#echoes of vengeance spoilers

[galacticsabc]

Finished Shadowbringers so I'm obligated to draw Colbalt's Azem.

[lavellane]

very still, without reaching

(ashara lavellan x solas. 2250 words. post-solavellan ending. hurt/comfort. major veilguard spoilers. read on ao3)

The nature of her own regrets become apparent soon enough. Mostly, as they appear to her in the fade, they relate to her regretting so very little.

There are exceptions, of course. She and Solas pass them sometimes on long, silent walks together; small, ugly things carved into barren rock, almost impossible to catch in the shadow of Solas's own towering monuments of despair. But they are there, and Ashara can always sense them before she sees them. Her least favorite recurrence pertains to a rock she threw at some shemlen farmers when she was a girl. They had returned later in the day, but they could not distinguish the difference between Dalish vallaslin , and so chose to take out their vengeance on the whole of her clan, instead. 

They had never truly forgiven her. Of all the statues of contrition this place has manifested over the months they've been here, this is the one she can't yet bring herself to face.

But there are, unexpectedly, great works of beauty here, too. Oftentimes she sees herself and Solas carved into the cliff faces, or jutting out of canyons. Old echoes of embraces, stolen kisses, intertwined fingers. She suspects their prison doesn't quite know what to do with these complicated memories, but it does its best to use them against her even so. She had regretted those moments once, after all. Or at least she thought she had. Her time in this place offers an alternative school of thought; that she had never truly regretted the choices leading her down this dinan'shiral of theirs, but rather the heart of her shame is more that she could never truly bring herself to regret them at all.

Once the fade understood this, it course-corrected. Now if she sees those statues at all, it is because she wants to.

Solas has made little progress. It is harder for him, with his regrets so numerous and so at odds with his ego. On a good day he makes her worst mistakes look infinitesimal by comparison. Sometimes he disappears for days on end, wandering aimlessly, pulled one way or another by the compass of his guilt alone. When he returns, as he always does, he says nothing, only holds her very tightly and does not let go.

In all the months (or perhaps even longer) that they've been here, they have spoken very little. More time is needed before either one of them is ready to face that looming conversation. For now, quiet comfort takes priority. For now, sex suffices. For now they sit on the edge of yawning chasms for hours on end, watching the shifting rocks, the starless skies, the shadows in mournful, flittering dance at the edge of their vision, and find solace through a tender silence in which no words are yet necessary. And when he begins to get it in his head that perhaps they are necessary, she stops him with a long, languid kiss until she feels those worries melt away between them.

It is a terrible place he's built, but it is not so terrible facing it together.

And it gets easier still. The nature of the Evanuris' prison was always to contain the regrets of beings who thought themselves gods, but she is not a god, and neither is he. Her regrets are not so insurmountable to overcome, given time, and soon, slowly, she finds the world around her starts to mirror the world inside her. At first, a singular star in the sky. Then, below it, a wisp of elfroot growing between the crack of a barren rock. The fade cannot be mapped by mere cartography or magic, but a learned mage can always find their way with enough discipline. And Ashara was, before stepping through that final rift, a very learned mage.

When Solas departs on his lonely journeys, she cultivates the place in secret. She was never one for dishonesty, and so it's the only real secret she has. She shapes the space sporadically over many months in the image of her late mother's patch of camp among their clan. With some . . . creative liberties here and there. The tent is warm and green like her mother's was, but with all the ample space and utility (and — admittedly — luxury) she had grown accustomed to over her many years as the Inquisitor. Some ugly shemlen cottage wouldn't do, and she never had a full night sleep in her Skyhold quarters, anyway.

She dreams up the smell of incense, and many multicolored rugs, and a bed that's warm but not too soft. Books; a table with two chairs; a big bathtub to share. The small fire pit in the centre might have burned the whole tent down around her were it abiding by the laws of the physical world, but it does not. It abides her.

The hardest part was the damned trees. Several times she nearly lost everything, locked in a seemingly endless standoff against the will of the very prison itself. But Solas made this place to contain monsters, and Ashara need only remind herself that she is not one. She never was. Whether the magic of this place recognises that — or if she truly did best the fade by sheer audacity alone — she couldn't really say. All she knows is that one day the trees stood tall — leafless but very much alive — as if they'd been there all along, and her impossible little clearing was all but complete.

"I've found a place I think you ought to see," she tells Solas soon after, reunited in their usual spot after several long days apart.

He seems especially exhausted this time around. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and breathes deeply. "Then I am yours to guide, as you see fit." 

He clings tightly to her hand as she leads them on, aided by the lonely light of her beloved star. Samahl , as she's come to calling it — named after her nephew. Solas would see Samahl too if he ever looked up, but he keeps his eyes defiantly low, avoiding the overhead statues of a handsome, crumbling man with Mythal's vallaslin , whose wounded gaze seem to follow Solas wherever he goes.

He will find it in himself to meet those eyes one day, a long time from now. In the meantime she lifts her head to the sky for both of them, and presses onward through the gloom.

He stops short when he sees the clearing of trees in the distance, bordered by infinite wasteland. Ashara squeezes his fingers with her own and urges him forward. "Come."

"That . . . cannot be."

"It is. Come."

Soon the cracked earth beneath their feet sprouts small, unassuming blades of grass. The riverbed they pass remains as dry as bone, but carries the unmistakable smell of wet earth after recent rain. Closest to the centre of the clearing, Ashara herself notes leaves on trees that were not there the day before. 

Solas's brow furrows, and he makes a strange noise when they reach the point where the grass is most concentrated. As it exists now, the grass is too patchy to be called a meadow, and yet it grows strongest and greenest in a perfect circle around her little tent as if it were the sun itself, nourishing by proximity. 

The tent glows faintly, lit up by the hearth and candlelight within. But it is a strange glow, which seems to extend to the whole of the outer clearing, cutting through the endless mist and shadow. For months her world has been a haze of muted gray and monochromes. This space, by comparison, bears a subtle vibrancy she might've missed if she hadn't grown so used to its absence.

The violets of his eyes are clearly visible for the first time since they arrived, shining as they scan about the clearing. "How can it be that I feel you so vividly in this place?" he finally whispers, incredulous.

"I made it," she says. "It's mine. Will you come with me a little further? I didn't bring us here to watch grass grow."

She had hoped he might at last be baited into a smile, or a sultry retort, but he only frowns at her with those same sad, uncertain eyes, and takes her hand once more. 

"It's much larger inside," she says. "Come."

"As you say."

He has to duck his head to slip inside the tarp, but the interior is as large and spacious as promised. Her fire bathes the walls in bright flickering hues of yellow and orange, and Ashara watches him give an involuntary shiver of pleasure as its warmth passes over and through him. It's a nice sight. Her pyromancy has inspired no shortage of pain and terror over the years, but in truth, it was always watching the relief of her companions faces when she warmed their soup in midwinter that had made her feel the most accomplished. 

Maybe she could dream up soup next? There are several potted plants next to her little bed. Elfroot and crystal grace, and some others even she doesn't recognise. Not quite right for soup, and yet . . . Had she put those there? Or has this dream of hers now taken a life of its own? She ponders as much, settling in amid her thick fur blankets, waiting for Solas to compose himself.

"I made this place for you as well," she tells him when he makes no move to join her.

He shakes his head despairingly. "No."

"What?" Ashara scowls. " Yes ."

"No."

" Yes ."

"This cannot be, Ashara," he snaps. "The very will of this domain is such that —"

"I don't know what to tell you. I outwilled it."

He scoffs. "The greatest tyrants of the Evanuris could not outwill it."

"I am not the Evanuris. Neither was your little bird friend, and she flew free."

"That is different. Rook had —" 

He stops himself. For a moment he looks briefly shocked, as if struck. And then his features settle. Lips pressed tight, eyes down. He seems impossibly small inside this place, and not just because it's bigger on the inside. The light doesn't touch him quite so eagerly as it touches everything else. His very presence in her room casts a long, misshapen shadow which seems to crawl unnaturally across the floor, cutting through the glow of her fire until it's very nearly pooled at her feet. 

A chill follows. 

" Varric ." Ashara holds his gaze in silence until he looks at her. "Deiadre had Varric ."

Beside her, a candle flickers. "Yes."

Ashara reminds herself: his regrets made this place. They unmade Skyhold, and nearly the world itself. They will do worse to them both now, if she allows it. 

"She had Varric, Solas."

Even in the rapidly dimming light, she can make out the unsteady rise of his chest. "She had Varric," he echoes.

"And you have me."

Solas's face falls. But then the room brighten. A little. 

He lets out a long, unsteady breath and closes the distance between them. Her little wooden bed creaks under his weight. She shifts the blankets to better drape over his broad shoulders, and he reaches out in turn, hesitating before resting his hand on her thigh. He leans down to press a kiss to the gooseflesh raised on her clavicle, courtesy of the lingering chill.

"That you would offer such a thing at all is more a testament to you than any clemency I've not earned," he murmurs against her collar. He tilts his head up as if to look upon the room, though his gaze remains soft and steadily focused on her. "This is a gift, asha'era. I did not mean to undermine your efforts, or the feat of having made this. It is perfect, just as you are. But it may not survive my presence."

"Why not? I did." 

Now Solas looks away. She cringes; inhabiting the fade has done nothing to improve her eloquence. Quickly she continues, "But even so; if it does not, we'll just have to get over it and bring it back come morning."

"And do you think you'll feel the same a dozen centuries from now? Perpetually warring with my regret?"

"I know which side I'd place my bets in a fight between regret and love."

If he has a retort for that, he's wise enough to keep it to himself.

Time in the fade passes imperceptibly. Surely their kiss lasts days, and what comes after even longer. The candles are less a gauge for the passing minutes but instead the strength of her resolve when his own doubts creep in. When the light flickers, when the incense sours, when the wind outside picks up to a roaring howl; then she focuses her efforts. Her fingers scraping down his chest, a well timed roll of the hips, a kiss with enough tongue to remind him how much he used to enjoy using his own. And still does, apparently.

In the morning — or what, at least, finally feels like morning — the trees have dried up and grass outside their tent is dead. But the tent itself is warm as ever and the air outside feels crisp and fresh and, above her, if she squints, she can make out the faint but ever-present glint of her Samahl in the sky. 

The grass will grow back. She will see to it . . .

. . . Tomorrow. This morning, she would sooner crawl back into bed and see to other things.

[nydescynt]

Thematic Analysis of Hades II: Why You Can Never Go Home

(At some point I might make a video on this, but for now sharing my thoughts via textpost. Spoilers ahead!)

So the text of the story of Hades and Hades 2 are Zagreus breaking out of the House, and Melinoë breaking in.

But the wild thing (and the reason Hades 2 is much more interesting to me) is that both games actually have almost inverted themes from that text. Zagreus is intent on uniting a household; Melinoë is discovering the home she's fought to return to is rotten to the core.

Zagreus, despite his entire textual goal being to leave his home and family, is narratively & thematically working to bring the family and household together. His mother comes back and is reunited not just with him but her husband, mother, and entire extended family. Achilles and Patrocles, Orpheus and Eurydice, Asterion and Theseus: Hades is a story of people metaphorically coming home and making peace with where they are (Sisyphus, Thanatos, Orpheus). Everyone basically gets a happy ending, credits roll, problems all resolved or en route to be solved. Everyone is home.

(Important to note: we never see a human in the first game. We see shades, and gods, and monsters, and the closest you get to a mortal living thing is the satyrs. This is a story concerned with the realm of the gods.)

In contrast, Melinoë has no home - besides being estranged from her childhood home, she literally lives in a tent. In case the theme was too subtle, presumably.

Now, she has been fighting her entire life to become powerful enough to return home and reclaim her family - that seems Zagreus-adjacent on its face. However, there isn't a home to return to- Hades is in shackles, the rest of her family trapped in time. At this point in Early Access, on both a metatextual & diegetic level she quite literally can neither make it to Mt Olympus or into Zagreus' room - she cannot go home, she cannot meet her family.

