#every world state has a set of heroes

[trillian-n7]

Dwarves

Warden - Sereda Aeducan | Katja Brosca Inquisitor - Valka Cadash | Edric Cadash Rook - Valka Laidir | Rurik Aldwir

Humans

Warden - Edda Cousland | Caitriona Cousland | Irith Amell Hawke - Alys Hawke | Marisol Hawke | Gideon Hawke | Emmett Hawke Inquisitor - Gwendolyn Trevelyan | Maxwell Trevelyan Rook - Camille Ingellvar | Nikolai de Riva | Valeria Thorne

Elves

Warden - Eilidh Tabris Inquisitor - Saoirse Lavellen | Aisling Lavellan Rook - Livia Stella Mercar | Svetti de Riva

Notes and family relationships: - All Inquisitors are sibling pairs, the world state determines who attended the Divine Conclave. - Valka Cadash and Valka Laidir are the same person, the Veilguard version is where she did not attend the Divine Conclave. - Rurik was adopted as a baby by a travelling elven merchant. He is the son of Varric and Bianca though no-one is aware of this fact apart from his adoptive mother. - Edric still ended up involved with Dorian when his sister was the Inquisitor. They met between between the events of Inquisition and Trespasser. - Nikolai and Svetti are my idea of two 'Rooks'. They are codependent characters of mine that I imaging Varric got a 'two-for-one' deal from Viago (though Viago was just glad to get Svetti out of his hair!). - Valeria is the daughter of Eilidh Tabris and Alistair. She does not know who her parents are, just that one was a Grey Warden.

[timefall-if]

DEMO (prologue / 11th of January 2025) || An IF based on & inspired by the show "Arcane". Time Fall is a drama interactive fiction story with steampunk & cyberpunk elements, set in the dual state-cities of Delphora and Draeken, also known as The Spire and The Depths. It's meant to follow complicated relationships, complicated choices, and complicated consequences. It is written with an 18+ audience in mind due to heavy themes and topics such as death, use of drugs and alcohol, swearing, violence, (optional & skippable) explicit sexual content etc.

Time does not wait for anyone, even for the one that controls it.

After the bloody aftermath of Draeken's rebellion against Delphora, you're left an orphan. Your mother lies dead beneath a pile of bodies, crushed under the boots of the Time Watchers, and your older brother, Mylo, is nowhere to be found. Bruised and scared, you're taken in by Marek, your mother's friend, together with a few other strays he managed to catch hiding in the shadows of the night.

As Marek tends to your wounds and wipes away your tears, the Council of the Eternals, forever holed up in their lavish upper city, is falling apart. They are in complete mayhem and disarray as, unbeknownst to you, one of the five time shards that keep the heart of the city—the Clocktower—working in tune with time's balance has been stolen.

Oddly enough, that lost shard looks suspiciously similar to the strange shiny stone your mother gave you and your brother right before the doomed uprising. With it gone, the flow of time grows slippery and erratic, as the Clocktower starts to decay without its missing piece.

Life in the undercity of Draeken, also known as The Depths, is brutal enough. But when an ill-fated encounter leaves you forever altered—your blood itself changed—you’ll soon realize that time is strange, and the thin fabric of reality a fickle thing. Even more so when it’s something you can no longer just witness ... but may be forced to control.

༒︎ Fully customizable MC including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality etc.

༒︎ Choose 1 out of 5 occupations for your MC: underground pit fighter, street artist, black market medic, inventor, or dingy bar singer.

༒︎ Romance 1 out of 4 love interests, all of which are gender-selectable. Engage in hookups with other side characters.

༒︎ Find your brother, or let him find you.

༒︎ Go through an unimaginable physiology-changing experiment and manage to keep your sanity, or become completely unrecognizable to those closest to you.

༒︎ Betray the people you care about or protect them at all costs.

༒︎ Explore the dual state-cities of Delphora and Draeken on a steampunk/cyberpunk background.

༒︎ Become the hero everyone wants you to be, a new world order dictator, or God :D

Maddox / Maxine (M/F) - Rough around the edges and with a body built for combat, M's very demeanour and appearance reflects years of hard living together with you in Draeken. Taken in by Marek after the failed uprising, M had grown overbearingly protective of you on the very first night of sharing a bed with each other as kids. Now, all grown up, M fights in Marek's underground fighting pit to earn their keep, but with every bloodied knuckle, their anger grows—anger at the scraps their people are handed by Delphora’s elite. M is ready to make a change. Are you?

