#elysia vibes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kathlare · 3 months ago

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fanboy

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando experiences the thrill of watching Amelie perform live for the first time at the Eras Tour in Melbourne. Amid the excitement, Lando's growing admiration for her becomes evident to his friends, and playful teasing ensues. As Amelie commands the stage with confidence, Lando is filled with pride, awe, and a deepening affection that he’s still trying to understand.

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Warnings: fluff, smau

full masterlist // request over here!

February 16th, 2024 - Melbourne, Australia

liked by f1lover_24, amelienation, and others

lando_updates: Lando was spotted at the Eras Tour in Melbourne with Max and Pietra, cheering on Amelie during her opening act! 👀🎤✨

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joshallen44: No way they’re just “friends” with all that body language. Please tell me they’re not still pulling the “we’re just friends” card. → f1insider11: @joshallen44 They’re playing the “we’re just friends” card so well, it’s almost like they read a handbook on how to tease the fans. 👀

lanospeed: Lando’s vibe is screaming "I’m here for my girl" but also screaming "I hope no one realizes we’re secretly dating."

f1nista_: LANDO??? At the Eras Tour??? With Max and Pietra??? I’m just saying, this looks like a lowkey date night for two people who’ve been too friendly for too long. 👀🎤 → speedyfan_: @f1nista_ Right?! Tell me why this feels like a soft launch for a relationship? Boy’s too hyped for just a “friend”.

realdeal: Y'all, we all know Lando’s not there just for the vibes. He’s got Amelie’s back like a TRUE fan.

charlesleclercfan_: I swear I’m still waiting for the official announcement, but these two are basically together without saying it at this point. Am I the only one who noticed how soft Lando was looking at Amelie? 🥹💘 → maddie_f1: @charlesleclercfan_ You’re not alone, babe. Even Max is like “yep, they’re in their own little world” 😂

joshy_f1fan_: Lando’s always been lowkey about his relationships, but like… he’s SO obvious with Amelie. That smile? He’s obsessed. 😭💘

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The crowd at Melbourne’s iconic stadium buzzed with electric energy, the anticipation palpable as fans decked out in sequins, sparkles, and Eras-themed outfits filled the stands. Lando stood near the VIP tent with Max, Pietra, Elysia, and a handful of Amelie’s team, the group quietly chatting as they waited for her set to begin.

This was Lando’s first time watching Amelie perform live. Sure, he’d heard her sing before—soft humming around his flat in Monaco, casual duets during quarantine game nights, and even the occasional voice note of new songs she wanted his opinion on—but this was different. This was her, in her element, doing what she loved. And for reasons he didn’t want to analyze too deeply, his stomach twisted with nerves, excitement, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

—She’s going to kill it,— Elysia said confidently, sipping on a soda. Her voice was steady, but Lando caught the slight quirk of her lips that hinted at sisterly pride.

—I don’t doubt that,— Lando replied with a smirk. “I just hope she doesn’t fall over in those heels she showed me last night.”

—Oh, she’ll be fine,— Pietra chimed in. —Amelie’s a pro. You, on the other hand…— She trailed off, exchanging a knowing glance with Max, who grinned mischievously.

—What?— Lando asked, his tone defensive.

—You look like a fucking fanboy,— Max teased, nudging him. —Admit it, mate. You’re about to lose your shit the second she steps on stage.—

—I’m not...—

—Lando, your cheeks are red,— Pietra interrupted with a laugh. —It’s cute.—

Before Lando could argue, a group of fans approached, their faces lighting up as they spotted him. —Oh my God, it’s Lando Norris!�� one of them exclaimed, clutching a string of colorful friendship bracelets.

Lando offered a polite smile, stepping closer as the fans shyly extended bracelets toward him. —Can we get a picture?— one asked, while another added, —Will you give these to Amelie? Tell her we love her and that she’s amazing!—

—Of course,— Lando said, accepting the bracelets and posing for photos. The girls giggled as they handed over more, their eyes sparkling. “You and Amelie are such good friends,” one of them said, almost conspiratorially. —You’d make such a cute couple.—

Max, standing behind Lando, stifled a laugh. —Oh, he knows,— Max muttered under his breath, low enough for only Pietra and Elysia to hear. They both rolled their eyes, but Pietra couldn’t hide her smirk.

As the fans walked away, Lando turned to find Max smirking at him. —What?— Lando asked.

—Nothing,— Max said innocently, though his grin said otherwise. —You’re just very popular with her fans. Almost as much as she is.—

—Shut up,— Lando muttered, slipping the bracelets into his pocket.

Moments later, the lights dimmed, and the crowd roared. The opening chords of “Read Your Mind” played through the speakers, and a spotlight illuminated Amelie as she stepped onto the stage. Lando’s breath caught. She was radiant, dressed in a sparkling purple dress that caught the light with every move, her confidence commanding the crowd’s attention.

—She’s incredible,— Pietra whispered to Elysia, who nodded, her usual stoicism softening as she watched her little sister own the stage.

Lando didn’t say anything. He was too busy taking it all in—the way Amelie moved, how her voice carried through the stadium, and the way the crowd responded to her. It was surreal. She wasn’t just Ames, the girl he played video games with during lockdown or teased relentlessly over dinner. She was Amelie, the superstar, and she was captivating.

When she launched into “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” the crowd swayed, their phone lights creating a sea of stars. Lando’s chest tightened as he realized just how much this moment meant to her. She had told him once, in a quiet moment back in Monaco, how much she admired Taylor Swift and how surreal it felt to open for her. Watching her now, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride—and something else he wasn’t ready to name.

As the setlist continued, Amelie’s energy never wavered. She introduced her final song, “Nonsense,” with a playful grin. “This is one of my favorites,” she said, her voice carrying through the stadium. The crowd erupted in cheers as Amelie improvised the outro, throwing in cheeky references:

"D-I-C-K, I am good at spelling Tastes so good, I need a second helping Aren't you glad I know how to say Melbourne?"

Lando couldn’t help but laugh, his cheeks flushing as Amelie threw the crowd into a frenzy with her playful humor. Max leaned closer, smirking. —Did she just spell what I think she did?—

—Yeah, she did,— Lando muttered, shaking his head, though his grin betrayed him. He could practically feel the heat rising to his ears. That was so Amelie, unapologetically bold, effortlessly charming, and completely impossible to resist.

The song ended with a final, triumphant note, and the crowd erupted into deafening applause. Amelie stood there for a moment, taking it all in before offering a heartfelt smile. —Thank you, Melbourne! You’ve been incredible! I hope you’re ready for Taylor!— With that, she waved one last time before disappearing backstage.

Lando felt his heart settle into a steady rhythm as the lights dimmed again. He turned back to the group, catching Elysia’s knowing smirk. —She killed it,— Elysia said, her voice soft but proud.

—Absolutely,— Pietra agreed. —You looked like you were ready to propose, Lando.—

—Shut up,— Lando mumbled, though he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. —She was amazing.—

Max clapped him on the back. —Mate, we’re teasing, but you’ve got every reason to be proud. She’s incredible, and you’re lucky to have her.—

Before Lando could reply, his phone buzzed with a text.

Ames💛: Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you guys at the tent. I need a shower; I’m soaked in sweat. Gross, I know.

He smiled, typing a quick response:

Lan🧡: You were amazing. Can’t wait to see you.

By the time Amelie joined them at the VIP tent, Taylor’s show had just begun. She had swapped her stage outfit for a pair of ripped jeans and an oversized Taylor Swift tour shirt, her damp hair tied into a loose braid. She looked effortlessly beautiful, and Lando felt his chest tighten all over again.