Consider the others: Odysseus' presence seems to tie into the idea of a long journey home, but this is an Odysseus who lived and died and now has other (inhuman) priorities. He loves them, but has no interest in reuniting with Penelope and Telemachus at this point. Nemesis dislikes her siblings, and is more concerned with the equal application of "justice" than whether it has any reforming effect. Narcissus and Echo eventually talk and part more amicably, but that's the best that can be said about their relationship.

Hecate refuses to be called Melinoë's mother: she will not distract from the "true" family that Melinoë has no memory of ever meeting.

Instead of Ares and Dionysus (enjoyers of chaos and least affected by the toxicity of the family in Hades 1) we have Hestia and Hephaestaus- a goddess who helped murder her father and a god constantly belittled by his own family. Their tense and frequently bitter interactions with the other Olympians are evocative of the central theme being explored: what if there isn't a home to go back to? What if your family is unforgivable? (What if you want to forgive them anyways? What if you need to?)

This theme is why Arachne is in the game, and Athena is not: likeable, first-helper-of-Zagreus Athena turned Arachne into a spider out of petty anger. How do you reconcile that?

Moros (lovely, kind Moros, who gushes at Odysseus like a fanboy) and his sisters the Fates did horrible things to mortals out of boredom. The same mortals whose bodies you can see stacked up like cordwood in Ephyra, who you repeatedly claim you are fighting to protect from Chronos. Moros can neither confirm nor deny that the current events could have been set in motion by the Fates. How do you reconcile that?

Polyphemus raises sheep. He genuinely loves and cares for them, is protective of them. He also eats them, and is confused when Melinoë implies a contradiction.

How can you love someone and be willing to kill them? For survival? For fleeting satisfaction? For vengeance?

Is Chronos' willingness to eat his children so morally heinous that it makes him worse than every cruelty the gods have wrought? Worse for who?

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Kaz and Wylan’s potential to become each other

Wow, you guys were a lot more excited about this than I was expecting! I made a post briefly mentioning this idea and it got way more attention that I was expecting, so as promised here is my explanation and I’ve tagged people who asked for it at the end :)

*WARNING: CONSTANT SPOILERS AHEAD*

Ok so the driving forcing of this comparison is rooted in the similarities of their characters and their backstories. Both of them lost a close family member, were abused by men with power over them, and experienced a form of ‘rebirth’ by nearly drowning in the Ketterdam canals. They also both experience disability; Kaz using a cane for a broken leg that didn’t heal correctly, and Wylan having severe dyslexia that prevented him from learning to read. A key difference that separates them, and arguably is a representation of the difference in the way their experiences have shaped their personalities as well, is that Kaz’s disability is a direct result of his chasing after vengeance, whereas Wylan’s disability was used as an excuse for his father to abuse him for what we as the reader see to be a minimum of eight years. (I’m assuming this because he is 16 in the book and was 8 when his mother ‘died’, which is the point that he describes he father to have “given up on him”)

I’m gonna quickly hop to parallels between Kaz and Pekka Rollins, bare with me I promise it’s relevant, which are quickly established as a key part of the novels. When Inej compares them, Kaz’s reply is “I don’t sell girls, I don’t con helpless kids out of their money” to which she gently responds “look at the floor of the Crow Club, Kaz”. Aside from this being the heartbreaking line that it is, it also does a very good job of highlighting their similarities and a similarity that they share with Jan Van Eck. When they meet the merch at the end of the first book they meet on an island called Vellgeluk, which is described as being popular with smugglers and slavers like those who kidnapped Inej. The other Crows are surprised Van Eck knows about Vellgeluk, but Kaz simply says “maybe he isn’t the upstanding merch he appears to be”. Great subtle foreshadowing for his double cross, and great establishment of the link between these three characters. In fact, Van Eck and Kaz echo each other more than you might think. Just as Kaz states “Greed bows to me, it is my servant and my lever”, Van Eck says “Yes, Chaos will come. And I will be it’s master”. In their first meeting, Van Eck accuses Kaz of murder and gambling with people’s lives, and in return Kaz points out that 1 in 5 of Van Eck’s ships will never return because they will sink or “fall prey to pirates”, so they are both doing the same thing, and that they both have the same motivations for this bloodshed: “profit”.

Now consider how often Wylan echoes Kaz, and therefore whether he echoes his father as well. They both have exceptional memories, Kaz’s being photographic/eidetic and Wylan being able to put words to music in his head to remember pages worth of infomation - this is even emphasised by Kaz being able to count cards when he gambles, saying “he could keep track of the game for up to three decks” and Jesper asking Wylan if he’d be able to apply “that trick to counting cards” to which he replies “probably. But I won’t”. They also both have impressive intellects, which could have placed them far higher up in the world than they’ve found themselves if it weren’t for cruel circumstances - Van Eck even comments on this, saying it angers him that Kaz has so much potential but does nothing with it. Then there’s their tendency to avoid being vulnerable. I think we too often overlook the fact that no-one knows Jan Van Eck hired two men to kill his son, not even Jesper, and that not even Inej knows what happened to Kaz on the Reaper’s Barge. Jesper believes that Wylan left his house as a result of his father’s abuse but that it was still his choice, and Inej has no information beyond “Pekka Rollins killed my brother” and the explanation of the con when Kaz faces off with Rollins in Crooked Kingdom. I genuinely believe that the biggest thing separating them is where they place blame for their situations. Kaz blames Pekka Rollins. Wylan actually blames himself.

Arguably, although he catalysed the events, if Rollins hadn’t conned Kaz and Jordie they still would have suffered in an almost identical way: they would both contract the Queen’s Lady Plague, they wouldn’t have enough money for both medicine and boarding, and Jordie would die. In that scenario Kaz would have still been left penniless and alone with nowhere to go, but he wouldn’t have had anyone to blame. In fact, he may have died as well because it’s really his drive for vengeance that makes him strive for survival. When he’s on the Reaper’s Barge he wonders if it’s worth trying to survive because there’s nothing waiting for him in the city, but then he realises that the chance of revenge is waiting for him, and that thought drives him to stay alive every day that follows. Without Rollins, Kaz probably would have blamed himself for Jordie’s death, and I’m backing that up with the singular moment when he’s first attacked by parem-high tide makers and has a brief “boy’s fear” that they are ghosts. He thinks, for a split second, that a ghost has come to kill him and what does he say? He says “Jordie had come for vengeance at last”. This is chapter three. We have no idea who Jordie is. With the limited information we had at the time and what we’d just seen happen to Big Bolliger, I assumed it was someone in Kaz’s gang that he had backstabbed and who has died because of what he did. But no. This single line leads me to wholeheartedly believe that Kaz blames Rollins, who realistically was only a small part of his suffering, quite so vividly to emotionally avoid blaming himself.

Wylan blames himself until around chapters 14 to 16 of Crooked Kingdom. His experiences with mental, emotional, and physical abuse have actively convinced him that his so-called ‘inadequacies’ caused a change in his father’s behaviour. But Wylan not being able to read didn’t magically turn Van Eck from a lucky family man into someone willing to try “specialists, tonics, beatings, [and] hypnotism” against his child. The fact is that Van Eck, like many abusers, is masterfully manipulative in everything he does. Wylan describes seeing his parents’ marriage as a happy one, but he also says “the argued all the time, sometimes about me. But I remember them laughing a lot too”. He’s quick to defend their relationship as if it isn’t supposed to be marred by argument and he lays blame on himself by suggesting that he was the root of their unhappiness. He also says that around Alys, Jan Van Eck becomes who he once was around Marya; a kinder, gentler man. I don’t think we’re meant to assume that he’s acting any differently with Alys in private right now, but I do think we’re meant to assume that he would have done down the line if he hadn’t been arrested (and presumably she filed for divorce). In chapter 14 of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan learns that his mother is still alive but that his father had her committed and declared insane so he could use it as grounds for divorce and marry Alys instead. And you know what happens? Wylan blames himself. He says, verbatim, to Jesper: “You don’t understand. It’s my fault”. He explains that Van Eck did this so he could have a “real heir”; because Marya produced a “faulty” child he needed a new woman to give him the child he wanted. That’s a messed up thing to think on so many levels, but Wylan doesn’t blame Van Eck because he is still being conditioned by his abuse. He and Kaz experienced different kinds of abuse, and Kaz wasn’t conditioned to blame anyone but his abuser, so that’s what he does. When Wylan does begin to blame Van Eck, he is immediately taken in by this same idea of revenge. Kaz says “you were angry. I needed you righteous” when explaining why he sent Wylan to St Hilde blind in chapter 16. Wylan was angry with his father before, but he wasn’t actively seeking vengeance. Now that he has a cause, someone other than himself to fight for? He tells Kaz “well, now you have me”.

Both of them have this potential to be fuelled by revenge or self-hatred, and although they go about it in different ways and lean towards different sides of the scale they are both balancing between those two extremes for the entire duology. Their past experiences have, and their future experiences could, tip them further either way but right now they are almost playing with the line.

Thank you so much if you’ve bothered to read this far, sorry for the long post but you did ask for an essay, so there you go. Tagging the people who asked - @kazooyay @mikasimaginairyworld @sunseeking-cyptid @moonlit-aura @alexplutoplanet @gandalfsmallnaturals @livsarthaven @goodomenstrack23 @origami-butterfly @flower-biatch @bookworm010307 @thesunniest @wherela @space-ace-thoughts @sixofbabycrows @antisocial-burrito

Sorry if I missed anyone!!!

[meanqueens]

potential hotd spoilers below

i beg your absolute pardon??? alicent hightower will OFFER UP her sons to rhænyra for her and helaena’s lives???????

“Queen Alicent demanded that one of Lucerys Velaryon’s eyes should be put out, for the eye he had cost Aemond.”

“Queen Alicent echoed him. “Nor will they spare my children,” she declared. “Aegon and his brothers are the king’s trueborn sons, with a better claim to the throne than her brood of bastards. Daemon will find some pretext to put them all to death. Even Helaena and her little ones. One of these Strongs put out Aemond’s eye, never forget. He was a boy, aye, but the boy is the father to the man, and bastards are monstrous by nature.””

“Queen Alicent had commanded Larys Clubfoot to learn [Blood’s] true name, so that she might bathe in the blood of his wife and children, but our sources do not say if this occurred.”

“None was allowed to disturb [Aegon II’s] rest, save his mother the Queen Dowager and his Hand, Ser Criston Cole.”

“Words of these plans soon reached the ears of the Dowager Queen, filling her with terror. Fearing for her sons, Queen Alicent went to the Iron Throne upon her knees, to plead for peace. This time the Queen in Chains put forth the notion that the realm might be divided; Rhaenyra would keep King’s Landing and the crownlands, the North, the Vale of Arryn, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the isles. To Aegon II would go the stormlands, the westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Rhaenyra rejected her stepmother’s proposal with scorn. “Your sons might have had places of honor at my court if they had kept faith,” Her Grace declared, “but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sweet sons is on their hands.” “Bastard blood, shed at war,” Alicent replied. “My son’s sons were innocent boys, cruelly murdered. How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?” The Dowager Queen’s words only fanned the fire of Rhaenyra’s wroth.”

^THAT is alicent hightower. if the leaks are true, whoever that is isn’t alicent hightower.

[notapradagurl7]

Unhealthy.

Franklin Saint x Black Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1,860k

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @wide-nose-and-wonderful @henneseyhoe @satoruya @westside-rot @keyera-jackson @sageispunk @beenathembo @blackerthings @playgurlxoxo @planetblaque @partygetsmewetter-x @vile-harlot

Summary: You and Franklin were inseparable until that one day when he killed Kevin, however you have a daughter with him. But you have a date tonight with Donovan.

Warnings: Use of AAVE, spoilers of season two, mention of violence, use of drugs, guns, threats, Mention of jail, toxic smut, gaslighting. slight choking, a furious, possessive Franklin, profanity, dirty talk, the reader is stressed out, use of the N-word. oral(fem receiving) fingering. Obsession.