— Possible (romance) routes: Best Friends to Lovers / Best Friends to FWB to Lovers / Best Friends to Lovers to Enemies / Best Friends to Enemies

Riven / Raven (M/F) - A street-smart wildcard loyal only to the highest bidder, R lives by a simple rule: survive and have a good time while doing it. So they smuggle goods and sell information to whoever pays the most. R is not above double-crossing anyone, and they don’t pretend to be. Always charming, confident, and looking at you like they want to take your pants off any second, you’ll have to find out if R is worthy of your trust, or if they’re truly incapable of not betraying those they care about.

— Possible (romance) routes: FWB to Lovers / FWB to Friends / Lovers to Enemies / FWB to Enemies

Seraphim / Seraphina Vaughn (M/F) - The strangest person you have met down in The Depths, and that’s saying something. S is sweet, about as intimidating as a puppy, with a wide and bright smile and … clothes that sometimes seem to be too well tailored to their frame with golden silky linings that make them stand out in ways they’re trying to hide. They’re a people pleaser at heart, but S’s thinly veiled ambition and naivety about the streets of Draeken makes you wonder about their intentions. They seem to be attached to you from the moment you meet. Can you figure out the catch, or will your trust come back to bite you?

— Possible (romance) routes : Friends to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies / Friends to Enemies

Cassian / Calypso Kazimier (M/F) - C’s deep sense of superiority and disdain for The Depths is reflected clearly on their sharp and cold face, their commanding presence demanding respect and authority with every move. As the most influential member of the Order of the Eternals, C makes it their very purpose to ensure that no one can challenge their rule, and that any threat to their control is dealt with swiftly and without mercy. What happens when that threat might be you? C is untouchable, they will make sure to squash you with their own hands. Unless …

— Possible (romance) routes : Corruption Arc / Enemies to Lovers / Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

DISCLAIMER: this is a project in early progress, meaning that there are things that might be subject to change later on.

LINKS: cog forum || ROs physical descriptions || other project || neon dividers credits

[xpiester333x]

Alphinaud's character development is wild. He rolls into Eorzea so fucking cocky. He's the grandson of the great Louisoix. He's 16 and he's a prodigy and he's going to fix the world. He has all these lofty ambitions and he knows exactly how to make the world better. He's playing chess with the city states in his mind. He's the main character in his own mind. He's the hero.

And rides this high of being this brilliant hero, savior of the realm, right up until it all blows up in his face. The blade of the sword he was brandishing points right back at him and all of his friends. Everything he worked so hard for becomes his downfall, and sets all his dreams back.

And now he's so mild. He's learned his lesson the hard way and he's probably terrified of every making that mistake again. He fully relies on his friends, consulting every decision with them. He still wants the best for the world, but he no longer sees himself as the main character. He is still smart, still a prodigy, but he's not the cocky brat he was when he first came to town.

[frantic-fiction]

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone. 

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart. 

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes. 

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity. 

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion. 

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines. 

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression. 

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room. 

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

*

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense. 

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

*

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.” 

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering. 

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

[crystaltoa]

Ey so what was your thesis about Bionicle as a meta-narrative/story-about-stories? I´m a huge fan of meta-ficiton/meta-narratives and never thought of the series that way so your take regarding it got me really interested.

So, there’s a bunch of facets to this.

Basically, Bionicle characters know they are in a story. This doesn’t mean that they know they’re fictional characters or that there’s an audience of humans watching, but their universe designates people as heroes, villains, and bystanders/victims. The universe runs on story logic, almost to the same extent as Discworld, though with superhero comics and hero mythologies rather than high fantasy and fairy tales. The “genre savvy” characters are of a more subtle type as well. The heroes go into a situation with an expectation of how it will end, because they have some idea what their destiny is, and heroes are always expected to win, right? But they are still often surprised by the outcome, because the story they were told is only a fraction of a more complex reality.

Let’s start with the first obvious storyteller: Vakama

The backstory, as first told to us by Vakama invokes mythic tropes such as creation stories, Cain and Abel style brotherly betrayals, and heroes who arrive from a distant land. Despite the fact that the characters are clearly some sort of robots or cyborgs, we’re immediately told that their setting runs on the logic of magic and myth. So Vakama and the other Turaga, as the storytellers, give the heroes and the audience an idea of how this world works and how things will turn out. This mythic story also represents the power of stories to persist and carry meaning through time, shaping thought and belief, even after the original facts have been long forgotten.