—Hey!— she greeted, her voice warm as she hugged Elysia first, then Pietra. She exchanged a cheeky fist bump with Max before finally turning to Lando. —Hi, fanboy.—

—Hi, superstar,— he shot back, his grin wide. He wanted to kiss her, but with so many eyes around, he settled for a playful nudge. —You crushed it out there.—

—Thanks,— she said, her cheeks pink. —I saw the bracelets. Were they from fans or your personal collection?—

Max burst out laughing. —She got you there, mate.—

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn’t help grinning. —They’re from your fans. They told me to give them to you.—

Amelie beamed, holding out her hands. —Well, hand them over. My fans make the best bracelets.—

As Lando passed her the colorful trinkets, Taylor began singing “Cruel Summer,” and the group turned their attention to the stage. Amelie stood next to Lando, their shoulders brushing as they swayed to the music.

—This is amazing,— Amelie said, her voice barely above the music. —I still can’t believe I get to be here, opening for her.—

Lando glanced at her, his expression softening. —You deserve it. You’re incredible.—

She looked up at him, her eyes bright under the stadium lights. —Thanks, Lando.—

Max, ever the opportunist, leaned in. —You two are disgustingly cute. Just saying.—

Amelie laughed, nudging Max. —And you’re disgustingly nosy.—

As the night went on, Lando found himself watching Amelie as much as the show. Her joy was contagious, her laughter ringing out during Taylor’s upbeat songs and her voice barely a whisper as she sang along to the slower ones.

By the time Taylor closed the show with “Karma,” Amelie was leaning into Lando, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. The stadium was a sea of phone lights, the atmosphere electric.

—This is the best night,— she murmured, her voice soft enough for only Lando to hear.

He looked down at her, his chest warm. —Yeah, it is.—

And for a moment, surrounded by music, lights, and the buzz of the crowd, it felt like it was just the two of them.

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obsessedwhyyes · 4 months ago

Text

A Tale of Fools and Tricksters (1)

Chapter 1: Whispers of Hope

Summary: The Festival of Fools - a carnival of magic and illusions which shall set your heart ablaze and bring your dreams to life. Legends say that the Festival of Fools will grant one wish to those pure of heart and soul - for a price. Seeking a cure for the Curse of Stone which plagues her people, Elysia Thorne seeks the aid of the festival's enigmatic ringmaster, Astarion Ancunin, whose charm is as dangerous as it is irresistible.

But as their fates intertwine, it becomes clear that all is not as it seems...

Rating: M Chapter Word Count: 5479 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC Content: Alternative Universe (Circus), Ringmaster Astarion, mild horror elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, basically a big whimsical (slightly dark, slightly trippy) fairytale of an AU.

A/N: And here we have my first ever longfic! I'm actually a teensy bit nervous about this one! While the direction and story are different, I was actually inspired a lot by Hunchback of Notre Dame for this. I always loved how it managed to be both incredibly dark and beautifully whimsical. So, going into this, I knew that's the vibe I wanted to go for. Hopefully you enjoy!

The applause faded like dying stars, yet the dream remained, vivid, unyielding.

The Ringmaster stood alone at the heart of his stage with ivory skin almost luminescent under the spotlight. His audience gazed up at him in endless wonder, their faces reflecting the ethereal lights that twisted and pulsed at his command.

He was beautiful, he was powerful, he was–

A flicker disturbed the edge of his vision - shadows slipping through shadows. The silver filigree at his throat seemed to tighten and, for a heartbeat, the lights dimmed, casting the stage into near darkness. In the breath of shadow, he glimpsed threads of starlight descending from above; felt the phantom touch of something cold against his skin.

Then came the voice, sliding through his mind, honeyed and ancient, sweet as poisoned wine. The words themselves faded into the dark, but their essence lingered, reminiscent of promises forged in moonlight and bound in blood.

But the Ringmaster’s smile did not falter. It did not waver, even as those shadows moved closer, ever closer…

But then, suddenly, he awoke.

He gasped, his hand searching for his neck.

There it was, as always. That collar of silver filigree, beautiful and confining.

Reality bled back as the dark, shadowy remnants of his dream made way for the vivid colours of his tent.

Yet, within his mind, soft as silk, sharp as teeth, he still heard them, hooking beneath his skin.

Whispers.

Whispers…

It began with whispers.

Hushed voices carried on the evening breeze, tales of wonder and magic that danced through the village of Starfall like autumn leaves. The Festival of Fools was coming, they said. A carnival of dreams and wishes, of laughter and light.

Elysia Thorne paid the gossip little mind at first. Her world had shrunk to the confines of sickrooms, providing whatever healing comfort she could to her people. A hopeless endeavour - everyone knows that halting the Stone Curse is impossible once it takes hold.

First, you noticed your fingernails turning brittle, cracking like sun-baked clay. Then came the hardening - a creeping sensation that begins at your fingertips, as if you've dipped them in cement that never quite dries.

The transformation was slow, methodical in its cruelty. Day by day, the stiffness crawled up your fingers, turning flesh to granite, joints to unyielding stone. Your hands became living sculptures, beautiful in their horror - each line and wrinkle preserved perfectly in stone, a monument to what was once warm and alive. The curse inched up your arms with inexorable patience, claiming territory finger by finger, joint by joint, until your limbs become too heavy to lift.

Some said the worst part is watching it spread across your chest, feeling your lungs strain against the weight of stone ribs. But Elysia knew, from countless deathbed vigils, that the true horror comes when the curse reaches your heart. She had held too many hands - some warm, some already stone - as that vital muscle struggled against its rocky prison, beat by weakening beat, until finally... silence.

Thus, the art of healing the Stone Curse, such as it was, lay not in false promises of cure but in small mercies. A salve to ease the grinding sensation in solidifying joints. Warm compresses to comfort flesh not yet turned to stone. And, perhaps most importantly, a gentle presence in those final moments when the heart begins its last, laboured beats against walls of granite.

That was Elysia’s true role, here in this quiet little village. A sanctity of calm, of empathy in the face of certain death.

Elysia had planted countless herb gardens, seeking new combinations that might slow the curse's advance. She had filled her medical journal with careful observations, tracking the curse's progress through generations. She had even learned to weave dried flowers into her patients' hair - a reminder that beauty could exist alongside suffering. But for all her knowledge, all her careful studies and gentle ministrations, she couldn't halt the curse's inexorable march toward the heart.

These days, Yenna's case consumed most of her attention. The girl was twelve - far too young to face such a fate, though Elysia had learned long ago that the curse cared nothing for age or circumstance. It had already claimed Yenna's mother three months past, leaving the girl in Elysia's care more often than not. The father, overwhelmed by grief and the demands of a dying child, rarely visited anymore.

The curse would visit Elysia one day too. It was only a matter of time.

In her small sickroom, Yenna lay caught in the curse's embrace, her left arm now completely transformed. The stone had a peculiar beauty to it - smooth and grey as river rock, with veins of lighter crystal that caught the lamplight. If you didn't know better, you might think it an artist's masterpiece. But Elysia did know better. She saw how the crystalline patterns were creeping past the girl's shoulder, advancing with each passing day.

She had perhaps a month before the curse reached her heart - two, if they were fortunate.

Yet Yenna seemed to bear her fate with a grace that Elysia could scarcely fathom, delighting in the little things - in fairytales, in the company of others, in the flowers that had been carefully weaved into her hair.

"Tell me a story, Elysia," Yenna whispered, her voice as fragile as spun sugar. "Something happy."

Elysia's heart clenched, but she summoned a smile as bright and warm as summer sunshine.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a beautiful nightingale with feathers as white as moonlight. But this nightingale had a terrible secret - it couldn't sing."

As she spoke, her hands worked with practiced grace, checking Yenna's pulse at her throat, adjusting pillows with the kind of gentle efficiency that came from years of tending to the cursed.