—————————

You reached a breaking point and decided to end your relationship with Franklin after witnessing him kill Kevin, and this incident made it so you could no longer tolerate being in his presence or allowing your three-year-old daughter, Eden, to be near him. You had your daughter during the period leading up to Franklin's act of killing Kevin, and you made a sincere effort to protect her from his actions.

Franklin explained everything to you the best way he could but after watching it. It became too intense.

He informed you about Kevin's cousin conducting sales in Mexico and subsequently being brutally stabbed, the agent witnessing the entire incident during daylight at the park, and the presence of witnesses. Moreover, Kevin's sole motivation was seeking vengeance for his cousin.

At that moment, Franklin decided to handle things on his own. You and Leon swiftly caught hold of Franklin's arms, guiding him towards the backseat of the elegant deep green Cadillac. Meanwhile, Leon comfortably settled himself in the seat next to the driver.

You assumed control of the car and promptly drove away from the park, closing the car doors with Leon. Later on, Franklin was incarcerated and subsequently released, undergoing a complete transformation of character.

Even though you never inquired about it, you were aware that Franklin was a running a drug empire. He displayed traits of being clever, driven, and constantly sought out opportunities to generate more income, not solely for his benefit, but also for you and Eden.

Franklin occasionally came over for dinner to spend time with you and Eden, and these visits were generally enjoyable for him. He cherished seeing his little one, but on this particular night in question, you had plans for a date with Donovan. Fortunately, your mom was available to babysit Eden for the evening.

You called him on the phone before your date tonight.

“Hey, Franklin, there's something i've got to tell you.”

“What is it baby?"

“You can't come over for dinner tonight because i have a date." you said, trying to brace yourself for his reaction.

His face twisted in a furious glare with his harsh breath picking up, “What did you say?” he growled, his voice low with the rasp waltzing through your ears from the receiver.

"You think you can just replace me with another nigga? After everything we've been through?" he spat, his voice laced with venom.

“It’s not about replacing you, your obsession has got to stop.” you pleaded softly, your voice cracking a bit. You nervously twirl the phone

Franklin had an unhealthy obsession with you and wanted the two of you to get back together, he wanted to be a father to his daughter.

“Y/N you really think that Eden won't miss her father?”

“We can co-parent with Eden—”

“Fuck that co-parenting bullshit Y/N, Eden needs both of her parents in her life.”

“My mom is babysitting her—”

He slammed his fist against the counter, causing a loud thud to echo through the kitchen. You flinched as if you were in the kitchen with him.

“If you think for one second you can find someone better than me, you—”

“Fuck you Franklin Saint.”

“Ma, you're mine. You've always been mine.” he declared, his rasp hits your ears.

“I know what that nigga looks like Y/N, if you invite him to your—”

You hung up the phone, your heavy breathing echoing in the dimly lit kitchen as you swiftly rose from the chair.

There was no time to worry about Franklin; all that mattered now was preparing for your date with Donovan.

A gentle knock on the door caught your attention, your gaze fixed on the sleek black dress in the mirror and your hair styled in a curly bun on top with a curly bang in front of your face. Your rich midnight skin shone underneath the lights, You peeked through the peephole, you saw Donovan standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers.

He took a deep breath, and you tightened your grip on the doorknob. But before you could react, a sudden movement caught your eye. Franklin appeared, aiming a black pistol at the top of Donovan's head.

The sound of a gunshot filled the air, and blood splattered across the grass, staining the peephole. Your eyes widened in fear, your heart pounding in your chest. Donovan's lifeless body dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

"What the hell?" you whispered under your breath, Franklin called out for Peaches, his bodyguard.

You watched in shock as he cleaned up the blood, wiping the gun with a blue paisley bandana. Peaches swiftly seized Donovan's body and tossed it into the trunk of the car. He grabbed the gun from Franklin, he looked both ways, making sure that there wasn’t anyone outside, He settled into the driver's seat, Peaches sped away, the tires screeching echoing through the neighborhood.

Franklin knocked gently on your front door, as if the world hadn't just crumbled around you. With tear-filled eyes, you swung the door open, your voice trembling with anger and pain, "What the hell is wrong with you? Come inside."

You wiped away your tears as he crossed the threshold, his face devoid of any guilt or remorse for his actions.

It was clear that the mere thought of you finding comfort in someone else's arms was unbearable to him. Deep down, you knew that you couldn't allow yourself to fall in love again, not with the person he was slowly transforming into.

"Why can't you let me—?" His hands cradled your face, preventing any further words from escaping your lips. "Y/N, I’m the only one you should be with, nobody else.." he whispered, planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

His eyes locked onto yours as his fingers gently encircled your neck, his thumb pressing against your skin, not to harm you, but to feel the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"I don't need you, you're a different person now Franklin. Ever since that day—," you sighed, unable to bring yourself to utter another word. Your hand instinctively moved down your face, attempting to erase the painful memories that you wished to forget.

“Did you know how scared I was? After everything that happened. Look at me, after this. Let's co-parent for Eden, we’ll still have those dinners so you can see her okay?”

Franklin released a quivering exhale, his gaze piercing into the depths of your pupils, yet his love for you remained unwavering. He acknowledged that this fixation was far from healthy, but it stood as the sole possible choice for the two of you.

“Okay, you're right. can I get one last kiss before I go?” He asked softly, lifting your chin with his index finger.

Franklin stepped closer to you with a warm smile, the rasp in his voice made your clit throb and your heart did a backflip his face leaned into yours. His plump lips descended onto yours, this one last kiss would eventually turn into something more.

Next thing you know, you were gently tossed on the couch with your back slouching against the plush cushion, Frankin crouched between your legs and you gently turned you around as his fingers unbuttoned the back of your dress, your dress gracefully fell on the living green room rug, you slid your panties off your ankles and unhooked your bra.

Your legs were draped over his shoulders, his hands holding them firmly in place as he pecked your clit twice, “fuck..” you moaned softly, his tongue slithering across your wet folds, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he traced shapes on your clit lazily, “You're sure you don't need me? You're already so wet..” he mumbled, Your hips moved with his tongue, The vibration from his mouth made you shudder. His hands palmed your breasts with his tongue flickering on your nipple, Your heart swelled at his words.

Why did this moment feel both perfect and flawed simultaneously? You were about to feel the absence of Franklin, but only for the positive aspects of his character. Waves after waves of pleasure washed over you with your hand gripping on his small afro earning a groan from Franklin, “More..” you whined softly, begging for him. boosting his ego while his tongue rolled around your sensitive nub.

His fingers picked up the pace with precise, his low-lidded watched your folds clenched around his fingers, “It sounds like your pussy missed me.” he groaned deeply, the soft squelching sound sent him to the edge. Your gaze locked with his, your hips gently rolled against his fingers, filling you with a wave of bliss as his thumbs lovingly caressed your thighs, pecking your dark skin.

Your legs shaken in his hands, a rapid quivering that betrayed your excitement. your climax coursed through you like a bolt of lightning. "Oh fuck, Franklin!" you cried out, clutching the armrest tightly for support. A wave of tiny tingling sensations scattered across your body, catching you off guard.

"Let it go," he whispered softly, kissing your lips twice. Despite the regular dinner visits, he yearned to be more for you. the whole neighborhood heared you as you squirted on the rug, Franklin eagerly slurped and every drop.

You were too weak to move from the intensity of your orgasm but you grabbed a grey sweatshirt from last night, you slid on your sweatshirt and got up by your hands and knees, Franklin gently grabbed your by your arms. “You good Y/N?” He asked softly, his face softened at you in concern.

“Yeah, I'm good Frankie.” you panted, lying to your knees going weak at the sound of his voice.

Franklin stood up from his crouched position and lifted your chin to look at you with a warm smile, “I’ll see you on Monday night in your with Eden.” He said softly, his thumb swiped your cheek.

After that, you bid farewell to Franklin as you watched walked through the threshold of your front door. You closed the door behind him with slow caution. Your fingers turn the lock swiftly as your back leans toward the door with tears rolling down your cheeks in a happy yet still sad type of way.

You exhaled a shaky breath from your lips, knowing that you had to figure out a way to leave him and take your daughter with you. You had to leave right? There had to be another way but for now. You had to smile through the dinners with him as if everything was fine.

——————

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 2: Reunion

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content.

Instinctively, you drop into a crouch as your eyes scour the shadowy tree line. The scent of damp earth fills your lungs, mingling with the pungent, sickly-sweet aroma of powdered iron vine that clings to the air, a reminder of the Gur hunters lurking nearby. You can sense them, hidden in the murky gloom, yet all you see are dark silhouettes merging with the night.

The world around you is alive with the sound of rustling leaves and the distant call of nocturnal creatures, but your focus narrows. You move with practiced precision, each breath deliberate as you mentally catalogue potential hiding spots and escape routes. This alley, with its crumbling brick walls and tangled underbrush, could easily become your tomb.

You test your footing, grinding the toe of your boot into the soft earth. The recent rains have left the ground slick with mud, and you can feel the treacherous squish beneath your feet. One misstep could mean a tumble, a sound that would betray your position to the hunters closing in.

Your senses become razor sharp as the scent of powdered iron vine thickens. It’s almost suffocating, making your eyes water. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to concentrate. Then, as if the night is holding its breath, you begin to hear it—the rhythmic beating of hearts, thrumming like war drums. Squeezing your eyes shut, you count, straining to discern how many are trailing you.

One, two, three, four, five—six.

Fuck. Too many.

Kneeling behind an abandoned, overturned wagon, you feel the weight of dread settle in your gut. Your mind races through strategies, the adrenaline coursing through you like fire. A head-on assault would be suicide; these Gur are not only seasoned monster hunters but also fuelled by vengeance after the chaos in the temple beneath Szarr Palace.

They inch closer, methodical in their approach. You can feel the air grow heavy with their malice, the thundering resonance of their hearts providing a grim soundtrack to your predicament.

With a deep breath, you begin to move, keeping low to the ground, inching away from your hiding spot. An angled corner ahead offers a glimmer of hope—a chance for cover and, if you’re fortunate, an escape route. Your boots sink into the thick, gelatinous mud, each step producing a squelching sound that echoes like a death knell in the tense silence.

What had Astarion said? Roll your foot down, starting from the heel, one joint at a time. How many joints are in a foot, anyway? You scoff inwardly at the memory. He had attempted to teach you the art of stealth but deemed you hopeless when you struggled to improve your footwork after several lessons. The truth is, you hadn’t put in the effort you should have. The way his brow would furrow in frustration was both amusing and utterly adorable.

Maybe I should have taken those lessons more seriously.

Rounding the corner, you spot a dark figure standing at the fork in the path ahead, a hulking silhouette poised and ready. Your breath catches as more hunters emerge from the long grass, their expressions grim, eyes glinting with malice. The slow, muffled footsteps approaching from behind signal that you’re being herded, their strategy unfolding perfectly.

It’s no surprise they anticipated your movements; they’ve corralled you into this cramped alley, executing a trap with chilling precision. You feel the walls closing in, your options dwindling. Panic surges within you, a primal instinct screaming for flight.

Your gaze darts among your assailants, absorbing the tempest of loathing and disgust that saturates their crazed eyes. You can practically taste the acrid hatred in the air. To them, you are nothing more than an abhorrent monster to be eradicated. Their hearts pound wildly in their chests, a morbidly rhythmic cadence that only amplifies your rising fear.

Steeling yourself, you settle into a defensive stance, grounding your feet against the mud. You reach out to the Weave, inviting its familiar, comforting presence to envelop you. It flows through you like a warm embrace, saturating every fibre of your being, a soothing balm against the chaos around you. The palm of your hand warms as you prepare to cast, spells swirling through your memory, each one a reminder of your power and restraint.

But you’re not here to kill. The thought sends a wave of nausea through you. You refuse to become the monster they think you are.

“Impero tibi.” The words spill from your lips, infused with urgency.

The spell takes hold, and they crumple to the ground, sleeping soundly as a babe, giving you a crucial opening. The remaining hunters react instantly, hurtling themselves toward you with wild shouts of fury.