But then Vakama pulls out the rug from under us with the reveal of Metru Nui. Suddenly the story shifts from fantasy to scifi, from humble villages in harmony with their environment to a futuristic dystopia. This time the heroes are not beloved figures of myth, but vigilantes pitted against a corrupt police state. Again, Vakama is telling the story though, and he holds control over how his audience perceives the events and characters. And yet again, he is leaving something out- the Visorak and Hordika. Initially, he intended to keep that secret. It didn’t fit the story he was trying to tell. He had a perfect character arc laid out for himself in Legends of Metru Nui in his journey from a shy, anxious mask maker into a confident hero and leader. That was all anyone needed to know, right?

The Hordika represent yet another genre shift, this time into noir/horror. The heroes do not act heroically. They do not look heroic. Their character development is often negative. They are implied to be an aberration at even the cosmic level, since the Great Temple, and implicitly Mata Nui himself, rejects them. They find out that their selection as Toa came about thanks to Makuta himself. The story has gone horribly wrong, and the heroes know it. But nevertheless, the Toa resolve their differences, teamwork saves the day yet again, the prophecy is fulfilled For That Is The Way Of The Bionicle.

Vakama has very little to do in the legends arc. Because he’s been established by now as a less than reliable expositor, it is the always truthful Nokama who drops the reveal instead: Mata Nui is dying.

Vakama’s stepping down from his storytelling role allows for the gradual reveal of another storyteller: Makuta Teridax.

Chronologically, Makuta’s first real foray into weaving the narrative around others happened in Time Trap. He constructs his own elaborate narrative around Vakama in order to manipulate his mind and behaviour. But Vakama fails to play his part as the protagonist correctly, causing Teridax’s constructed narrative to fall apart.

By the time we become aware of his role in the ignition arc, Teridax has improved his technique as a puppet master/ storyteller considerably. Almost every conflict the heroes face has been orchestrated by him, pitting minor villain groups against the heroes to give them the victories that their story requires. Teridax seems aware that heroes have to ‘win’ because Destiny demands it, so he lets them, but it’s all in service of his own ultimate victory. Instead of the ‘cross-wired’ and unpredictable Vakama, Teridax targets the dutiful but socially isolated and secretive Matoro, who he basically grooms to be the perfect little sacrifice. Matoro performs his role perfectly, and gives the heroes an apparent bittersweet victory while allowing Teridax to put the final stages of his plan in motion.

[gibberishfangirl]

WINDBREAKER | i’d let the world burn for you

Synopsis ✰ which boys i think would relate to that song lyric “id let the world burn, id let the world burn for you” and why i do or don’t see it happening

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Choji Tomiyama, Jo Togame

Haruka Sakura ᡣ𐭩 -> okay hear me out. i see this being 50/50. i feel like Sakura is such a crash out at times especially when it involves you. this man will 100% crash out over you and bring hell on whoever hurts you. on the other hand… he is main character and is very heroic which is why i cant see him fulllyyyy resonating with this lyric. a hero simply cannot unleash hell onto everyone. but if its just targeted towards one individual he’s for sure going to jail for attempted murder. he’d most likely succeeded tbh so maybe not even attempted

Hajime Umemiya ᡣ𐭩 -> yes. no doubt about it. HEAR ME OUT. i know he’s also a hero and he’s a leader so he shouldn’t sacrifice everything he has for just one person. BUT HE WILL ANYWAY. this man is ready to die on that hill if it means you’re safe. being in love and having someone be so dear to him brings out a whole new side to him. if it had been any other person, definitely not, he’d be more rational. however, since it’s you and he’s madly in love, he’ll 100% set the world on fire himself. Ume is ready to stand up for the ones he loves. no question about it, he’ll take extreme measures without hesitation.

Hayato Suo ᡣ𐭩 -> okay. i want to say yes but in reality it’s like maybe 60%? i’m a helpless romantic and Suo is practically the definition of romantic so i like to believe he would for the plot. when Suo loves he loves hard and desperately. he’s the kind of man to sacrifice himself more than anything. he loves you like a bruno mars love song. yk grenade, the song, we all know it. that’s him. that’s just his song. he gives the vibe of sacrificing himself than the world for you.