"The other birds mocked the nightingale, so it fled deeper and deeper into the forest, where the shadows grew thick and the moonlight barely touched the ground. There, it met a fox who offered to teach it a new kind of song - one that would make others marvel, one that would make them stare in wonder. The nightingale, desperate to belong, accepted."

Her fingers worked methodically as she spoke, applying fresh herbs to the boundary where flesh met stone.

"Its new song was beautiful, but strange - not quite natural, yet enchanting all the same. Other creatures came from far and wide to hear it, never knowing the price of such beauty. Night after night the nightingale sang, its voice growing more captivating, more otherworldly, until even the stars seemed to pause in their dance to listen."

She smiled softly, tucking a strand of Yenna's hair behind her ear, careful to avoid the grey patches beginning to show at her temples.

"One night, a kind traveler heard the nightingale's song. But while others were entranced by its haunting melody, the traveler heard something else - a loneliness beneath the beauty, a yearning for something real. With patience, the traveler showed the nightingale that its worth wasn't in any song, borrowed or natural, but in its spirit.

"Slowly, the nightingale found its own voice - softer than its enchanted song, perhaps, but true. And though some missed its otherworldly melodies, others were drawn to this new sound - one of resilience and hope. The forest, once so dark and lonely, became a place of honest beauty.

"And so, the nightingale learned that sometimes our greatest weaknesses can become our greatest strengths, if only we're brave enough to be true to ourselves."

Yenna's eyes, heavy with sleep, fluttered closed. A soft smile played on her lips as she drifted off, the story's gentle magic working its spell.

It was a fairytale she had told many others, and would do so again, granting a moment of reprieve to those for whom hope had faded like ink in water. But the whisper of hope in her own heart refused to be silenced. There had to be something more she could offer, some way to break this curse that had haunted her people for generations.

As if in answer to her unspoken plea, the wind outside began to change. Yes, there was something new on the breeze - the faint tinkling of bells, the creak of wheels, and... music?

She couldn't deny her curiosity.

As Elysia drew closer to the window, she saw something that made her breath catch.

A carriage unlike any she had ever seen rolled into the village square, wheels turning with an otherworldly grace that seemed to defy the rutted earth beneath them. It seemed a masterwork of impossible architecture - wood carved into flowing curves, painted with deep purples and midnight blues that shifted like oil on water. Golden filigree traced patterns across its surface, forming images that Elysia could have sworn moved when caught in the corner of her eye - acrobats frozen mid-leap, mystical beasts with jewelled eyes, masked figures dancing eternally.

Lanterns swayed from the carriage’s eaves, casting an otherworldly glow, lighting the way for the four horses that pull it. At first glance, they appeared to be made of living shadow, black coats seeming to absorb all light that touched them.

Atop this magnificent conveyance stood a figure dressed in a riot of blues and golds. A gold half-mask, matching his blonde, perfectly permed hair, obscured the upper half of his face, leaving visible only a pair of startlingly intense eyes and a practised smile. When he spoke, his voice carried across the square with an unnatural clarity - projected, maybe, to reach every ear in the village.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed citizens of Starfall!” The man swept his arms wide, rings glinting on his gloved fingers. “I am Petras - herald of wonders and marvels beyond your wildest dreams!”

Elysia watched as curious faces, young and old, peeked out their doors and windows to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. Others were bold enough to approach the stranger, drawn to him like moths to a particularly enchanting flame.

“Behold!” Petras continued, his gestures grand and sweeping. “The Festival of Fools approaches - a carnival of wonders where the impossible bows to your imagination, where a realm of dreams and magic awaits, only a tenday’s travel away!” His smile widened, showing teeth that gleamed perhaps a touch too bright. “And where wishes might just come true for those brave enough - or desperate enough - to seize their chance.”

Wishes coming true… Elysia had heard rumours of the festival’s magic. But to see this otherworldly spectacle before her eyes… The very air around the carriage and its herald seemed to shimmer around them, as if reality itself knew this creation didn't quite belong in the waking world.

It couldn't be real…

Could it?

"Elysia." Jenevelle's voice cut through her wonder, sharp and practical as ever. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."

Elysia turned to find her fellow healer standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Where Elysia favoured flowing dresses and dried flowers, Jenevelle preferred practical robes in dark colours, her silver hair pulled back severely from her face. They were as different as summer and winter, yet somehow had forged an effective partnership in their shared calling.

"You haven't even heard what I'm thinking," Elysia said, though a smile tugged at her lips. It was an old dance between them - Elysia's hope and Jenevelle's scepticism, constantly at odds yet somehow balancing each other.

"I don't need to," Jenevelle moved to check on Yenna's sleeping form. "That look in your eyes says enough. And before you ask - no, I don't believe in magical festivals that grant wishes. Neither should you."

The crowd gathering in the square didn't share Jenevelle's doubts. They pressed closer as Petras continued his performance, his gestures grand and sweeping.

Elysia found herself leaning further out the window, her heart quickening. There was something in Petras’s voice - something that spoke to the ache of hope she'd carried for so long for her people.

“But how?” called a voice from the crowd. “A tenday’s travel, right as winter approaches. It's impossible.”

Petras’s laugh rang out like silver bells. “Ah, but that's the beauty of it!” With a flourish, he gestured to the carriage below. “This magnificent conveyance doesn't merely transport - it transcends! Space itself bends to its will. It will carry the worthy directly to the festival’s gates.”

The side of the carriage unfolded like a blooming flower, revealing the plush velvet seats within.

“But choose quickly, my friends,” he continued. “For the Festival of Fools is as fleeting as starlight, and far more precious. Miss your chance, and you may wait lifetimes before it graces your humble shores again.”

Elysia's hands curled against the windowsill. Hope, that dangerous flower she thought she'd learned to uproot, bloomed fresh in her chest. "What if it's real, Jen? What if there's a chance to break the curse?"

"And what of your patients while you chase fairy tales?" Jenevelle's voice was sharp, but her eyes were concerned when they met Elysia's. "What of Yenna?"

"You could tend to them," Elysia said softly. "You're as skilled a healer as I am."

" More skilled," Jenevelle corrected, with a touch of her usual dry humour. "I don't waste time weaving flowers into their hair."

Elysia turned to face Jenevelle fully. "We both know our treatments only ease their passing. The curse continues to spread, and nothing we do can stop it. I have to try. Even if it's just a chance, the smallest possibility... don't our people deserve that?"

Jenevelle was quiet for a long moment, studying Elysia with those sharp green eyes that seemed to see through all pretence.

Finally, she sighed.

"You're going regardless of what I say, aren't you?"

"Yes," Elysia admitted.

"Then at least let me help you prepare." Jenevelle moved to Elysia's workbench, gathering supplies with practised efficiency. "Take your medical journal. Your grey cloak - it's getting cold at night. And for gods' sake, try not to trust everyone who smiles at you."

Elysia felt her heart swell. "Thank you, Jen."

"Don't thank me yet," she replied. "Just... come back. These people need their gentle healer." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I'm not very good at telling stories."

Outside, Petras's voice rose in a final call. "Time grows short! Who among you dares to chase their dreams?"

Elysia quickly gathered her supplies, tucking them into her pack. She paused at Yenna's bedside, pressing a kiss to the sleeping girl's forehead.

"Go," Jenevelle said quietly. "Before I remember my common sense and try to stop you."

With one last look at her sleeping patient and her friend, Elysia slipped out into the night.

The air was thick with possibility and the sweet scent of hope - dangerous, and intoxicating as wine.

The crowd had thinned somewhat when Elysia approached the carriage. The hesitant had retreated to the safety of their homes, leaving only those whose desperation or curiosity outweighed their fear. The shadow-horses turned their luminous silver eyes toward her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Up close, she could see the way starlight shifted beneath their dark coats like veins of quicksilver.