Speaking the words for Misty Step, you feel your body dissolve into a silvery fog just as a hunter lunges, his sword aiming for your heart. In an instant, you reappear atop a nearby roof, the cool night air brushing against your skin. A few of the hunters stumble back, momentarily taken by surprise at your sudden escape.

Seizing the opportunity, you cast a flurry of spells, incapacitating several hunters before they can regain their composure. You tread a fine line, careful not to kill, even as it complicates your ability to defend yourself. These hunters are victims too, just as you are in your misguided attempt to help Astarion reclaim the joy that was stolen from him long ago.

You shudder at the thought of the countless souls you’ve condemned to suffering, including the Gur's innocent children. You refuse to add more blood to the crimson tide you’re already floundering in.

No more unnecessary bloodshed.

A hunter lunges onto the roof, roaring with rage as he swings his blade. You barely manage to dodge, but the steel tip grazes your snowy skin, slicing a shallow gash diagonally across your chest. The metallic tang of blood fills the air—your blood—saturating the breeze with its coppery scent, a reminder of your vulnerability.

Snarling, fangs bared, you leap to the roof of a nearby small shack, desperate to put some distance between yourself and your pursuer. But as your boots thud against the worn wood shingles, you realize you’ve made a grave error. The shingles are rotten and unstable, shifting beneath your weight. You lose your balance, crashing to your knees as you claw at the splintered wood, searching for anything to grip onto. There’s nothing—just decay.

You tumble off the edge, hitting the boggy ground in a heap.

Before you can recover, the hunters seize you, yanking you to your feet and thrusting your back against the splintered wall of the dilapidated shack. The timber creaks ominously under the pressure, and a cold, razor-sharp dagger presses firmly against your neck. Panic surges through you as a scroll flickers and dissolves in the dim light of the low-hanging crescent moon, shadows dancing like wraiths.

You force yourself to focus, reaching for the Weave, but it eludes you, dissipating like mist in the morning sun. The putrid stench of powdered iron vine and sweat overwhelms your senses, twisting your stomach into knots.

Did they bathe in the stuff? Good Gods.

“Where is your master?” The lead hunter growls, eyes burning with fury.

Your what? Oh…

“I don’t know.” The words slip out, heavy with resignation. They won’t believe you, but it hardly matters; death is inevitable.

“Where is he hiding, spawn!?” The hunter barks, spittle flying from his lips.

Spawn. This is what the so-called hero of Baldur’s Gate has been reduced to.

You struggle against their grip, but their hold tightens, the faint tang of a Giant’s Strength potion lingering in the air around them. Trying to escape would be futile; they’ve prepared well, having hunted you with knowledge and intent. You shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Frustration bubbles over, and you bare your fangs. “Did I stutter? I said, I don’t fucking know!”

How long have the Gur been tailing you, hoping you’d lead them back to him? Why can’t they find him without you? In the last few weeks spent together, Astarion had barely concealed his identity; he was a man who turned heads wherever he went, his very presence a magnet for attention.

The truth lingers heavy in the air—these hunters, blinded by rage and vengeance, are drawing closer, and your time is running out.

Maybe he left Baldur’s Gate?

The thought strikes a mournful chord within your soul, echoing a bittersweet melody. There’s a small comfort in the belief that he is nearby, even if he remains unseen and untouched. On some nights, when the moon hangs high and the stars twinkle like distant candles, you gaze up and find solace in knowing he’s out there somewhere beneath the same vast cosmic canopy.

“Kill her. She either can’t or won’t give him up. She’s useless to us.”

The hunter nods, a ghoulish smile stretching across their face as they draw the stake from their hip. A strange wave of relief washes over you at the prospect of your own demise—no more fear, no more pain, no more gnawing hunger. It sounds so peaceful. Your eyelashes flutter as you close your eyes in resignation, preparing yourself for the final blow.

Will it hurt? You’ve never seen a vampire staked before. Is it a slow demise, like the sun devouring you layer by layer, or a quick end? Will there even be a body left behind, or will you simply burst into ash?

The whispering hiss of a blade being drawn reaches your ears just before one of the Gur holding you lets out a sharp yelp. Their fingernails dig painfully into your skin as their hand is wrenched from your arm.

“What was that?” The hunter shouts, breath ragged with confusion.

“I don’t know! I didn’t see any—” Their voice trails off, fading into a frightened murmur that dissipates into the gathering shadows.

You squirm, desperate to shake off the grip holding you against the wall. Panic surges through you as the remaining hunter lunges forward, stake aimed directly at your heart. Their eyes bulge with terror, darting about wildly. As the stake draws nearer, you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut.

A fitting end to my sad story, if nothing else.

Suddenly, a gust of cool air sweeps across your face, and the force pinning you to the wall is yanked away. You stagger forward, arms flailing as you strive to regain your balance.

What in the Hells?

Your eyes snap open in astonishment. Silvery moonlight spills over alabaster skin, illuminating the chiseled features of Astarion’s face. A gentle breeze carries the all-too-familiar fragrance of him, sending your heart racing.

He grips the hunter by the neck, lifting them off the ground with an effortless grace. The hunter kicks and thrashes, desperation written all over their contorted face. Rasping gurgles escape their throat as Astarion tightens his hold, slowly squeezing the life out of them.

“Please, don’t!” you whimper, panic lacing your voice.

Crimson eyes flash in the moonlight, locking onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. Gods, he’s even more beautiful than you remember.

He sneers at you for just a moment before closing his eyes, cocking his head slightly, as if bracing himself for something painful. In a fluid motion, Astarion hurls the Gur into the wall with a resounding thud. The hunter collapses, unconscious but alive, their body a crumpled heap at the base of the shack.

You finally exhale a shaky breath of relief, but it’s short-lived. A searing pain radiates from your abdomen, sending muddled black orbs dancing in your vision.

Looking down, you see the stake protruding ominously from your side. The hunter didn’t hit their mark, but they hadn’t completely missed, either. A tightness constricts your chest as panic begins to rise.

Without thinking, you yank the stake free. It tears from your body with a sickening squelch, leaving a gaping wound behind. Blood pools around your feet, the sticky warmth soaking into the ground. The stake slips from your trembling fingers, clattering to the floor.

You press your palm against your side, glancing up to meet Astarion’s gaze as your vision starts to narrow.

“… Astarion?”

Dizziness washes over you like a tide, and your knees buckle. The last sensation you register is Astarion’s arms wrapping around you, his voice a sweet melody before darkness envelops you.

Awareness flickers in and out like a candle caught in a draft as you slowly begin to regain consciousness. Your eyelashes flutter, and a herculean effort is required to pry your eyes open. They feel weighted, as though shackled to your skull, and part sluggishly. Blurred shapes loom in the dimness, twisting and undulating in rhythm with the relentless pounding in your head.

Where am I? What in the Nine Hells happened? Focus… I need to focus.

A nauseating drumming reverberates between your ears, making concentration an uphill battle. Vague snippets of memories begin to surface, clasping together piece by piece, the jagged edges of recollection cutting into your thoughts.

Shadowheart.

    The forest.

                                          Hunger—all-consuming, insatiable hunger.

          The sickly-sweet scent of powdered iron vine.

                         The Gur.

Dismay floods through you, a tidal wave of panic, and you leap from the confines of the large, four-poster bed. Agony radiates from your side, searing through your nerves like fire, igniting each fiber of your being. Your legs buckle beneath you, knees colliding painfully with the chilled floor. Trembling, you grit your teeth, fighting back a cry as the stabbing pain momentarily overwhelms you. As the agony subsides, your vision begins to sharpen, the chamber gradually coming into focus.

No... No, it can’t be...

A handful of candles flicker, casting a warm glow that struggles to penetrate the oppressive darkness. The room is grand, lavishly decorated with opulent furnishings, yet it feels emptier than a hollow echo. Despite the extravagance, you would recognize this place anywhere.

The Crimson Palace.

Pushing yourself off the floor demands more effort than you’d like to admit, leaving you lightheaded and disoriented. Chilly air caresses your skin, and it dawns on you that you’re clad only in undergarments, bandages snugly wrapped around your chest and side. A hot flush of embarrassment erupts within you, rising like a rogue wave. If your skin could redden, you’re certain you’d be as crimson as Karlach.

Your eyes scan the room, landing on a clean robe laid out neatly on a nearby chair. Grateful for the modesty it offers, you slip it on, the fabric soothing against your skin. The floorboards creak underfoot as you clumsily attempt to tiptoe toward the closed door, your heart racing with a mix of anxiety and determination.

I really should have been a better student.

The door hinges emit a soft whimper as you carefully ease it open. Peeking through the small crack, relief washes over you to find the adjoining hallway devoid of any lurking threats. You step forward cautiously, each footfall a delicate negotiation with the ever-present faintness that caresses the edges of your consciousness, making your balance precarious. The faded wooden floorboards groan beneath you, their voices a mocking chorus to your struggle.

Voices drift into earshot as you approach the end of the hallway, starting as a distorted murmur before sharpening into clarity. Instinct howls within you, urging you to flee, but you recognize that voice.

Shadowheart.

“She’s coming home with me!” Shadowheart bristles, her tone laced with tangible agitation.

Astarion’s voice, in contrast, is a velvety dulcet that sends shivers down your spine. “Don’t be foolish. She’s not safe with you, nor are you with her.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me to just... just leave her here with the likes of you?! Did the ritual rob you of your intelligence as well as your soul, Astarion?”

“Come now.” His words are honeyed, draped in a beguiling tone you know all too well. “Don’t play stupid, my dear. The Gur will stop at nothing to capture and kill her. She’s not safe with you any longer. Surely, you want what’s best for her, don’t you? I can keep her safe.”

“Safe?” Shadowheart snorts, exasperation clear in her voice. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

A flicker of anger flashes across Astarion’s features, and he slams his fist onto a nearby desk, the echo reverberating through the air. “She had a choice!” He snaps defensively, voice tinged with a desperation that pulls at your heart.

“Tell yourself whatever lies you wish, Astarion.” Shadowheart’s smirk is triumphant, clearly relishing the effect she has on him. “It doesn’t change the facts.”

“Do shine your divine illumination on these ‘facts’ for me,” he retorts, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

Her eyebrow arches, clearly unfazed. “Now who’s playing stupid?”

The tension crackles in the air like electricity, and you inch closer, straining to hear more, heart racing at the thought of being the center of this escalating confrontation.

You try to make sense of it all, but the haze of confusion still clings to your mind. A mix of dread and hope churns in your stomach as you weigh your options. You could burst into the room, confront Astarion, and demand answers. Or you could slip back into the shadows and hope for an opportunity to escape.

But Shadowheart. You cannot leave her here with him. “She stays!” Astarion growls, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder, threatening to unleash a storm.

Shadowheart plants her feet firmly, hands on her hips, projecting defiance as boldly as a lioness defending her cubs. “Over my dead body.”

“Well…” Astarion’s fingers glide to his chin thoughtfully, a sly smile creeping across his lips like shadows in a dimly lit room. “Why didn’t you say so? That can certainly be arranged.”

They’re so engrossed in their escalating quarrel that they fail to notice you standing in the wide archway of the study, a silent observer caught in the undercurrents of their tension.

It’s hard to believe we were all friends once.

“Will you two give it a rest? Good Gods!” You interject, frustration bubbling to the surface like boiling water.

Startled, their heads snap towards you in unison, like two predatory beasts drawn to an unexpected sound. Shadowheart’s eyes widen, flooding with relief at the sight of you. She rushes forward, arms enveloping you in a gentle hug that feels both comforting and disconcerting. Your thoughts whirl with the troubling temptation to bite her. Your body stiffens uncomfortably, fists clenching as your nails dig deep into your palms, battling the appalling desire to sink your fangs into her lovely, tender neck.

I won’t do it. I won’t!

Shadowheart notices your discomfort almost instantly and releases you, stepping back with her hands raised in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I forget myself.”