Akihiko Nirei ᡣ𐭩 -> …no. DONT HATE ME but i dont see it happening at all. i mean he’d most likely die for you and take a bullet for you and all that romantic stuff. BUT SACRIFICE THE WHOLE WORLD?? now that’s a bit extreme in his book. he loves you and would die for you. off topic but Nirei just gives me the vibe that he would want to be buried next to you so that way the two of you can find each other in every timeline <3

Choji Tomiyama ᡣ𐭩 -> have you seen this man during his villain arc??? it’s a clear cut yes. this mf will actually kill someone with his own bear hands for you. he’d carry all the blood and taint himself if it meant you would be okay. he prioritizes you more than anyone else, so he will absolutely lose it over you. if anyone even had the audacity to put their hands on you. it’s game over. all that development he’s had and has worked on will vanish in less than a second. he’s the core definition of ‘0 to a 100 real quick’. it’s not even worth testing.

Jo Togame ᡣ𐭩 -> this song was made for him. literally his fucking song. hes made himself the bad guy before and he’ll do it again. especially for your sake. Togame might be a nice guy but dont ever mistake that for anything more. just because he can have a polite mouth doesn’t mean he won’t completely pummel someone into a state of oblivion just for making you uncomfortable. biggest crash out next to Sakura.

[thewertsearch]

UU: i know yoU coUld never fUlly appreciate what this actUally meant, bUt i took mUch care to sync Up these conversations with yoU on the same day that i begin playing as well. UU: that way, we can joUrney throUgh oUr sessions together and compare notes! :u

That might not mean much to Jane, but I remember how hard it was for Karkat to stay linear with John. UU's lucky they're not using Trollian, is all I'm saying.

GG: I guess I should just start believing all of this now, huh? Rather than learning it to be true later and feeling the fool for all my curmudgeonly skepticism?

Well, I don't know. You kind of have a point, actually.

Like - yeah, John and co. certainly took Sburb's mechanics in stride. None of them were particularly surprised when their new video game started to affect the real world - probably because they've been dealing with Scott Pilgrim video game mechanics for their entire lives.

This is normal to them, and it should be normal for Jane, too.

But, when you think about it, it's not really Sburb's mechanics that Jane is skeptical about. She's not doubting the existence of, say, alchemy - it's the big picture stuff, like time travel, alternate dimensions, and meeting her friends in the Medium that she finds hard to believe. To her, that's a completely different kind of supernatural to her hammerspace inventory. The former isn't even really supernatural, to her - it's just life.

She might live in a video game world, but she's never been shown a time machine before. Why would she believe in it?

GG: So what do I know! Consarn it, maybe you are an alien girl from Uranus, and together we are about to play a game which determines the fate of existence. Sign me up! UU: oh, hee hee! bUt i never claimed to be from that planet, which is only in the far reaches of yoUr solar system. UU: in fact i am from mUch farther away. a different Universe altogether.

Well, she’s at least not in another Earth session, then. Damn it, I was holding out hope that she was FedoraFreak's server player.

Also, using your handle to falsely imply you're from Uranus, while not outright stating it, is a 'not technically lying' maneuver that would make Doc Scratch proud. Just saying.

UU: remember what i said aboUt the need for patience. UU: patience with yoUr friends. UU: patience for yoUr growth as a hero of life.

Well, I guess that confirms it - we're getting a different set of Aspects, this time around.

Also, our party finally has a healer. Thank fuck.

Oh hello, poppop. His friendly face is there to greet you every time you open your chest.

Apparently his goofy lil' wave is a universal constant.

[thevoidstaredback]

Just as he had last time, Barry called Wally and Bart to help him comb over the US. He took the Midwest and South; Wally took the Mid Atlantic and New England areas; Bart took Alaska, the Western, and Southwestern states.

"Didn't this happen in your timeline, Impulse?" Wally asked.

"Nope!" Bart answered, "At least I don't think so."

"What do you mean you don't think so?"

"You expect me to know everything that happened throughout the entire timeline?!"

"A little bit, yeah!"

"Boys!" Barry cut in, "Please focus; time is a little bit of the essence."

"No, no, no," Superboy, who was checking the Northern Hemisphere, chimed, "Let 'em argue. It's entertaining."

"Are you sure you don't remember anything from the previous loops?" Superman asked, speaking over the three kid heroes.

Barry found himself rolling his eyes. "Yes, Supes. I'd've told you by now if I remembered-" He stopped short, sliding down the road a few feet.

"Flash?"

"Hold that thought."

"Did you find something?"

"Keep looking; I'm gonna check something real quick." He muted his end of the line. "What in the world..?"

Apparently, there's a castle in Wisconsin.

***

Dick was not having a good time. He thought that he was done dealing with Bruce when he quit! But, no! The bastard just keeps calling!

At least he can still work with Barbara. That's a plus.

