPH. It would be briefed at some point, but LoD wouldn't focus on that at all.

Aaand... I think I managed to write everything out of myself. Thanks for reading it if you reached this point! It meant to be only a summary for myself what to work on after what, and not forget it, and keep it in mind. But also I made it, if anyone would be interested what my near future plans are. :)