You muster a tight smile, but it feels fragile. “It’s okay.”

Astarion’s voice cuts through the moment with unsettling bluntness. “You’re bleeding all over my new rug,” he remarks, his tone aloof, lips pursed in faux disapproval. “Again.”

“What?”

His gaze drifts down to your midsection, and following his stare, you see a wet maroon stain blossoming on the front of your robe. Blood drips onto the plush rug from the hem, swaying around your ankles like a dancer caught in a mournful waltz.

Shadowheart digs into her bag, her movements quick and purposeful, and tosses you a healing potion. “Your wounds were too dire for me to heal completely, I’m afraid.”

You grimace as you bring the vial to your lips, the syrupy liquid sliding down your throat like molten tar. Healing potions, like all potions, have never been particularly palatable, but since your transformation into a spawn, everything tastes like ash—except for blood, of course.

As the potion begins to take effect, the pain blissfully recedes, settling into a dull throb, but it doesn’t completely vanish, lingering like an unwelcome guest. You cringe as you swallow the last drops, the sickly-sweet residue clinging to your tongue. “How did you find me?”

Shadowheart glances back at Astarion, who stands casually, arms crossed, exuding an air of boredom that belies the danger lurking just beneath his surface. Your bewilderment must be evident on your face.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling,” he drawls, amusement dancing in his eyes like flickering candle flames. “I am more than capable of seeking out assistance when I choose. I am many things, but a healer is not one of them.”

Shadowheart shakes her head, rolling her eyes with a huff. “I was as surprised as you are when he showed up. I very nearly plunged a stake through his ribs right then and there.”

“You would have died in the attempt,” he replies nonchalantly, a dark, malicious smile spreading across his face like the encroaching shadows of dusk.

Blazing with the red-hot fury of the Hells, Shadowheart glares at him, her eyes sharp enough to slice through steel. He revels in the discomfort he creates, the snicker of delight escaping his lips like a snake uncoiling.

Despite her fiery demeanor, exhaustion clings to Shadowheart like a heavy cloak. Dark, puffy bags form beneath her eyes, betraying the sleepless night she’s endured—likely spent tending to you while enduring Astarion’s endless taunts. You can’t help but want to pull her away from him, away from the danger that lies coiled within his charm. He doesn’t take kindly to being challenged, and those who dare often find themselves facing dire consequences.

Your defiance has earned you many nights in the kennels during the months you’ve lived here; you were never as obedient as he expected you to be.

“You look exhausted, Shadowheart.” You wield your silver tongue, hoping to persuade her to leave. It’s the only way you can think of to ensure her safety. “You should go home and rest.”

Her brows knit together, a slight furrow marring her otherwise determined expression, jaw clenching as she glances between you and Astarion. The apprehension in her gaze is palpable; she’s afraid to leave you alone with him.

I’m scared, too.

You try to mask the fear gnawing at you, plastering on the most soothing smile you can muster, though it feels like a frail mask over a tempest. “I’ll be right behind you.”

If he allows me to leave.

She sighs heavily, the sound escaping her lips like a soft autumn breeze rustling through fallen leaves. “Fine, but I expect to see you later, and if I don’t…” Her voice trails off as she turns to Astarion, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a thundercloud ready to burst. “I’ll kill you, Astarion, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“It would definitely be the last thing you attempt,” he replies, a smirk dancing on his lips, delighting in her threats as if they were the finest of wines. He bows shallowly, a mockery of elegance. “It was lovely seeing you again, flower.”

With a final exasperated grumble, Shadowheart stalks down the hall, her silhouette disappearing like a flickering candle in the wind, leaving you alone with Astarion, whose gaze settles on you with a hawkish intensity. It feels like the weight of his stare could crush stone, and you shuffle your feet under his probing glare, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

He is truly a sight to behold. The yellow candlelight flits and flickers in the deep scarlet hue of his irises, casting an almost otherworldly glow that seems to dance in tandem with the shadows lurking in the corners of the room. Astarion holds himself with an elegant confidence, each movement precise, commanding attention like a maestro conducting a symphony. It’s no wonder so many unfortunate souls have met their grim fate after making the mistake of falling for him, mesmerized by his masterfully executed masquerade.

Just as I did.

But as you look at the man standing before you, there is something hauntingly different about him. Astarion’s face is still as beautiful as you remember, every sharp angle and delicate curve accentuated by the warm flicker of candlelight, yet it feels as if you’re gazing at a reflection warped by rippling water. His eyes, once cold and calculating, are now emotive, shimmering with a depth of red that speaks of hidden desires and unspoken, you almost can’t even think the word, but you think you see pain. They draw you in like a moth to a flame, stirring a mix of longing and dread within you.

You squint, trying to reconcile the familiar with the unfamiliar. What happened to him? This man looks like Astarion—his tousled silver hair catching the light like spun moonbeams, his smile still bearing that tantalizing hint of mischief—but there’s an unsettling softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. It’s as if the polished façade he once wore with such confidence has cracked, allowing glimpses of something more raw and vulnerable to seep through.

A flicker of confusion dances in your mind. Could this truly be the same man who had once held you in thrall, locked you in your room, took you to the kennels like a naughty pup? The differences are subtle yet profound, like shadows shifting in the corners of your vision.

You find yourself captivated yet cautious, drawn to the complexity that now envelops him. Is this the Astarion you knew, or is it merely a mirage crafted by your own desperate hopes? Your heart races, a tumultuous storm of emotions swirling within. What lies beneath this surface? There’s perhaps a flicker of emotion portrayed in his features, a glimmer of humanity peeking through the cracks of his polished façade.

Questions tumble through your thoughts, each one heavier than the last. It’s as if you’re looking at a masterpiece that has been altered—brush strokes of pain and longing layering over the vibrant colours of charm and seduction. As he inches closer, the familiar tension electrifies the air, yet it feels different, charged with a vulnerability that leaves you off balance. The sweet, bitter scent of nostalgia lingers between you, and for a moment, you wonder if you can reach out and touch the remnants of the past, or if it will only burn your fingertips.

With a deep breath, you swallow the uncertainty, your heart caught in a net of intrigue. Who is he now, really?

Even though fear runs like drifting ice through your veins, you find his presence oddly comforting. You desire nothing more than to run into his arms, to feel the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a protective cocoon, safe from the horrors of the world outside.

How many nights alone did you spend, tears slipping silently down your cheeks like raindrops on a windowpane, missing him? You prayed to any God who might listen, longing for him to knock on your door, to reclaim you from the abyss. How often did you dream of running back to him, begging for his love like a lost child seeking solace?

Too many. Far too many nights spent in childish fantasies that twisted like vines around your heart.

This isn’t my Astarion—not anymore.

A mournful sigh escapes your lips, thick and heavy as you swallow the lump in your throat, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill like raindrops from a stormy sky.

“Positively elated to see me, I see,” Astarion purrs, his voice deep and alluring as he takes a step closer, closing the distance.

You instinctively take a step back, the instinct to flee clashing violently with the yearning to run into his arms. It’s an odd sensation, this simultaneous pull towards him and away from him, as if you’re trapped in a web of conflicting emotions. Astarion raises his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence, his expression momentarily shifting to one of remorse, but it vanishes so quickly that you question whether it was ever real or merely a trick your mind conjured in its desperation.

“Why?” Your voice emerges as a barely audible, timid whisper.

His brows knit together in confusion, a frown etching lines into his flawless skin. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Why what?”

“Why save me?” The question hangs in the air, heavy and laden with uncertainty.

Astarion leans forward slightly, curiosity mingling with something darker in his gaze. “Would you have preferred the alternative, darling? Should I have just let those vile Gur put you down?”

“Yes,” you say bleakly, the word falling from your lips like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of disbelief through the room.

There had been a serene kind of peace in that thought, a whispered promise that your suffering would finally end. It would have been a merciful reprieve from the nightmare you are trapped in, an escape from the swirling chaos of your life.

His eyes widen, surprise etching itself across his features, the shock hitting him like a blow. A wave of disquiet washes over him, and he straightens, staring at you as if seeing a ghost. He seems uncertain how to respond, and a torrent of almost imperceptible emotions flicker across his face in rapid succession, each one a fleeting glimpse of the turmoil beneath his carefully constructed mask. But as quickly as they appear, they vanish, replaced by the cold stone veneer he wears so expertly.

“You die when I let you.”

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

[lumi077]

Imagine.

A/N: Two posts in a day? the boredom caught up to me, and the words spewed out. Some short and sweet angst to welcome season two

Warnings: Canon HOTD incest (though no mention of it really), angst, implied reader death, character death, mourning, animal cruelty (free the dragons yall), slight comfort in the beginning that just fucking disappears, no real romance in this one. brief eludes to NSFW but very brief, fem reader, reader had a baby (Visenya), spoilers

Imagine grieving with Rhaenyra. You’re both mothers, birthed your own children. The marks of the battle shone brightly upon your bodies, widened hips and marks of stretched flesh on your once flat stomachs. You found more children in each other’s wombs, giving each other and your other half a bigger family than just one could have produced. 

But now, your family is lacking one child. A son, an adored little boy with brown hair and eyes, dimples, the cutest smile in all the seven kingdoms. He wasn’t just a second son in your found family, he was your little boy. You may have not birthed him, or been present in the act like you were with Aegon and Viserys’s creation. But he was just as much yours as he was Rhaenyra’s or Daemons. 

Holding her in the nights she would come back unsuccessful, no closer to finding the mangled body of your baby or his small dragon. Your arms tight around her waist, letting her face reside against your neck where you felt every sob that wracked from her body and ricocheted onto yours. No sleep would find any of you that night.

Imagine grieving with Daemon. You could never let yourself cry with your wife, needing to be strong so the queen could be strong. But your husband, normally so gruff, wrapping his arms around you late at night. Rhaenyra was asleep, her breaths even and you wonder if she’s dreaming about Luke. 

He whispers against your skin, letting your pieces break for the first time since the raven carried the news all the way to dragonstone. Your sobs break him more, taking pieces of his heart with every heart wrenching wail against his skin. But he takes it, knows you need this or you’ll go down a dark path. His need for vengeance and repayment quelled with the watery look of your eyes. Your watered pleas for him to stay when you feel his body tense against your own breaking his resolve as he whispers a soft “of course” against your hair. 

Imagine grieving with Jace. Your eldest boy looks so much like his brother it’s both a pain and a comfort all wrapped in one. Seeing him as he returned from Winterfell, your arms aching to wrap around him. And they do. You coo to him, running your fingers through his hair like you wished to do with Luke. He cried into your shoulder, broken cries of promised revenge echoing against your misery-stained skin. 

You didn’t cry then, letting your baby take off his misery and place it onto you. You had to be strong, uplift your family in the way only a mother could do. Your comforting hands brought the sweetest comfort with every touch, lulling Jace into a state that he could face his other mother. 

You let them cry together, bonding more in their shared grief. 

Imagine having to explain to your littlest ones that their big brother won’t be coming home. You were the only one who could sit down little Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya and try to explain the worst tragedy imaginable, a mothers worst nightmare come true. That they won’t see him for years and years, but that he’ll be there waiting for them. Comforting their saddened cries, and you felt like you were drowning in sorrow. 

Imagine comforting Rhaena as the news that her betrothed was murdered by their uncle reached the keep. Her cries hurt the worst, leaving scars that would never fade. She wasn’t yours either, but in a sense she was. You felt like Laena would have wanted you to be the one to have her daughter sob on, white locs caressed by your gentle fingers until she had cried herself to sleep.

Imagine flying with Rhaenys, the cannibal under you and the red queen to the side as you fly to the battle of rook’s nest. Your heart hammering as the sight of Vhagar reached you, only strengthening the hatred filling your heart. She was the same dragon that ended your little boy, that casted misery upon your family.

And maybe it was selfish that you had flown out without permission, that you might be the next casualty in this dance of dragons and death. But you wouldn’t allow yourself to die before you achieved your mission, you had to kill Aemond first. Even if the kinslayer took you with him.