Nightwing set up shop in Bludhaven. This was well established throughout not only the city itself, but throughout Gotham and the entire hero community. Sure, he helps out other places, but he mostly stays in Bludhaven. Just because he's close, though, means that Bruce thinks he can jump between the two cities.

He can, but he doesn't want to.

But, orders from Batman must be followed or he'll throw a fit.

How the hell did he put up working with that man?

How the hell does Tim put up with it?

Even in the middle of a potentially Word Ending Crisis, Batman doesn't want any of the other heroes in Gotham, so searching the city falls to Nightwing and Batgirl. Well, it would if she didn't have her own tasks.

He'd seen Kid Flash in passing about an hour ago, just long enough for a speedster-level high-five as they passed by, as he was leaving Bludhaven.

He'd searched his home from top to bottom three times over and there wasn't a single thing out of place there. The US Government had all but abandoned the city when they'd given up on Gotham, so the lack of any government occupation didn't surprise him in the slightest. The people of Bludhaven hated the government enough that a few well placed words on his part now had the entire city on the lookout for the black suited bastards, allowing him to go look in Gotham.

As much as Gothamites hated authority figures, they had nothing on Bludhaven. Sure, they'd been given up on first, but the government still had eyes on the city because of Batman. As long as Batman works for the Justice League, then it isn't a stretch to think that the government has eyes and ears on or in the city.

Finding a base in Gotham will be much harder than finding one in Bludhaven. Not because he doesn't know his way around, but because of the sheer amount of buildings there are. Abandoned, occupied, business, residential, it doesn't matter; every one of them is a potential government occupation camp until proven otherwise. Every person found within the city is a possible government dog until proven otherwise.

Dick sighs. He certainly has his work cut out for him.

Part 7 Part 9

[jedimaesteryoda]

Every once in a while on Twitter (not X, Elon can go screw himself), someone circulates a complaint about A Song of Ice and Fire that is basically some version of "GRRM's series is nihilistic where everyone is gray, there are no heroes and villains, or heroes die and villains win compared to Tolkien's magnum opus where there are clear heroes and villains with the heroes being upright and good always wins."

It's written by people who either never read nor understood the series nor understands the author.

Firstly, Martin himself is a fan of Tolkien stating "I revere Lord of the Rings, I reread it every few years, it had an enormous effect on me as a kid," and is such a huge fan of Tolkien he complains of "Tolkien imitators" who "cheapened it. The audience were being sold degraded goods. I thought: 'This is not how it should be done.' "

Tolkien was a clear inspiration for Martin's magnum opus given in the same interview he stated "I wanted to combine the wonder and image of Tolkien fantasy with the gloom of historical fiction." You can even find nods to Tolkien throughout the series from names like "Oakenshield" to a dwarven heir to a mighty mountain fastness filled with gold. Underneath the gloom on the surface, there is a layer of Tolkien-esque romanticism.

ASOIAF isn't nihilistic. No one would call characters like war criminal and murderer-rapists like Gregor Clegane, Ramsay Bolton and Euron Greyjoy or the vivisectionist and torturer Qyburn morally grey. There are heroes like Brienne of Tarth who risked her life in a hopeless fight to save an inn full of orphans, Sam who stayed with Gilly and her babe beyond the Wall in a forest filled with wights and Dunk who defended a puppeteer from a prince. Then, there is Daenerys whose experience as a domestic abuse victim and child bride lead her to put her plan to take back the Iron Throne on hold to liberate slaves.

My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results… but it is the effort that’s heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight. -George R.R. Martin

These characters go out of their way to help others and live up to their ideals in a world they know won't reward them for it. That's what helps to make their actions truly heroic. In the end, it's their striving that sets them apart.

The ones who are villains don't seem to win in the end. Tywin was killed by his own abused son on the privy over his mistreatment of a peasant girl, and his legacy is already crumbling. Jaime lost his sword hand and is becoming increasingly disillusioned with his house, slowly realizing that they're not the good guys. The Boltons are facing a rebellion and their new bannermen don't want Ramsay as their liege lord. More Freys have been killed as a result of the Red Wedding than fighting for Robb, and they're being overextended. Not to mention, one of their victims has come back from the dead to enact vengeance on their house. House Greyjoy is destined to fall to ruin as the Greyjoys suffer and die in their fruitless pursuits for crowns.