Petras’s gaze settled on her with a calculating intensity. His smile softened, but something in his eyes remained sharp, assessing. He leaned forward, his voice dropping just low enough to draw her attention.

“Ah, another brave soul,” he said, the words honeyed but with a curious weight. He extended a gloved hand, as though welcoming her, yet there was an air of expectation behind it, an unspoken challenge.

“Step right up, my dear. Adventure awaits.” He held her gaze, then tilted his head. “But tell me, citizen of Starfall… What makes you wish to dance with fate?”

Elysia felt a chill, as though he had peeled back some layer of her heart to glimpse the wound within. “My people suffer from a curse,” she replied, lifting her chin. “If there is a chance I could find a cure, I would be a fool not to take it.”

Petras’s eyes gleamed, his smile widening. “Ah, a noble reason indeed. A healer’s heart, so quick to offer itself up for others.” He paused, his fingers tapping lightly against his chin. “But what of the risk? What if the price were steep, dear healer? What would you be willing to pay to end their suffering?”

The question echoed through her, stirring the depths of her own doubt. What would she sacrifice if it came down to it? Her life, her freedom? Or perhaps something else, something more intangible?

She met his gaze, her voice unwavering. “Whatever it takes. I’ll pay it.”

Petras’s smile took on a strange satisfaction. “Good,” he said. “Then you are worthy indeed.” He reached out and grasped her hand, leading her to the carriage. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as though he were imprinting something unseen upon her.

“Come along, then,” he said, gesturing to the open carriage door with a flourish. “The Festival awaits, and the path to wonder is short for those who are ready to leave the known world behind.”

Five others had already claimed their seats in the carriage's velvet interior. Her healer's eye catalogued them automatically: a merchant whose fingers wouldn't stop counting invisible coins, nervous energy radiating from his thin frame; an elderly woman clutching a locket, her fingers twisted with age and arthritis; a young couple holding hands so tightly their knuckles had gone white, both bearing the telltale grey pallor of the stone curse's early stages. And a boy who couldn't have seen more than sixteen summers, his eyes bright with dreams of escape.

As Elysia settled onto the plush velvet, she found herself studying their faces more closely. How many were running toward something, and how many running away? How many carried wishes as desperate as her own?

The door swung closed with a deep, resonant sound - like the sealing of fate itself.

And then, the world… shifted.

Colours blurred and bled into one another like wet paint, spilling from the edges of reality. The familiar sounds of the village - cricket songs, the faint bleat of distant sheep, the warm crackle of hearth fires - stretched and warped into something altogether unfamiliar, as if someone had pulled them apart like threads and woven them into a new, strange tapestry. Elysia’s stomach gave a lurch as reality folded around her, shifting in ways her senses couldn’t comprehend.

It was like being unmade and then reassembled in the space between breaths. Light fractured into ribbons of shimmering colour, winding around the carriage in a dance of prismatic splendour. Time lost all meaning; they could have been travelling for seconds or centuries.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, it stopped.

The door swung open to reveal a transformed world. Where once there had been the familiar, earthy confines of the village square, there now sprawled a fantastical landscape, too rich and strange for words, its beauty as alluring as it was unnerving.

The Festival of Fools stretched before them, a labyrinth of wonder that defied earthly architecture.

And it was beyond anything Elysia could have dreamed.

Tents of midnight blue and deep crimson reached toward a sky caught in eternal twilight. Banners of silk and starlight rippled in the breeze, while lanterns of every hue bobbed and swayed overhead, their light catching on gilt edges and crystal chimes.

Elysia blinked, her gaze shifting to her fellow passengers as they tumbled out of the carriage, each one wearing a dazed expression. As dazed as she felt. She hesitated, instinctively reaching out to the elderly woman beside her - but her companion barely seemed to see her, her gaze fixed on a nearby tent. The woman’s fingers twisted around her locket, her eyes shining with something distant, as if already lost to the promise of whatever marvel lay within.

“Wait–” Elysia began. Her hand fell away as the merchant shuffled past her, eyes flickering to a tent entrance adorned with gleaming gold. Elysia opened her mouth to speak, but he had already drifted away, his body moving with a compulsion she could almost feel.

The young couple clung to each other, moving in perfect unison toward a stage where ethereal figures danced, their feet floating above the ground, defying gravity with languid grace. Their eyes sparkled with something strange and fierce, their fingers woven so tightly together that Elysia doubted she could have separated them even if she’d tried.

And the boy - the boy with his fierce, bright gaze - paused only briefly, sparing her a glance that was both curious and determined. Elysia raised a hand to him, but before she could even form a greeting, he turned toward a pavilion wreathed in veils of light, vanishing into the crowd with the others.

It was as if the festival itself had taken hold of them, plucking them away like petals from a flower and scattering them to its far corners.

And so she stood. Alone.

The air buzzed with magic, thick and tangible, and Elysia felt it tugging at her too, inviting her to drift into its embrace, to forget herself in the allure of it all.

No, she thought, shaking her head. You’re here for a reason. Stay focused.

Her fingers brushed against the medical journal tucked safely in her pack - a small, grounding reminder of reality and purpose in this world that felt more like a waking dream.

With thoughts of her people, pained, with hearts pounding frantically against stone prisons strong in her mind, her resolve was surely immovable.

This was it now. No going back.

She took a deep breath, inhaling frosty air which carried the scent of mulled wine and honey, and took her first, tentative steps.

It was impossible not to stare in awe at all that surrounded her.

The festival sprawled in every direction, paths twisting and turning. Music wove through the air, sometimes near, sometimes far, always just familiar enough to be enticing. Each route beckoned with its own marvels - a path strewn with flowers that bloomed and wilted in heartbeats, another where the very ground rippled like water beneath her feet.

As she wandered, her trained eye couldn’t help but catalogue the details around her. Performers moved through the crowd with an otherworldly grace that was almost painful in its perfection, their bodies bending and twisting as if the bones within them were liquid: jugglers, acrobats, wandering magicians. Vendors offered sweets that sparkled like jewels and steamed with impossible colours.

Every sight, every sound, every scent seemed designed to overwhelm the senses, to make one forget the world beyond the festival's borders.

That's when she heard it - a voice that seemed to command the very air itself, echoing from the grandest tent she had ever seen. The Big Top stood at what seemed to be the heart of the festival, its peaks disappearing into the twilight sky.

The pull of that voice was irresistible. Elysia found her feet carrying her toward the Big Top of their own accord, drawn like a moth to flame. As she drew closer, the distinct sound of music grew stronger, wrapping around her like silk.

Elysia pushed through the velvet curtains that concealed the entrance.

And gasped.

Inside, row upon row of plush velvet seats surrounded a central stage, each filled to the brim with spectators who sat unnaturally still, their eyes fixed forward with an intensity that stirred something in Elysia's healer's instincts.

But it was the figure commanding the stage that truly stole her breath.

He moved with a grace that transcended mere performance, each gesture flowing into the next as though his very presence were an intricate, endless dance. His coat was black as a starless night, its fabric embroidered with shifting silver constellations that seemed to breathe with the light, stars woven into darkness. Beneath it, a deep crimson vest clung to his form, its subtle gleam catching the lantern glow like the first blush of dawn against shadowed cliffs. In his hand was a cane - a slender, polished rod of black wood that absorbed light, crowned with a silver star cradled within a crescent moon.

Around his throat, a high collar of delicate silver filigree encircled his neck, as beautiful as it was constrictive, its pattern like that of a spider’s web. His face was partly obscured by a half-mask of lace, its delicate, web-like design mirroring that of the collar, with tiny, glinting gems that sparkled like trapped stars. The mask framed his features, giving the sharp lines of his jaw and the hint of a smirk a more dangerous appeal.