And imagine the brief euphoria you feel, dragons crashing to the ground too fast to stop. You see the usurper jump from his golden dragon, as do you. Only you land on Vhagar, dagger in Aemond’s throat. You make sure he sees you, the second mother of the nephew he killed as the last of his life leaves his body. And as the dragons crashed to the ground, making you and the now dead prince Aemond meet the ground hard enough to crack ribs, dragons screeching filling your ears, you couldn't find an any more perfect revenge. 

[gavillain]

Oh. That was. Hmmm. Lots to discuss and theorize for in Agatha All Along Episode 5! Spoilers AHOY!

So after last episode was about the Coven all coming together at the height of unity, this trial basically took a SLEDGEHAMMER to all of that camaraderie and good feeling with a healthy dose of shit going BAD.

So, before we get into the meat, I thought the opening with the broomsticks was really cool. I liked the ritual they came up with to enchant it, and I liked how the Coven duos paired off with Agatha and Rio as one pair, Lilia and Jen as another, and Alice and Teen as the final one. I really feel like after this episode, it showcases how the coven stacks up in terms of morality - Teen and Alice are the heroic good witches who are sort of the new generation of witches but who are in way over their heads, Lilia and Jen are experienced and are kind of apathetic to the fates of others, and then Agatha and Rio are the crazy kind of evil ones who can't be trusted. And those tiers get REALLY delineated really fast this episode.

We also got confirmation that the Salem Seven are the children of Agatha's former coven. I had my money on them literally BEING her former coven, but the fact that they're connected as the vengeance seeking next generation is a really cool direction too. They had a delicious creepy vibe this episode, and the way they seemed to follow the same path that Rio did into the Road was a nice touch of continuity. I was reminded a lot of the Nazgul with them, which I enjoyed. I DO hope we'll get more of a personality from at least one of them before all is said and done, but as is, I enjoy the threat they pose.

Agatha's test was this episode with the Coven having to use a Ouija board to commune with the dead. They definitely had me going there with Agatha doing a Sharon impression there for a minute, but of course, she was only faking it. The actual spirit claimed to be "Death" (earning an ironic laugh from Rio who we know IS actually Death) and wanted to "Punish Agatha." But we find out from Teen solving the Ouija board at the last minute that the spirit was Nick Scratch, Agatha's son. What I'm not sure about, however, is if the "Punish Agatha" spirit masquerading as "Death" was Nick Scratch or if it was Evanora Harkness, who possesses Agatha. If I'm understanding the rules correctly, Agatha was possessed by her mother's spirit because she let go of the planchette, which means that Evanora's presence was a result of the ritual being interrupted, and Nick Scratch was the actual spirit they were communing with. But Evanora's whole motivation IS punishing Agatha, so maybe she WAS the first spirit and then Nick Scratch is a second spirit who manifests afterwards. It wasn't really clear, and I wish they'd have been more direct... Then again, maybe that's just another part of the mystery that's still yet to be revealed? I'm not sure.

Anyways, we have two interesting bits with Evanora and Nicholas: 1. Rio was READY to punish and/or kill Agatha before she found out Evanora was trying to keep Agatha there. Rio has a VERY clear dislike for Agatha's mother, and given that Evanora believes Agatha was "born bad" and laments not drowning her own daughter when she was born, it's pretty clear that Evanora wasn't really a good person in life. I wonder if Rio and Evanora had some history too, though? It kind of seems like that animosity was more than just about protecting Agatha.

2. Nicholas was a spirit and called out in a child's voice, so that seems to suggest that he IS very most definitely dead. I've been riding the theory train that he's alive and was going to be our twist Big Bad at the end of the Road behind the Salem Seven, echoing his role in the comics. However, that seems to now be disproven. They keep bringing him back up, though, so I feel like he's got to be more than just a backstory, right? Like, there's something MORE going on here than just a reveal of what Agatha really did to him. I feel like something about him is going to come back into play in the present day. So we'll see what more we learn as the story goes on.

And then... *sigh* RIP Alice, I will miss you terribly. Look, I'm VERY sad about Alice, and I know a lot of people are probably brandishing their pitchforks towards the show for killing her off and doing so in this manner. I get that, but I DO actually think this was the correct route for the show. I think what the show has done a really great job of letting the audience forget so far is that Agatha, though she's a complex character, is also a VILLAIN in this universe. She's a self serving bad guy, and she brought the whole coven together for the sole purpose of trying to antagonize them into letting her steal their powers. Eventually it was going to happen to one of them - the show basically outright told us that from the beginning. And there was no one else it could really BE at this stage other than Alice. Poor Alice's story wrapped up very neatly last episode, and she was the only one aside from Teen who is noble enough and inexperienced enough to do it in an attempt to save Agatha. I'm sure some people are going to feel very hurt and betrayed by that moment because Alice is so lovable, but that's, imo, a good thing. The show WANTS us to feel hurt and betrayed like Teen does over Alice's death, and that was certainly accomplished. And, no, I don't believe for a second that Agatha did it on accident either.

And then shit starts to REALLY hit the fan when Agatha tells Teen, "You're just like your mother." And HOLY SHIT. SHE KNOWS. SHE KNOWWWS. AND I KNOW SHE KNOWS. AGATHA KNOWS HE'S WANDA'S SON. What I'm curious to know is if she knew all along or if she figured it out since the previous episode after Rio revealed he wasn't Nicholas. Her demeanor towards Teen really seemed to change in this episode, so I'm inclined to think the latter. But I think it's VERY safe to say that we know for a fact he's Billy Kaplan at this point if we didn't already, especially with the blue version of the Scarlet Witch tiara that appears on his head after he knocks Agatha, Lilia, and Jen into the mud. So now it's time to find out HOW he's Billy. I'm excited to find out!

Oh, and also worth noting, Rio didn't leave the trial with the rest of the Coven, and she didn't get sucked into the mud like the other three ladies. Curious where she's going to go and when she'll manifest again next. It looks like next episode is probably the one where Agatha, Lilia, and Jen have to roleplay as pop culture witches, so she probably isn't part of that. We'll have to wait and see! But damn, I need the next episode NOW XDD

Closing thoughts: ALICE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[ana-cantskywalker]

An overview of The Vengeance Saga (my opinions that is)

Spoilers under the cut

Not sorry for loving you:

Ahhh it’s one of the most beautiful songs in the whole play, but also SADDDDDDD

The trope of ‘I love you but not in the right way’ GETS MEEEEE.

Jorge really made such a compellingly tragic character out of Calypso and I love it

Dangerous:

AN ABSOLUTE FREAKING VIBEEE

I just know Troy had a blast recording it. Also ‘we went through so much to get this (the bag)’ the fact that more gods than just Athena are doing so much to get him home ahhh

Charybdis:

It’s so haunting, you can feel the absence of the crew. It feels so lonely to have an action song with just Ody.

And then him being basically ON Ithaca AHHHHHGGGGG

Get in the water:

CHILLS LITERAL CHILLS AHHH

‘coward’ sir shut up

The fact that he waited until he got to Ithaca just to threaten to sink it.

The way Ody tried to reason with him first to make peace because he still wants to do the good thing before he turned to vengeance. IM DYING OVER HERE

And then the end where all 600 of them say ‘waiting’ (and not a just a man reprise that usually follows the echo of Odysseus) because they’ve all been waiting for him at this point, they aren’t angry anymore.

Six hundred strikes:

I AM CHEWING ON CONCRETE OH MY GOSHH

THE REPRISE OF THE HORSE AND THE INFANT AND REMEMBER THEM AND KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE AND DANGEROUS AND FULL SPEED AHEAD I AM FREAKING OUT

and I will get back to my WIFEEEEE

He is terrifying and unhinged and I am living for it.

‘You sealed your fate just to beat me’ (you miss your your wife so bad you’d trade the lives of your own crew)

There is so much about this song, too much to fit into one post

‘Next to my wife’ AHHHHHHHHH (I literally audibly screamed)

In other words, I am totally normal about this (I will need 3-5 business days to process it)

[lacunafiction]

I loved hearing about how the mc interacted with the others when they were a kid especially with a certain blonde rival (the play date and library incident were just perfection). Will there be more stories or flashbacks in second one?

Hi Anon!

I'm so glad you enjoy hearing about the MC's past childhood and early teen years in Fernweh! 🥰 The play date scenes were some of my favorites to write, but I think the library incident™ outshines even those, especially the hide and seek memory. (Kid R only wanting the MC to find them and outright ignoring everyone else! 😭) I do have some great news for you: flashbacks and past stories will return!

In fact, you'll learn that your Returning Visitor's 'stay' in Fernweh helps to make those memories rise back to the surface. We've seen hints that the trauma/distance/coping (?) has caused some past memories to be hazy or out of touch. Well, they come back with a vengeance next book. I can't say more due to spoilers; it's a special feature/mechanic that's present in the Book Two TFS Patreon 🌲 alpha content✨, but you all will be able to experience it eventually.

I'll tease and say it's also possible to unlock some road trip to Fernweh memories with B. Warrick, depending on your choices.

(Slight spoilers from Book Two below! ⚠)

"Do you think it squeaks…? Like, in theory." That was one of many questions B had while peering up at the rubber duckie that threatened to blot out the sun. They were excited about the novelty attraction, pointing out how the mile markers began to have soap bubbles on them well in advance of the required exit to arrive at the attraction. It was too adorable.

Your MC's past is something you will learn more about, possibly even shaping it at some points, since TFS's theme of coming home to a place that's not quite the same will be echoed throughout the series.

[renegadeem]

With the Vengeance saga coming out soon, I am in the mood to yap about Epic.

One of the things I love the most about Epic: the musical is how it builds up this musical language throughout the story, with leitmotifs and callbacks to previous songs.

I'm not a music theorist and will probably use the wrong language to speak of this, but it is my current hyperfixation, therefore I will talk about it anyways. It's probably nothing other ppl haven't already said a thousand times.

Goes without saying there will be spoilers below.

Here's all the songs in epic and what other songs from the musical they reference, based on my listening to them a gazilion times:

(Take a shot everytime I say call back to destroy your liver)

The Troy Saga

As the first one one, this saga really sets the building blocks for the entire Epic. Not much references from one song to the next, so instead here are the bits of each song that will be coming back:

The Horse and the Infant 🐎- From the start we get the guitar with Odysseus' theme, which will follow us through the entire musical. We also get Athena's ticking clock, very faintly but definitely there. Our first instance of PE-NE-LO-PEEEEE, which is another mainstay of the musical.

Just a Man 👨- Possibly the most referenced song of the entire musical ,lyrics wise. Variations on "...just a man" , as well as the entire lists of "when" will be coming back as Ody makes choices. Usually questionable ones.

Full Speed Ahead ⛵️- another one that will come back often, from listing the number of men left in the crew, to them harmonizing to "full speed ahead". This is also where we begin the call response of "captain" "eurylochus", which will come back a few times.

Open arms 🤗 - it doesn't come back THAT often, objectively. But this is Polites' song. And that boy WILL be haunting the narrative, thank you very much.

Warrior of the Mind 🦉 - this one is where we get Athena's piano theme, which comes back as often as she does. We do get a call back to 🐎 already with Ody and Athena's meeting, his theme on the guitar along with Athena's ticking clock. Her meeting with Ody also shows her adding the same flourishes to "warrior of the mi-iiiii-iiii-iiii-iiii-iiind" that Ody does as she take him under her wing and I think it's super cute.

The Cyclops Saga

This saga is still building our musical language, but we're already getting call backs to the Troy saga.

Polyphemus 👁- We start with another callback to 🐎, with Odysseus' theme from the top, and again when he negotiates with Polyphemus. The first bits of dialogue between Ody, Eurylochus and Polites also echoes ⛵️ to me, but more somber.

Survive ⚔️ - not a call back to any previous songs in the musical, but I love that this one starts with the cyclops' name sung in the dies iraes. Fantastic foreshadowing of the stakes in this song. A bit of ⛵️ with the 600 lives. And i believe each strike of club is a kill, except for the first (polites lets out a weak captain before the actual kill strike) so we know polythemus kills 14 of Ody's men here.