It's also a superficial reading of Tolkien. Tolkien has moments in his series where heroes fail like Isildur, the guy who slew Sauron, failing to do the one thing he needed to do to end the threat for all time by keeping the One Ring, and Frodo, the purported hero of the series, doing the same thing at the end. Thorin Oakenshield refused to provide money to the people of Lake-town over the destruction of their city at Smaug's hands as a result of his party's actions. There's also plenty of stories of heroes failing in The Silmarillion like Turin.

Both are great series in their own right, and if you don't like Martin's series, that's okay, no series is for everyone. But don't mischaracterize it and pit it against a dumbed down, mischaracterized version of Tolkien's work.

[bonebrokebuddy]

I get that this is due to people not read comics but, if you want a fun lighthearted batfam dynamic, I cannot recommend enough putting your story and characters in the Silver Ages. I see so much fanon material that would fit in this setting perfectly and it pains me that it’s not more popular or well known.

If you don’t know what the silver age of comics is, I’d recommend checking out this article!

And here for the 1956 Comics Code Authority.

It might not be in continuity anymore but the silver ages were such a large era of comics that defined the characters. And the format & restrictions of the silver ages allows you to easily bypass several common issues folks have with plots. In modern comics, there’s constant interpersonal drama because there has to be, if you resolve all those issues then you can’t sell more comics & they lose a lot of tension.

But due to the Comic Code Authority that is no longer an issue!

Randomly ignoring a dark past that makes connection between characters difficult [the poor aging of Jason’s bag of heads making it difficult for him to reunite with the rest of the batfam, for example] because it doesn’t fit with the theme you want?:

Comics are episodic in this era. Think of it like a early 2000s TV show. Things that happened in past comics/episodes often won’t affect the current story at all as the setting resets to default at the start of every comic. Additionally, literally all gore, torture, or explicit descriptions of murder is banned due to CCA restrictions, so you can choose to have it simply never have happened!

Characters that don’t fit at all in a story but you want a crossover for?:

The Silver Ages had SO MANY crossovers of heroes solely bc it sold comics. How compatible they are doesn’t matter in the slightest. The thinnest of reasons why they met works perfectly. You can even just have the characters know each other already and go “I know who can help me with this case! [Insert character you want here]! I met them in my last trip to Antarctica!” You only need maybe one sentence, two if you’re feeling frisky, to explain why they met and then you’re free to run wild.

Want a character to randomly acquire a superpower or meet a long lost cousin they have for one comic and then it’s never mentioned again?

I cannot state how frequently this happens. Silver Age comics were pretty much written cover first. Meaning the cover was made and the story was written after with the philosophy of “if my comic cover is more bizzare and eye catching then kids will buy it!” Like, there are multiple comics where Superman’s head got turned into an ant and Batman gets powers practically every other World’s Finest issue. Like it’s not even an “au” to do these things. That’s just what the Silver Ages were like.

Comic science and comic physics run rampant as well as bizarre villains! You can have so much fun with this!! Heroes often play the straight-man in bizarre scenarios with over-the-top villains in this era, making that aspect shine brightly can make for an inherently funny plot. You could either keep it fun and light or turn it into a psychological horror as the characters realize they can’t disobey the CCA code and have to follow a specific plot.

Also the restrictions of the CCA at the time would also help create some fun and unique plots if you wanted to keep the plot time-period accurate.

There’s a lot of restrictions but there are still many ways to create conflict in your fic! Plenty can come from the CCA directly!

Canon or HC LGBT+ characters could be pressured to not come out or face tremendous backlash. Time accurate homophobia, essentially.

McCarthyism and paranoia ran wild. Oh no someone suspected your blorbo of being a communist/socialist and now it’s ruining their life!

Characters dealing with how the CCA’s restrictions/their reality is inherently bigoted and can’t be themselves. (See: comics on topics of racial & religious prejudice aren’t allowed, characters can’t speak in “slang” or “vulgar language” and “good grammar” is emphasized (often targeting minorities), and the sanctity of family must be respected (no divorce, no queer people).

Also! Crazy over-the-top villains with deadly stakes are played with a lighthearted tone. Play it straight and suddenly your comic changed genre into horror if you think about it for more than a second.

Characters that used to be antihero’s are just straight up villains now or suddenly wake up with massive gaps in their memory and no one else can tell them why. There is no grey with the CCA. Just good and evil. Because that would make the villains sympathetic and we can’t have that!

If you want to just have a fun, campy and lighthearted tone however, that’s the Silver Age’s bread and butter. While keeping the CCA’s code in mind is good to keep a Silver Age story feeling time accurate and Silver Age-y, it’s definitely not necessary to follow each and every rule.