But his eyes...

Gods, those eyes.

They glowed a fierce, unnatural red, like rubies held to candlelight, gleaming with a mix of mischief and promise. They swept across the crowd, capturing the gaze of every watcher with an intensity that bordered on hypnotic.

And when they locked with hers, everything else faded into silence.

Time seemed to stop.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" His voice was like the richest of velvets. "Tonight, we transcend the mundane, we breach the veil between reality and dreams. But for our next performance..." His eyes remained fixed on Elysia, a smile curving his lips, "I require a volunteer."

Goosebumps flared across her skin.

His hand extended toward her, pale and elegant. "You there, my dear. Won't you join us?"

The invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but Elysia’s body had already betrayed her, rising before her mind could form a protest. The crowd seemed to melt away as she walked, her limbs light and unsteady, as though the air itself was enchanted.

In this moment, it felt as though there was no applause, no noise - just the sound of her heart pounding in her chest and the soft, rhythmic pulse of the festival’s music humming through her bones.

Up close… gods, he was beautiful. Beautiful in an ethereal sort of way that Elysia had never encountered: skin pale as moonlight, hair a shock of white.

But then he smiled, and his teeth… she could have sworn they seemed just a touch too sharp.

This man - this creature - radiated danger beneath his beauty, like poisonous flowers that tempt with their colours before they kill.

Yet she had come too far to retreat now.

"And what's your name, darling?" he asked, his voice pitched for her ears alone despite the crowded tent.

"Elysia," she managed, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. Years of maintaining calm at sickbeds served her well now, it would seem. "Elysia Thorne."

"Elysia," he repeated, as though tasting each syllable on his tongue. "I am Astarion, master of ceremonies and ringmaster of this humble circus." His head tilted slightly, studying her with those burning eyes. "Tell me, what brings a healer to our little festival of wonders?"

She started at that. "How did you-?"

"Your hands," he murmured, catching one of hers in his cool grasp. "They bear the telltale stains of medicinal herbs. And your eyes… they carry the weight of one who knows too much of suffering."

"My people are cursed," she said, lifting her chin. "They're turning to stone, and nothing I do can stop it. I've heard the festival can grant wishes."

A curious expression flickered in those crimson eyes before his smile widened, unreadable under that lace mask of his.

"Oh, you sweetheart." He turned to address the crowd, though his hand remained at the small of her back, cool even through the fabric of her dress. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have something special indeed. A healer seeking to cure the incurable! Shall we show her what wonders await?"

Before she could respond, Astarion raised his cane with a flourish.

The stage erupted into light at the sweep of his cane, a soft shimmer that expanded and enveloped the space. Elysia felt the magic in the air, delicate as a lover's touch, winding between her fingers and across her skin.

Shadows and starlight blurred into a living tapestry as a phantom beast took form - a tiger, its body composed of silk-like darkness threaded with starlight. Its stripes glowed silver, each muscle rippling with a sensual grace as it prowled a slow circle around her, leaving faint trails of light that faded like a sigh.

"Beautiful, isn’t she?" he murmured near her ear, his voice like a low hum in the dark. Elysia felt her skin flush under the intensity of his attention. The cane twirled through his fingers with effortless skill, the silver star at its tip casting prismatic glints that danced over her skin, each glimmer a soft, fleeting caress.

"But that’s only the beginning," he continued. "Tell me, my dear healer, do you trust me?”

The responsible answer would be no. The safe answer would be no.

And yet…

"Yes," she breathed.

He smiled something sinful.

“Excellent.”

With a flick of his wrist, he lifted her, magic making her as light as a feather. The tiger moved beneath her, and without hesitation, she found herself seated astride its back, floating through a dream woven of starlight. It was cool beneath her, a sensation like silk winding over her legs, tangible yet ephemeral, like liquid moonlight.

“You see, ladies and gentlemen,” Astarion’s voice echoed across the tent, his tone honeyed, “true magic lies not in the illusion itself, but in making you forget it’s an illusion at all.”

He lifted her higher, and as her feet left the ground, the phantom tiger began to dissolve, breaking into threads of light. It shifted beneath her, its form disintegrating into long, silken ribbons that spiralled upward, wrapping around her wrists, her waist, her ankles. Elysia gasped as the cool, weightless strands slid over her skin, binding her gently, lifting her further into the air, until she was suspended like a marionette in a web of pure magic.

The ribbons caressed her, sliding over her bare arms, tracing her collarbone, winding around her waist with an intimate, knowing pressure. They didn’t restrict her - they cradled her, their touch both tender and possessive, as though Astarion’s magic were wrapping her in the embrace of his own hands. She felt the shimmer of starlight against her skin, cool as frost yet stirring a warmth deep within her.

"You see," Astarion murmured, his voice close, dangerously soft, “true magic lies in the transition - that delicious moment between reality and dream.”

He extended his hand toward her, and the ribbons of light responded, lowering her gently until her feet nearly touched the stage, held in that intoxicating moment just before she could ground herself. She floated there, caught between the air and his spell, as though she had been pulled into the space between breaths.

“The moment,” he continued, catching her hand and pulling her close, “when one can no longer tell where the performance ends…”

He spun her, the ribbons of light tightening as he did so, sliding across her shoulders, down her back, encircling her waist in soft, twisting knots that bound her body to his magic.

She was lost in him, in the power that flowed from his touch, in the way the silken light wound around them both like a lover’s embrace.

Elysia’s heart pounded in time with the pulse of the festival. And Astarion - he was the centre of it all, the master of this world, his every movement deliberate, calculated. She could feel it: the weight of his control, the way he led her without question, without hesitation.

And so, they danced. Deeply, intensely. Every step, every movement, every brush of his fingers across her skin was a command she couldn’t ignore. The ribbons tightened around her as he led her in intricate steps, each turn leaving trails of silver light in the air, shimmering like scattered stars. She could feel the texture of the magic against her skin, smooth and cool as it pressed into her, guiding her in a rhythm as old as desire itself.

“You’re beautiful when you let go, darling” he whispered, his voice low, dangerous. “So few allow themselves to surrender to the festival.”

The magic, and this bizarre, enchanted dance, reached its crescendo. Phantom stars whirled around them in dizzying spirals. The very air seemed to sing with power. And then...

He pulled her close, one final spin that ended with her dipped low in his arms. Their faces were inches apart, his cool breath mingling with her heavy breathing. The world beyond them had dissolved into a shower of starlight.

Time seemed suspended. Elysia could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She could see her own reflection in Astarion's eyes.

There was something she was supposed to remember, something important...

But it slipped away like smoke through her fingers. How could anything matter more than this moment, this magic, this man who held her as if she were something precious and dangerous all at once?

Remember …

Remember? Remember what?

Her heart beat wildly under the allure of his gaze, his power.

... Why am I here again?

Next Chapter

No Pressure Tag List: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy @asterordinary

Masterlist can be found here!

#i was gonna upload this on halloween and then went nah #i wanna do it now haha #this fic has been plaguing my thoughts #i am simultaneously really excited about it and also exceedingly nervous #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female oc #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #astarion smut #astarion fluff #baldur's gate 3 #circus au #ringmasterstarion #a tale of fools and tricksters #bg3

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solxamber · 5 months ago

Note

Hiii cld u write smth about otto apocalypse X afab reader from the hitgame honkai impact 3rd 😛😛 LIKE LORD THERE BARELY ANY FICS ABOUT THIS MAN I WANT HIM SO BAD AKAUDGEHDHJEID

Confession Impossible - Otto Apocalypse x reader

3 Times Otto Apocalypse tries to confess and the 1 time he succeeds

Did not expect my first ask from hi3 to be otto (absolutely expected it to be Mei or Elysia) but i was pretty excited lol. I hope you like it <3

It wasn’t often that Otto Apocalypse found himself out of his depth, but here he was, pacing around the plush living room of Kallen’s apartment like a man who’d lost all sense of control. The usually composed and sly mastermind was currently dealing with an issue far beyond all his machinations and manipulations.