Remember Them 🪦 - the guitar at the start of this one Calls to ⛵️, we also have the Nobody call back from 👁. I love how the music plays out Ody's theme once the other cyclops tell polyphemus to be silent, showing that it was a smart move not to give his name. A shame he doesnt stick to it. A quick away we go that reminds me of ⛵️, then Athena's intervention calls her theme and ticking clock on top of Ody straight up referring to🦉. We also get some "ooo-hooo-ooo-hooo-ooo"s that will return. And of course, Ody's final few lines that will bite him in the ass later.

My Goodbye 👋 - Athena's 🦉 theme, but sad, really. This one is pretty much warrior of the Mind, the sequel. 👨 reference in there for good mesure as well, for after all he's...(you know the line). One of the things that makes me the most sad in This song is Athena losing the flourishes she took from Ody in 🦉 as she decides she's done. That last goodbye is as plain as her first warrior of the Mind was. Great way to show the loss affecting her. The final "ooooo"s call back to 🪦 to me, sort of showing that my good bye is set in ody's Mind close to the end of remember Them.

The Ocean Saga

More important building of our musical vocabulary in this saga, but we also hit a stride with referencing previous songs for maximum emotional impact.

Storm ⛈️- This one feels like another building block song to me, bringing us musical cues for the storm itself. ⛵️ reference in there, of course, gotta love the crew. This one also foreshadows Aeolus' flutes from keep your friends close, which is fun.

Luck Runs Out 🍀 - Big one for Eurylochus and his arc. This series of questions will haunt Ody through the entire musical. We also get a small musical cues for unnamed gods ( the home of the wi-ind go-od) that will come back later. Small 🤗 refence there as well, leading from the heart.

Keep your friends close 🌬- I love Aeolus and the Winons. A small ref back to ⛵️ in the guitar as Ody returns on the ship, and a blink and you'll miss it music call back to ⛈️ when Ody speaks of the storm in the bag. Penelope and telemachus from 🐎 . And then, ⛈️ coming back in full strength as the bag is open.

Ruthlessness 🔱 - POSEIDON! This one is also an important one going forwards, harsh lessons being taught here. Some horns that remind me of ⛈️, but they are faint and easily missed. The questions asked in 👨 make a return. I'm counting 43 left under your command as a ⛵️ call back. Poseidon final lines echoing ody's in 🪦.

The Circe Saga

I'm probably missing some from this saga. It feels like one of the more self contained ones overall.

Puppeteer 🪆- The first few notes call back to ⛵️, along with it's call response , before switching to 🍀 as Eurylochus tries to confess. The rest is mostly establishing Circe's theme, motives and drives. The think of your past and your mistakes lines feel very much like her casting the spell.

Wouldn't you like 🕺- This one is purely stand alone, as far as i can tell. I'm not mad, it's catchy as hell. Love Hermes, he's a funny little guy.

Done For ✨️ - Another instance of starting the song with Ody's theme from 🐎, and coming back again on his verse.

There Are Other Ways 💌 - Circe calls back to 🪆 quite a bit here as she tries to seduce Ody, with her spell lines of think of your past. We also get our mandatory 👨 , and Penelope's notes come to save Ody before he sings of her, going back again to 🐎. And it ends on more 🪆 references, now with the crew harmonizing with circe as they are turned back to men. Rare Odysseus W.

The Underworld Saga

The shortest saga, but my personal favorite. I love how efficient and painful the callbacks in this one are. Truly the turning point for Odysseus character journey.

The Underworld ☠️ - This one is a fun one, and one of my favorite songs with just how much it does with the musical language we built. We start with Ody's theme from 🐎 once again, and then a quick ⛵️ to remind the crew of the stakes. All I hear are screams is a big one from this saga and will be making a come back later. Then, we are haunted again by the question from 👨, the death count of men of ⛵️ and 🔱, with cries of captain in quick succession. Ody talks of the Infant, but it isn't quite a musical call back. Then the musical whammy that is 🤗, as Polites comes back to haunt the narrative. We also get the first instance of Odysseus' mom waiting, which will be back to break your heart later. Also, not a call back, but I love how the ghosts of the crew harmonize with Ody as they get further in the Underworld and he gets more and more haunted.

Not Longer You 👥 - Another banger that's pretty much stand alone. It describes a lot of what will be happening, but does it without bringing any specific song back. The background chorus in the last bit does foreshadow much of what is to come, but it's hard to make out what they say without the subtitles.

Monster 👿 - It's 👨's evil twin, in vibes more than anything else, as its not actually referenced. Not unlike 👥, we get a lot of descriptions of previous songs, but without any musical call backs to them. Then a bit of 🔱, 🐎 for P & T.

The Thunder Saga

I am surprised with how much of summary the first half of this saga gives without overreferencing itself. Makes sense, this is the beginning of the second half of the musical, we need to make sure everyone remembers what happened, but we dont want to pull at your heartstrings just yet. Very smart.

Suffering 🧜‍♀️ - We start with a mandatory 🐎 Penelope call. A hit of Scylla foreshadowing. I can take the suffering from you will be our biggest takeaway from this one.

Different Beast 🩸 - mentions of suffering in a dark echo to what we had in 🧜‍♀️. The "ooo-hooo-ooo-hooo-ooo"s from 🪦 make a return.

Scylla 🐍 - ⛵️ comes back in scattered harmonies as the crew is tired from the journey. 👨 call back with Eurylochus ' forgive me. It's not super easy to make out, but I am pretty sure we get 6 distinct screams for the 6 torch wielding men who get sacrificed here.

Mutiny 🗡 - 🍀's dark mirror in just about every way. So many 🍀 references. The list of questions. Please dont tell me youre about to do what i think you'll do. I love the home of the sun god echoing the home of the wind god. Eurylochus gets his own 👨. Those final ⛵️ as they try to run away.

Thunderbringer ⚡️- Thunder daddy is here and he doesn't play. This is HIS song. 🐎 call back with Ody's please dont make me do this. Then we get the questions from 👨 layered with me take the 🧜‍♀️ from you. Which is wonderful to me. for ody the real Penelope will make this all worth it, will take the suffering away, even if those were the siren's words, not his wife's.

The Wisdom Saga

True to the saga title, this one is filled with athena. We get some building blocks for telemachus that come back very quickly.

Legendary 📜 - a theme for everyone's favorite anime protagonist, Telemachus!

Fight, Little Wolf 🐺 - Athena returns at last!!! 🦉for her theme throughout the song.

We'll be Fine 🕑 - more of 🦉 for Athena's theme. I also love that telemachus does the same type of flourishes to we'll be fine as ody did to warrior of the Mind, very cute. He is matching Athena's, which musically confirms she misses Ody to me. And of course that final 📜, for Telemachus, Athena's new bestie.

Love in Paradise 🏝 - This one is a doozy, taking most of the references for this saga into itself. 🦉 for Athena's theme to start, then in quick succession, 🪦,🌬,🔱,✨️,👥,🩸,🐍 before giving us the last lines of⚡️to catch athena up to speed. Then we switch up to a new sound (another banger) . Ody's guitar riff from 🐎 as he gets a bit upset. Then we skip, 7 years ahead with 🦉's ticking clock, to Ody's infamous breakdown. If your favorite song hadn't come back yet, it's probably here! We begin with a frayed version of Ody's theme from 🐎 (he's literally on his last strings) with ☠️'s all I hear are screams, duetted by calypso 's attempts to bring back the previous good vibes. And when you think it can't get sadder, 🤗+🍀+ ☠️ triple whammy to make sure you remember everything that Odysseus has already lost.

God Games 🛡 - Athena's theme is again one of the major call backs for this one 🦉 mostly as she tries to reestablish control of her argument with Aphrodite, and gets the upper hand on Ares. Love that Ares's beat is kind of a dark mirror of Athena's. As the 2 gods of war it's very fitting. Then, of course, Thunder daddy brings ⚡️ back to smite Athena. We get another instance of 🦉, and a hint of 📜 before Athena's final stand.

So yeah, I'm excited for the vengeance saga.

Sorry if this made no sense, if you're fluent in music theory and have just witnessed me massacre your boy for way too long, or if there was something I missed in your favorite song.

[broodwolf221]

hello, happy dadwc! For a prompt, for your Aldwir, may I submit from the vague eerie prompts: Seeking revenge for denial of flesh

this was SO much fun and super interesting 👀 thank you! @dadrunkwriting - veilguard spoilers! kinda au tho 471 words

cws: idk how to explain exactly... insects; insect preservation (pinnning); vaguely described penetrating wounds; body horror

"You were meant to be mine." The voice reveberated through Daw's body and they felt horribly fragile before the writhing mass that was Ghilan'nain. To think, her ancestors had called this woman a god. They had worshipped her. Daw, having received Mythal's vallaslin, slightly envied those who had received Ghilan'nain's. Her vallaslin was applied to those who would guide the clan, or to those with a special connection to the natural world and natural order. They had always found those to be admirable traits.

She was bound for the moment. A trap, set and sprung, but no trap could contain a god… or the nearest thing to one. Horrible to see her up close like this, though. Terrifying. "You were all meant to be mine! You will be mine!" Daw stared into what should have been her eyes, transfixed by the pulsating flesh there. Awfully, they wanted to remove the mask. Wanted to see what lay beneath.

Ghilan'nain was monstrous. Her body, her will, her brutal, unyielding obsession with creation—a devastating creation, one that sowed death and cultivated its remains—all of it was monstrous. But to see her pinned like this…

Ludicrously, a memory sprang to mind. With their first clan, they had encountered a group of humans. Although the Dalish and the humans had been wary at first, neither attacked the other, and instead they ended up traveling together for a few days before their paths diverged. In that time, Daw—quite young—had gotten along well with a man about their own age, and they had shared many stories of the strange things they'd seen. He described having visited an estate in Orlais where insects were preserved under glass, wings and bodies pinned and immobile.

Daw had been fascinated and repulsed. Naturally, given their age, they had pressed for more information, and naturally, given his age, the young man had been happy to supply. He described the delicate way the needles had pulled open the insect's wings to display them, the curve of their fragile bodies in death, the precise suspension of their forms.

They had never seen this practice. They were not even entirely sure it was real. But looking at Ghilan'nain now, looking at her serpentine form speared through repeatedly, they could not stop thinking of it. An insect, shaped with needles and preserved under glass.

If possible, Daw would end it now. But it was not possible. Ghilan'nain's dragon, her archdemon, still existed beyond their reach. This trap would be destroyed by the woman's—this monster's—unconscionable might. This only served to buy them some time, and to enrage Ghilan'nain.

Daw took one step back, then another. Then they turned. Then they ran, Ghilan'nain's shriek echoing behind them along with the whine of the metallic frame protesting as she struggled.

They would be killed if they remained. Killed and transformed. They had taken too much from Ghilan'nain already, and knew that, if possible, she would have her vengeance.