Here’s some more links to free silver age comics and places you can go to find information on silver age comics if you want to learn more that aren’t fandom wikis but rather made by nerds with a passion to catalogue and share their interest to others.

Your local library has a decent chance of having an omnibus of 50s-70s comics or you can order one from a nearby library if your local one doesn’t carry them.

A local comic shop or bookstore. Silver age omnibuses & “50 year anniversary/best of” type collections are usually present and have a good variety of silver age comics.

Jenny Blake Isabella (the creator of Black Lightning) has delightful reviews of the Batman Silver Age Omnibus on her blog that add context, critiques, and overall are a delight to read

Takes some hunting but this Silver Age Comic blog has a bunch of single issue reviews of Silver Age Batman comics.

Want a specific issue to read? Here’s super brief summaries of soso many issues curtesy of The Comics Archives blog.

The Internet Archive also has a few:

Batman & Superman world's finest. The Silver Age. Volume one

Justice League of America, the Silver Ages volume 1

Batman: the dynamic duo archives. vol 2 (I cannot find volume 1)

A good tip to find legal and free comics decently intact is to search [comic run title/character hero name & issue number if you have it] + “blog” + “review”.

There are so many in-depth reviews of comics in blogs by comic fans out there that practically share most of the comic panels in the post while giving context to past issues while the poster adds personal insight and opinions on the comic. Is it going to give you the whole issue unfiltered? No. But it allows newbies to get insight from old fans and old fans to get a new perspective on a comic they’ve already read. Blog reviews are such an underrated way to get new fans into comics considering how great of a resource they are! Don’t know if you’ll like a comic run? Read a bunch of reviews on it from different blogs! It’s truly so underrated.

I see a lot of dc fans that don’t read the comics because they don’t like the violence and dark tone of modern comics or don’t know where to start. Simple solution: Why are you reading reading modern comics then? Give the Silver Ages a try! They’re utterly corny and campy & I love them dearly.

They fit all of those bills with the CCA. Plus, with the episodic stories of that era, you can just pick up an omnibus, open it at a random issue and start reading. Hell, you can toss a stack of silver age issues in the air 52-pickup style and read them that way and you’re still be fine. You rarely, if ever, need knowledge from previous comics as they’ll often directly explain what happened to you. If you really need previous context, just like modern comics, they’ll directly tell you which issue(s) to read first.

Lastly.

It’s good to keep in mind the “By it’s time. For its time. Of its time” rule of comic analysis when reading old runs. Comics are: relevant during their time of publishing, for its intended audience (in this era, young american boys with a non-nuanced worldview) & with little care of how it’ll age, just that it’ll sell.

How history ties itself to comics is fascinating but also it’s good to be a little “👀👀 uh zoinks scoob that was a bad narrative or character decision that didn’t age well” and not dismiss it because that poor interpretation does have historical value as how it shows the moral, social, and political conflicts of the time in a neat little bow. Even if that bow is like, puke green.

Writers of comics will follow the misogynistic and racist ideals along the historical & social conflicts and ideals during the time of the comic’s publishing date. It’s uh, just kinda something ya gotta deal with when reading a lot of old comics runs. Most collections of silver age Batman/best ofs don’t often have comics that aged super badly but if you end up encountering any, it’s good to keep this in mind.

If anyone is inspired to write something based off of this, please tag me so I can read it!

[bokettochild]

What's your take on Legend's thoughts on the Master Sword. From what we see, he has a great deal of respect for her, even calling the Master Sword by female pronouns where most others just refer to the sword as 'it' as if she is just an inanimate object and mot a sacred weapon housing a spirit

Okay, well, remember that you asked for MY take on it, not the factual one ;)

So, obviously Legend's relationship with anything regarding being a hero is a bit messier than a lot of the rest, and the Master Sword is not excluded from this.

Given the inherent tragedy of Legend's existence, and the legacy he was born to, (AKA a world where heroes' dying/falling/being corrupted isn't just remembered but the NORM) one would think that the kid's probably got a ton of resentment for anything that makes him more like his predecessors and perhaps, like Time, he'd resent the key attributes of hero-hood in Hyrule: the Triforce, the goddesses, and the sword.

But legend is a li'l shit and he likes to defy expectations: he's friends with the goddesses, has had the Triforce of courage since he was a wee tot, and he actually respects and cares for the Master Sword.

I think it was I Have Questions For You where I said that Legend likely sees a reflection of himself in the state of the sword.