The issue in question? You.

And of course, Kallen was sitting there on the couch, watching him with barely contained amusement. Sakura sat next to her, offering a soft smile, sympathy practically radiating off her.

“This is torture,” Otto muttered, running a hand through his hair. He stopped pacing, staring down at Kallen. “I’ve faced down empires, altered time itself, and yet… this.”

“You’re lovesick,” Kallen said simply, a broad grin spreading across her face.

“Hopelessly,” Sakura added sympathetically, shooting him a look that was all empathy.

Otto shot them both a glare. “You’re supposed to help me.”

“We are helping,” Kallen replied, lounging back and crossing one leg over the other. “This is our version of tough love.”

Otto let out an exasperated sigh. He turned toward the window, peering out at the cityscape below. Somewhere out there, you were living your life, blissfully unaware of his current plight. For all his intelligence, charisma, and centuries of life, you remained an enigma. He could manipulate entire realities, but getting you to understand that he liked you? Impossible.

“You’re overthinking it,” Kallen piped up, and Otto turned back toward her.

“How am I supposed to approach this?” he asked, exasperation clear in his tone. “Every time I drop a hint, she just—she doesn’t get it! How can someone be so… oblivious?”

“Well,” Kallen said, snickering, “maybe your hints are more convoluted than you think.”

Sakura nodded, offering a small smile. “Perhaps she’s simply not expecting a confession from you. You don’t exactly have the… softest reputation.”

Kallen barked a laugh at that. “Yeah, maybe try toning down the scheming vibes next time you try.”

Otto’s lips thinned into a line. “I’m not scheming. I’m…” He trailed off, trying to find the right word. “I’m being subtle.”

Kallen and Sakura exchanged a glance.

“Sure, subtle,” Kallen said with a wink.

Sakura gently patted his shoulder. “Maybe subtle isn’t your best approach, Otto.”

Otto let out a dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He pointed at Kallen accusingly, voice dipping to whine"The only reason you can sit there and mock me is because you're married to Sakura. If you weren't, you'd be in the same boat as me, suffering like the rest of us!."

Sakura nodded sagely, "Love does make a fool of us all."

Kallen simply grinned, resting her head on Sakura's shoulder. :Perks of being off the market, dear Otto."

He sighed again, feeling defeated. How was it that even when he planned everything out perfectly, you still managed to remain blissfully unaware of his intentions? He supposed that was part of the charm—you didn’t fall for his usual tricks. You were something else entirely.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try again.

The first time Otto tried to confess to you, it was over lunch. You had agreed to meet him at a quaint little café near your apartment, completely unaware that Otto had spent hours agonizing over how to word his feelings in a way you would pick up on. In his mind, this would be simple. He would drop a compliment, you’d catch it, and it would all progress from there. Easy.

“Wow, this place is nice,” you remarked, looking around the café with wide eyes. “Thanks for inviting me, Otto. I needed this break.”

“My pleasure,” he replied smoothly, trying to maintain his composure. His heart was pounding, but outwardly, he remained the picture of calm and collected. “You deserve to unwind.”

You smiled at him, and his heart fluttered. This was it. He could feel it.

“By the way,” Otto began, lowering his voice slightly to make the moment feel more intimate, “have I told you how… radiant you look today?”

You blinked at him, your expression turning quizzical. “Radiant?”

“Yes,” Otto said, trying to keep the conversation flowing smoothly. “Radiant, as in glowing. You have a certain… light about you.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Did they change the lightbulbs in here?”

Otto stared at you for a long second, completely taken off guard. “What?”

“You said I was glowing,” you said, glancing around. “I thought maybe the lighting in here was brighter or something.”

He blinked. “No. No, I meant you were glowing.”

“Oh,” you said, then laughed. “Thanks, Otto, that’s sweet. It must be the highlighter I’m wearing. I tried this new brand. It’s got, like, these shimmer particles, or whatever.” You tapped your cheekbones proudly.

Otto’s internal scream could’ve shattered the entire building. “Yes… of course.”

Otto decided that his next attempt had to be a bit grander. Clearly, subtlety wasn’t your thing, so he aimed for something more… obvious. He planned everything meticulously. He would surprise you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a small note tucked inside, detailing his feelings. It was a tried-and-true method, foolproof.

The execution? Well, not so much.

You had come to visit him at his office, and when you entered, you were immediately met with the sight of Otto standing there, holding an enormous bouquet of roses.

You blinked. “Whoa, that’s… a lot of flowers.”

Otto smiled, confidence radiating from him. “They’re for you.”

Your eyes widened. “For me? But… why?”

It was time. The moment had arrived.

“Because I wanted to show you how much you mean to me,” he said, keeping his tone soft and sincere. “You have this way of brightening my day, and—”

“Wait,” you interrupted, your face suddenly filling with guilt. “Oh no, did I forget my birthday? Is today my birthday?”

Otto nearly choked on air. “No—”

“My God, it’s not my birthday,” you continued, talking more to yourself than him. “Then… Oh no, it’s not *your* birthday, is it? Oh no, did I completely forget—”

“No,” Otto said, more forcefully this time, shaking his head. “It’s not a birthday. I’m trying to—”

“Oh! Is this, like, a holiday thing? I’ve been kind of out of it lately. If this is for some special day, I’ll feel really bad for not getting you anything.”

Otto clenched his teeth, trying his best not to let his exasperation show. “It’s not a holiday, either. I’m trying to confess—”

“Oh! Confess what?” you asked innocently, eyes wide and curious. “Did something go wrong?”

He stared at you, deadpan, as if you’d grown a second head. “Yes,” he finally muttered. “Something has gone terribly wrong.”

After two failed attempts, Otto was determined to make this one work. This time, he wasn’t going to leave anything up to chance. He had planned a grand dinner at a private location—an elegant setup with candles, roses, and the perfect atmosphere for a confession.

The food was meticulously chosen, the wine aged to perfection. Nothing could go wrong.

Except, of course, everything went wrong.

The evening started well enough. You had agreed to meet him at the secret garden, a stunning venue that Otto had carefully prepared. As you arrived, your eyes widened at the sight of the romantic setup.

“Wow,” you breathed, taking in the scene. “This is beautiful, Otto.”

Otto smiled, feeling a surge of confidence. “I’m glad you like it. Tonight is… special.”

You nodded, eyes still sparkling with awe. “Yeah, this definitely looks special. Are we celebrating something? Did you win another crazy battle against fate or something?”

Otto suppressed the urge to sigh. “No. This is not about battles or fate. This is about—”

But before he could finish his sentence, there was a sudden, loud bang followed by a spray of wine. Somehow, the bottle he’d carefully selected and opened just moments ago had exploded, soaking both of you in red wine.

You yelped, wiping the wine from your face, your hair now sticky with the liquid. “Oh my God! Otto, are you okay?”

Otto stood there, drenched, his face a perfect picture of disbelief. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”

You gave him a hesitant smile. “This is… uh, a very memorable evening.”

Otto stared at you, feeling the last remnants of his carefully planned evening slipping through his fingers. “That’s one way to put it.”

The night was officially a disaster, and despite his best efforts to recover, Otto’s attempt at confessing was once again derailed. By the time dessert arrived, you were too busy trying to wring out your dress to notice Otto’s barely concealed frustration.