[paraseleneblur]

SMTVV spoilers

I've been doing some thinking about how VV handles the alignments and I honestly can say that I feel pretty positively about it. I've found with recent games in megaten that they tend to be somewhat... chaos biased? Not in a bad way, but a lot of media especially Japanese has been big on the idea of free will and agency and in our current political climate it just makes more sense for that to be popular. This is honestly a rare situation where I do not feel any particular bias towards any ending -- I love both endings for SMTVV and find merit and value in both and that's what is so intriguing to me. VV has this narrative focus on the themes of vengeance, obviously, but most interestingly is the repeated theme of sacrifice. Every single character (besides Dazai.... we don't talk about Dazai) has to sacrifice something to keep pursuing their ideals. Whether that be Shohei sacrificing Nuwa / trying to convince himself he would actually sacrifice Nuwa, Vkun sacrificing Aogami, Tao sacrificing Sahori, Koshimizu sacrificing Yuzuru, and then of course Vkun again sacrificing Koshimizu -- there's just this overarching theme of needing to sacrifice something to attain a goal. And even then, both endings are imperfect. The parallels and the differences between Tao and Yoko will be on my mind for such a long time. UGH. I just really like how the alignments ever so subtly shifted -- where Law used to be vying for control by God to achieve safety, now Law is being used to protect that which is held most dear and handing the reins to someone else, namely Vkun and Tao. It's somewhat flavored like third semester P5R, but altogether less creepy and more just... hollow. I'm not sure if I'm alone in feeling that ending had some echoing emptiness in it. And of course, chaos hasn't changed a lot but its narrative of giving up all oppressors to get ultimate freedom has been put to its max and it's in such a hopeful and simultaneously heartbreaking way. It's so interesting how Yuzuru went from being horribly bland "chaos" rep to being a multifaceted character who slowly shifts from neutral-flavored chaos to neutral-flavored law and it's all pushed BY those aforementioned themes of sacrifice. I'm going to throw something and explode

[breakfastteatime]

hope you don't mind the rant but argh i finally realised why i feel so disconnected to survivor in comparison to how close jfo is to me

spoilers for those who haven't played survivor

but i really dislike major decisions made and i'm gonna babble on a little (i've had like eight panadol and two sleeping meds as of the last hour n a half so if this doesn't make sense that's why)

one that's been swirling around my head ever since i played us that it really felt like they brought cordova back JUST to kill him off. this also ties into my next point that i find bode's betrayal hard to believe as well. every role he had in the story could easily be replaced by someone such as cere, and i felt like the only reason he was there was to have someone for bode to kill to show how really evil he was but respawn didn't want to kill any of the main cast off. he's such a useless character in the plot that killing him off didnt effect anything LMAO

my next major dislike is, understandably, about bode :,) yes i know this can come off as making excuses for a character i was attached to since the trailers dropped but the more i think about it the more i really cannot understand both the timeline and the motive that was behind bode's betrayal. i kind of get the idea he was lax about betraying them UNTIL cal mentioned using tanalorr for the hidden path but according to the echoes you get after the game bodenis plotting and scheming the whole time... plus, you think that his whole motive relies on creating a safe place for kata on tanalorr where no one can find them but also like. you have two (technically three) jedi, a nightsister, and a whole clan of anchorites that kick the empire's ass every day. "will you be able to protect her when the empire comes?" fuckass have you SEEN cal use a lightsaber?? kata is safer with cal then she is bode

dagan was hella underwhelming too which disappointed me tbh i was excited for this high republic jedi to show us all this cool stuff only for him to die in like three seconds 😔

ANYWAY i hope this ain't too long but i'd love to hear your thoughts/criticisms on js bc i love the game and all the little bits are amazing but some of the decisions made have me a bit hrghh

Okay, friend, you asked for it ;)

The decision to bring back Cordova was an unexpected one, but the sight of him makes me cry happy tears every damn time, so it doesn't bother me at all. I take your point re: Cere being able to do everything he does, but part of Bode’s betrayal also hinges on him betraying Cere to Vader, who clearly wants vengeance after Nur (which is SO IN CHARACTER for Vader I can only lol. Petty bitch.), so Bode killing her wouldn't have had quite the same impact.

Because I was so convinced he was dead that him *actually* being dead didn’t strike me as ‘brought back only to die’. I would argue that killing him off did put them at risk of not being able to reach Tanalorr and defintely drove Cal to Nova Garon, but yes… Cordova's character probably lacks development and definitive purpose compared to the others… Although even as I say that, I find myself thinking of the logs he left behind in the various ruins on Jedha and the words of advice and I just can’t get mad. Plus there's that teeny hint that he's been unwell when Merrin asks how he's feeling. I see your points, yes, but I'm not too fussed by any of it.

Moving onto Bode...

So, here’s my interpretation of Bode, based on the post-game echoes and the little nuances that take on a totally new light on a replay. Bode is playing Cal from the very beginning. They are never friends from Bode’s perspective, and he is a master manipulator. He’s a textbook abuser – he lovebombs Cal with compliments and praise to cement their relationship, and does the same with everyone in his family. Plus, he used his knowledge of Cere’s location to further his cause with the Empire.

There’s also a power dynamic at play here because Bode was a Jedi Knight during the war while Cal was still a Padawan. Bode is older and more experienced with the world than Cal. He knows Cal longs for friendship, and he wields that against him more effectively than any weapon. Every action, every word, every choice Bode makes is solely to dig in deeper with Cal so he can and Kata can escape the Empire. Had Cal agreed that Tanalorr would just be for them, *maybe* Bode wouldn’t have betrayed him the way he did, but Bode is well on his way to the dark side because of his attachment to Kata. And Cal very nearly follows him because of his attachments to his family.

To me, this is what the Jedi Order meant by 'no attachments'. Jedi are allowed to love, but when that love becomes all consuming, when it becomes an obsession, that’s when the attachment becomes dangerous. Bode’s story is very similar to Anakin��s, he’s just not as powerful. Hasn’t got those Skywalker genes 😉  

Bode’s motive to me is clear – he *thinks* everything is about Kata, but actually it’s all about him. It’s about his grief and rage and fear because of his wife's death the terrible choices he made. Denvik promises that if Bode gives him what he wants (Cal and Cere), he will reveal which Inquistor murdered his wife. Bode is already in it for revenge, not his daughter's wellbeing. His choices are very pre-meditated. He is a parent, yes, and I can understand that overriding love of a child, but he is also a grieving husband who is so broken by his loss that his love for Kata has become too possessive. He is terrified of losing his daughter, and it eclipses his love for her. Kata is aware of this, and her love is also turning to fear. Bode is neglectful (he's always leaving Kata behind) and bordering on abusive at the end. He trusts no one but himself, and he even asks Cal at the very end if he can protect Kata. Cal says nothing because he knows he can’t – he’s tried protecting so many people, and he’s lost nearly all of them. He won’t make a promise he can’t keep, and that’s what completely breaks Bode. Bode doesn’t believe anyone *but him* can protect Kata because he has become completely consumed with fear and anger. Cal gave him a chance to make a better choice when he disarmed him. In fact, Bode had *so many chances* to make a better choice, and he didn’t. So, when Bode responded by choosing to try and kill Cal, Merrin *and* very nearly his own daughter, Cal had no choice but to put him down – hard. That second shot took my breath away both times I played the game because Cal knows he cannot save Bode and protect the people who matter, and by showing Bode mercy, more people will die. It's also about control - Bode tries to control everyone. Cal knows he can't, so he takes the only option left - killing Bode. Honestly, the more I think about that finale, the more intense it becomes. It's an astonishing moment.

I do wonder if the reason people struggle with Bode is because he is so nice, and he fits in so well, but it’s all fake and it’s all an act. Whether you saw it coming or not, that hurts. Cal – and the player – want so badly for Bode to be better than he is, and that’s the tragedy. Bode’s not capable of that. He has suffered losses just like Cal, but he couldn’t overcome them. It’s a lot to deal with emotionally!

And as for Dagan, I quite like him! Mostly because that final battle with him incorporates my favourite Star Wars thing – WEIRD FORCE SHIT. He’s also a mirror held up to Cal – this is what you could become if your obsession takes over you. I also think his relationship with Santari Khri is meant to show Cal the potential pitfalls of his relationship with Merrin if his attachment overcomes him… but we’ll have to see what happens next…

Gosh this got long. It's always fun to see other people's perspectives and share my own! Hope you've got some rest and feel better soon :)

[myreia]

wip whenever

tagged by @galadae and @coldshrugs, thank you! 💖

tagging @bearlytolerant, @thevikingwoman, @impossible-rat-babies, @hylfystt, @allaganexarch, @birues & @roguelioness.

I'm lost in an Echo scene from Chapter 5, Aureia's family sucks. ✌️Stormblood spoilers-ish.

Laughter hums on Elgara’s lips and she returns to her paperwork with smooth, controlled movements. Kallias has always been easy to rile up. It is his greatest weakness—and it is easy to exploit.

“That possessive streak will be the end of you,” she says, tutting lightly. “Go about it then, if you’re so inclined. You don’t need my permission. I’m sure the legatuses would be overjoyed to hear of the death of the Warrior of Light. Perhaps if you offer them proof, they would even reward you.”

He snarls under his breath and bites his tongue, his riposte contained.

“Or does the thought give you pause? Do you fear, perhaps, that you aren’t strong enough? Is that why you’ve come here, crawling back to your mother, riddled with doubt and uncertainty?”

“I don’t doubt, I—”

Elgara sets her pen aside and rises from her chair, unfurling to her full height. She towers above her son, casting a long shadow across the observation deck’s floor. “Kira has something you don’t,” she says. “She has had it her whole life, it is what made her unique. Special. An asset. Your father and I sought to tap it, but we did not have the knowledge or the foresight to understand what we were dealing with. But Aulus mal Asina did. He was a visionary. And someone must continue his work.”

Red. Blue. Red. Blue.

The lights cycle, flashing over Elgara and Kallias, casting them into darkness. The solider inhales once more, her breath as sharp as ice. She presses herself against the door, gazing inwards, her form unnoticed in the shadows. A shiver ran down her spine at the mention of Aulus’ name. She recalls him, of course she does. She remembers his youth when she met him near two decades ago, bright-eyed and intense, speaking theories dismissed by his superiors as fanciful dreams at best and psychosis at worst. It was he who first spoke of Echoes and Resonants, of gifting the Garlean people the ability to control aether.

She recalls what he did to Krile. What he did to Fordola… and Zenos, too.  

How his life ended, screeching about data and souls with his dying breath on the floor of the Ala Mhigan palace. Forgotten and abandoned by the prince he had devoted himself to.

His research, as he called it, should have ended there.

Inside the observation room, Elgara approaches her son step by dreaded step. She may be no soldier, and yet she engulfs him. Outmatches him. Outwits him. Kallias is no small man, and yet compared to her imposing height he is so small. So insignificant.

“Don’t you see, Kal?” she says, her voice low and strangely soothing in its intensity. The voice of someone who can lull others into implicit trust by the sheer power of command and self-assurance. “Kira is a liability, but liabilities can be exploited. Her usefulness to Garlemald has not ended. You wish to kill her; I will not doubt your thirst for vengeance, it is more than understandable. But think on it. Kill her and we lose her forever.”

He grunts, the panicked sound strangled in his throat. “Have you forgotten what she’s done, mother? What she—”

“Shh.” She arrives before him and places a hand to his chin. It’s a gentle gesture; on anyone else it would be caring. But on her it is empty, a gesture of inspection and observation. “Capture her and our opportunities are thrown wide. We can reclaim what we have lost, you and I. Theorzen will be a name to be respected; no longer will it be spat upon like the rest.”

He closes his eyes, his expression still.

“You deserve more than the lot you have been given, Kallias. And she can gift you the strength you deserve to carry. The skills and talents that should have gone to you. A transference. A replication. A Resonant of your very own, one derived from the Warrior of Light. With it, you can have your vengeance. With it, you can outmatch even Zenos himself.”

His eyelids flutter and he grimaces, lip curling back. Then he crumples into her and clings, shoulders shuddering with the aftershock of silent tears. In this moment, there is no sign of the operative and the spy. In this moment, he is a child coming home.

It makes the soldier’s blood boil. Lost in her anger, she slips and cracks her forehead against the door, helmet banging against the glass. Her vision blurs red and her knees give out from under her. When she finally clears her vision, she finds herself huddles on the stairwell floor, looking in as Elgara enfolds her son into her embrace.

A spike of jealousy flares in the pit of her stomach. Unwanted. Unneeded. Unexplained.  

She curses her inability to do anything but observe.

Elgara cradles him, a hand resting against the back of his head, stroking his matted hair. “Bring your sister to me, Kal,” she croons. “Bring her to me and I can make it happen. I wish for it to happen. It should have been you all along.”

Kallias stills. His expression hardens, his lips pressed firm together. Slowly, one by one his fingers lift as he loosens his grip. The danger and the malice return, blazing bright in his red eyes. “No,” he breathes.