By now, Otto was at the end of his rope. Subtlety didn’t work, elaborate gestures were a failure, and fate seemed to enjoy playing cruel tricks on him. So, he resolved to take the simplest, most straightforward route. No more games. No more grand plans.

He would just tell you.

You met Otto in the garden again, though this time the atmosphere was much more relaxed. No grand dinners, no candles—just a quiet, serene walk beneath the stars. Otto glanced at you, steeling himself for what was about to come.

You were chatting casually, oblivious to the tension building inside him. Finally, Otto stopped in his tracks, turning to face you. His eyes were intense, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something more desperate.

“Listen,” Otto began, his voice a bit more strained than usual. “I can’t keep doing this.”

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “Doing what?”

“This!” He gestured vaguely, frustration leaking into his tone. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve complimented you, I’ve given you flowers, I’ve set up dinners… and yet, you still don’t understand.”

You stared at him, completely confused. “Understand what?”

Otto took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I like you. No—I love you. Romantically. I’ve been trying to tell you for what feels like forever, but you never seem to get it.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Wait… you… love me?”

“Yes,” Otto said, exasperated. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! How could you not have noticed?”

“I thought…” you trailed off, looking flustered. “I thought you were just being nice. Or maybe playing one of your weird games.”

Otto groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why would I go through all this trouble if I didn’t have feelings for you?”

You stood there in stunned silence for a moment, processing his words. Then, suddenly, you smiled—bright and genuine. “Wow. I didn’t expect this.”

Otto stared at you, completely dumbfounded. “You didn’t expect this?”

“Nope,” you said with a chuckle. “But… I guess I should’ve known. I mean, now that I think about it, you have been acting kind of weird.”

Otto threw his hands up in the air. “Exactly!”

You giggled softly, stepping closer to him. “I’m sorry, Otto. I didn’t realize. But… for what it’s worth, I like you too.”

Otto’s breath caught in his throat. “You do?”

You nodded, smiling warmly. “Yeah. I just… never thought you’d be interested in me like that.”

Otto stared at you for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest. Without thinking, he pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair.

“I’ve been interested in you for a long time,” he whispered, his voice softer now. “I’m just glad you finally got the message.”

You hugged him back, resting your head against his chest. “Sorry it took me so long.”

Otto smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Better late than never.”

For once, everything felt right. No more schemes, no more plans—just you and him, standing together beneath the stars.

Kallen was going to laugh at him for weeks, but in this moment, Otto didn’t care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.

Now, if only he could figure out how to plan your first date without accidentally making it look like another elaborate plot.

Maybe Kallen had a point. He really did need to work on his approach.

Masterlist

#honkai impact 3rd #otto apocalypse #otto apocalypse x reader #otto x reader #honkai impact x reader #honkai impact 3rd x reader #hi3 #hi3 x reader

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synesthesiadreamscape · 1 month ago

Text

The Identity of Cyrene’s murderer, or the Past, Present, and Eternal Self

Ancient Hymn Trailer — "Of Titans and the Mortal Realms"

(I know we’re not in Penacony anymore, just let me have this).

There’s something interesting happening in Amphoreus. And no, I’m not talking about the eerie parallels between the world’s superficial god-slaying prophecy and the ongoing Aeon-slaying subplot playing out in the universe, or the clandestine Memokeeper who tried to spy on Herta and Nous, or even the mysterious murmurings of Oronyx calling for their “mother.” All of those things, I think, are the secrets about this world that the writers actually care about wrapping in mystery. What I find fascinating is that, to this point, there are just as many things that they evidently do not care about keeping a secret, making only the barest effort, if any, to try and hide the truth.

I think the identity of Cyrene’s killer is a prime example of this. Let me show you what I mean.

SPOILERS: Amphoreus Act I: Heroic Saga of Flame-Chase and Honkai Impact 3rd’s Elysium Everlasting arc (and also parts of the Elysian Realm arc). You have been warned!

Amphoreus’ first act concludes with Kevin Phainon undergoing Nikador’s trial to prove he’s worthy to inherit Strife’s legacy. We know Phainon is unsure of this path, despite his repeated assertions that he’s been waiting for this moment, and that it’s his dream to inherit Nikador’s authority. As of this writing, the outcome of the trial is undecided.

…Except we do know its outcome, because Mydei has already been drip marketed as the heir of the Lance of Fury, two weeks before 3.0 even dropped.

“O Chrysos Heir that seeks the Coreflame of Strife, you must suffer a thousand deaths, be bathed in blood on the path home, and bear the madness of fate alone, for one must slay a god to become one.” (Amphoreus' Saga of Heroes | Mydei)

Not exactly suspenseful for the people engaging with Honkai Star Rail’s social media accounts. What’s more, towards the end of Act I, Mem gives the Trailblazer a storybook called “As I’ve Written” to record their memories of the flame-chase journey and the flame-chasers Chyrsos Heirs. Just like the Titans’ constellations are displayed on a wheel in the Vortex of Genesis, the Chrysos Heirs are represented as icons around a similar constellation wheel after the Trailblazer writes a memory of them into the book. Mydei, unsurprisingly, is occupying the same space as Nikador’s constellation, while Phainon is at the top over the constellation I presume is Kephale’s. Again, this is not exactly a well-guarded secret. All of the marketing for Amphoreus has strongly implied that Kephale is Phainon’s fate, down to the design of Phainon’s eyes. The devs are not even trying to hide this, because it is not supposed to be a secret or point of intrigue in-and-of-itself. In other words, we know the result, but we don’t know how these characters will get there.

Now, spoilers-by-drip-marketing are not a new thing in Honkai Star Rail or in Hoyo games in general (looking at you, Mavuika and Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae and Wanderer and Robin and–). But that’s not the only example of shit they don’t seem to care about keeping secret in Amphoreus. If you frequent any HSR fan spaces, then surely you’ve seen theories by now about our new friend Mem:

If you haven’t, then here’s the sitch: the current running theory is that Mem is Cyrene, or at least connected to her in some way. Supporting evidence for this is a mix of vibes (Cyrene and Mem’s shared pink aesthetic, similarities between Mem and ELF Elysia’s role in Elysium Everlasting) and concrete hints rooted in the narrative (the memories Mem showed us of a little boy and girl [presumably Phainon and Cyrene] when we first land in Amphoreus, and this part of Nameless Faces), as well as the uncanny resemblance between Mem’s as-yet unnamed voice actors and the performances for Elysia and Cyrene in all languages. I definitely hear Marina Inoue in Mem’s Japanese voice acting.

This is still a fan theory, but there are too many coincidences pointing at least towards its partial truth. When it comes to Mem’s identity, it seems that the writers are far less concerned with players knowing who Mem is, but rather why she is appearing to us in this form.

Cyrene’s only explicit appearance as Cyrene in the story so far occurs in a 2D illustrated cutscene of Phainon’s past towards the end of the first act. Cyrene is sitting in a field in Aedes Elysiae, his homeland, and she says he will be “a hero worshipped by all” based on a card she drew (perhaps some Amphoreus astrology?). But Phainon resists this reading of fate because he has no interest in becoming a hero for the world, which is yet another aspect he shares with Kevin Kaslana.

And that’s when we’re confronted with the horror of Cyrene’s fate — she’s stabbed by an unknown assailant, with golden blood flowing from her wound:

To be honest, I didn’t read too much into this image until this past week while watching Cy Yu’s VODs on Youtube. Because upon seeing it again, I realized I knew that sword. And if you’ve been watching all of the marketing for Amphoreus, then you’ve seen it before too.

It belongs to this dude:

First two images are Mythology Opening, last image is Nameless Faces

That’s what happens when you stare for too long at Anaxa crumbs. Stuff gets burned into your brain that you didn’t even know was there, and it comes roaring to the front when you least expect it. Looking at these other stills of Masked Dude at 0.25x speed, I’m almost positive it’s the same blade.

And yes, this is a tenuous connection at best as is, but hear me out. There’s a lot more to it than just the similar blade shape.

Elysium Everlasting

Cyrene is inarguably a variant of Elysia from Honkai Impact 3rd, and if you’re not familiar with the game then let’s just say she is extremely important in shaping Part 1’s finale. TL;DR, Elysia is from the Previous Era, the generation of humans before Kiana, Mei, and Bronya, who lost to the Honkai and had their civilization destroyed. She was one of the Flamechasers, a group of humans who were modified with the genes of strong Honkai beasts so that they could fight and resist the Honkai in ways other humans could not. Mei learns about this past era by venturing into the Elysian Realm, a simulation composed of every Flamechaser’s memories, where she first meets Elysia’s simulation.

Before the Previous Era lost to the Herrscher of Finality, the real Elysia sacrificed herself so that when she returned to the Honkai, her pure love for humanity would influence the Will of Honkai so that the next Herrscherrs could retain their humanity and the will to fight for its survival rather than its destruction. By doing so, she paved the way for a brighter future that she would never witness herself. I flag this plot point because it almost exactly mirrors what happened with Gnaeus at the end of Act I, and you know how Hoyo loves to foreshadow greater plots through subplots like this:

Gnaeus: I will return to where I came from and become a part of Nikador’s divinity once more. In all likelihood. I will also be consumed by corruption. An inevitable course of action if we hope to end this madness. Castorice: You are willing to…sacrifice yourself for a future you won’t get to witness? Gnaeus: This is my purpose, my origin. I am no mortal and I do not fear death…Even so, will you still weep for me? (Kremnos, Cleanse Thy Rusted Blood (II))

The last memory sync the real Elysia did with the realm happened before she died, so reconstructing the memory of her death in Elysium Everlasting required uniting the memories of those who witnessed it - and one of the people who not only witnessed it, but executed it, was Kevin Kaslana.

This leaves us in an uncomfortable position regarding Cyrene’s death. Could her executioner, (presumably) Masked Dude, actually be Phainon filling a similar role to Kevin's? In Nameless Faces, we see Phainon and Mydei fighting Masked Dude themselves, which would seem to rule this possibility out, nevermind that it seems Cyrene died when they were both children, and that Phainon once sought revenge for having his home ripped away from him. How could he be angry about what happened, and also be the reason it happened? And wouldn’t this direction for Cyrene's death be too close to Elysium Everlasting if it’s true? After all, Shaoji said these characters would have their own fates, separate from some of their variants from Honkai Impact 3rd, right? I think this is still true, but it doesn’t have to rule out the possibility of Masked Dude being “Phainon.”

It’s clear that there’s a lot more to Phainon than meets the eye. “Phainon” is apparently not his true name, and in his recent past he followed a much darker path than the one he’s on now. Kevin also was known to wear a ‘mask’ while he was in MOTH, only rarely revealing his true feelings to the people he was closest to, and even then he kept many of them in the dark, including Su, MEI, and Elysia. Everyone can tell Phainon is going to crash out at some point in Amphoreus, the writing is on the wall re: his lack of a strong will, his surprise that borrowing a Titan’s power actually hurts them, and the little he seems to understand about the true nature of the prophecy he and the other Chrysos Heirs are following.

Castorice: The prophecy gave him a new mission, granting him a new life as a Chrysos Heir. But which is more important to him: his new mission or his desire for revenge?

This part of him, his “past” self that bubbles beneath the surface of his “present” self, may come back to haunt him as he journeys toward Kephale’s Coreflame in more than just a figurative way. It’s not like this is out of the realm of possibility - we’ve already seen how past and present can be superimposed on one another in Amphoreus, interacting in strange ways through tools that construct illusions (perhaps a consequence of both the Erudition and the Remembrance’s influence). Or maybe it’s that Masked Dude is actually split off from Phainon himself, similar to Wonweek and Sunday, or all of Tingyun’s “selves” in A New Venture on the Eighth Dawn.

And speaking of past selves, there’s a pretty fun puzzle throughout Amphoreus called Golden Scapegoat that features a “past” version of the player, which shapes the gameplay into a series of convoluted maneuvers to both avoid your shadow and trick it into creating a path forward for you. If we read this puzzle as an additional clue to the main story’s themes, just as Oronyx’s puzzles involve using shapes to create light and shadow that construct a desired form (Plato’s Allegory of the Cave), then the idea that Masked Dude is a shadow of Phainon has some additional support, though I suppose there’s nothing specifically limiting it to Phainon, either:

"Past self appears as an embodiment of darkness"

However, I did think this passage of the Golden Scapegoat’s Mutterings was interesting given the nature of Elysia’s death, since Kevin knew Elysia wasn’t their enemy and partook in her sacrifice because he wanted to believe in the future she envisioned. Still need to do a close reading of the rest of it, but this is from the 4th part:

There’s also a part of the Mythology Opening trailer that I assume is Masked Dude talking (I could be mistaken, so take this with a massive grain of salt), and while I will say in Japanese it is not clear to me that it’s Satoshi Hino’s voice (I kinda hear it, but it feels delusional), in English to me it has that same uncanny similarity to Joshua Waters’ Phainon that Mem’s voice has to Cyrene’s (compare Phainon’s “even gods can bleed” to the link clip). This is pretty copium evidence, since these similarities could be all in my head, but for what it’s worth…

Phainon and Masked Dude shown right after each other (0:09 vs. 0:10) in Nameless Faces. What did they mean by this?

One last note on this Phainon/Masked Dude theory that I think is interesting. The theory that Phainon has something to do with Nanook is as ubiquitous as the theories about Mem and Cyrene, and while there’s clearly some Nanook symbolism going on in Nameless Faces when Phainon splashes golden blood on his torso, I am hoping Phainon will have a happier ending than Nanook and that he won’t go nearly as far as Kevin did in Honkai Impact 3rd. But if Masked Dude is some other version of Phainon, perhaps he is the allegory for Nanook’s ascent, and Phainon’s journey will represent an “alternative ending.” To put it another way, Kephale is the Worldbearer Titan, who shoulders the fate of Amphoreus and delivers mankind to hope and salvation. So what is the opposite of this role, or its shadow?

The Worldbreaker, who delivers all to Destruction:

While this theory did make more sense with some additional knowledge from Honkai Impact 3rd, the available official material for Amphoreus, including marketing videos like the Mythology Opening and Nameless Faces, is not exactly subtle about who Masked Dude might be. I mean come on, they use very similar visual storytelling with Phainon and Masked Dude in Nameless Faces as they do for Mem and Cyrene in the same video. This leads me to believe that this particular “secret,” as well as Masked Dude’s potential role in Cyrene’s fate, is yet another plot point that the writers don’t care that much about shrouding in mystery. And to me, this indicates that there is something much, much, bigger that they’re concealing through the story of Phainon and Cyrene, the “why” of Amphoreus rather than the “what.”

And that’s all! Hopefully you found this entertaining if nothing else ^_^ What lore have you found in Amphoreus so far?

EDIT: changed a sentence about what elysia's sacrifice would do for the next generation of humans cuz I realized the way I wrote it before was not accurate. ☺️

Director’s cut:

Chat, is it normal if your CHIMERA has horns? Get it? …I’ll see myself out.

(no but why does this kitty chimera have horns like the golden scapegoat character?)

References:

What Happened in Elysium Everlasting!? Chapter 29 - 31 Story Recap by Homu Labs. This channel is the GOAT for HI3rd lore.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail lore #honkai star rail theory #amphoreus #phainon #cyrene

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