The Master Sword, for all intents and purposes, was forged by the Chosen Hero and then put away in a temple, and while it was moved to the Temple of Time, it's still held in a place of reverence and safety in the games set earlier in the timelines. Legend's is the first game to feature it lost out in the woods with no guards or protective measures or even walls, and while we have no cannon reason for this, the fact remains that it was left there and it was allowed to fall into disrepair so bad that, when eh first found it, Legend couldn't even wield it (he had to continue using his uncle's sword instead).]

My theory? After the Hero of Time's death, both his body and his sword were buried in the Lost Woods; where he came from, and mostly forgotten while the rest of the world moved on. I have a particularly angsty headcannon that in the Downfall Timeline, Ganon himself managed to kill the hero USING the Master Sword, and that's why she was outcast rather than being kept close by the royal family for future use. After all, if she can be turned against them, it's best to let her fall into nothing more than legend.

All that to say, I like to imagine that when Legend found the sword, she was still stained with the blood of the last hero, but just the same, he was still stained with his Uncle's blood.

Because let's face it, prior to Legend finding the Master Sword, his life was a literal hell-scape. he was a small child, who just watched his guardian/parent be brutally murdered in front of him, and then was framed for everything wrong in the kingdom at the time, which caused every adult he should have been able to turn to for help and comfort to instead try and hurt him. He was probably tired, hungry, hurting, and definitely still scared (rabbit form isn't for nothing) when he finally managed to find the Master Sword, the thing Zelda told him could fix everything and- and she's just as broken, and tired, and hurt as he is, just as abandoned, just as forgotten and demonized, all alone and stained with the blood of someone who mattered to her.

I think Legend felt connection.

He didn't just leave her behind as a sword with no worth, despite it being stated, in game, when you draw her, that she's no good against your enemies. Instead, he takes her with him and tries to find a way to fix her, to bring her back around.

Legend reforged Fi himself, albeit with help from the dwarves. He took her from her lowest into something magnificent, even if it's no longer the same as she used to be. just the same, she took him from wandering and fearful child to a hero; they reforged each other, tempered each other into what they are now.

I think, for Legend, his entire identity is more tied to his sword than to his title. She is, in every way, an extension of himself, not just another tool he uses.

Unlike any heroes' before and after, legend never had to prove his worth to her. there was no test, no trial, no life-risking necessary for him to take her. Perhaps this was because Fi knew she wasn't much herself back then, but given how stubborn and set in her ways that she is made to be, it's more likely that she didn't feel the need to try a child, and given the purity of heart we know is inherent to the Hero of Legend, who's every adventure is him giving of himself for others with nothing to gain in return, I thinks he simply saw him as worthy as was, albeit in need of some refining.

I like to think she was gentler with him though, unlike with the older ones. Both because she's seen more, already failed Time, and worn down herself, but also because she would have quickly realized that harshness wouldn't work well on a rabbit-natured hero.

So we have two beings, blade and wielder, who came together at their darkest, and re-defined each other and shaped them into something new, powerful, beautiful, all while still being inherently broken. There's a poetry there, I think, and I have a feeling that's not beyond them; they know what they are, to each other and themselves.

So, there is no saying how Legend feels about the sword really, because, in a way, she's part of him. She need improvement but she's amazing as is. She's just a sword, but it's in the same way that he's just an average nobody. She's a person as much as he is, but where she ends and he begins has been blurred.

He loves her though, I think. And in a way, I think that's the closest to self-love and care that he's come in a long time.

[needanaccount2readarcaneposts]

every time i read a post about how, "silco kept fighting relentlessly for a free zaun because it's what fELiCiA wOuLd hAvE wAnTed," i add another name to my kill list (in minecraft).

we'll never fucking undo the damage s2 has done to his characterisation.

let people believe in things bigger than themselves without needing some secret twist reason. let people fight for something because they observed an injustice in the world and decided to fucking do something about it, without needing a personal motivation tied to a tragic dead friend/family member/lover/whatever.

it is one thing for s1 to acknowledge that, while silco was always a true believer, his trauma at vander's hands is responsible for informing his view on the need for unflinching ruthlessness; for excising weakness. but s2 is now vander-ifying silco and fandom is eating it right up; making him 'more sympathetic' by suggesting that his determination to keep fighting in the first place was in some way tied to a lost loved one. because in a liberal media framework that serves the interest of capital, it is dangerous to suggest that someone can be motivated by purely ideological reasons and still be sympathetic. can still be right to want what they want, or do what they do.

i'm gonna make Outlaw Kings & Rebellion Chic required reading for everyone, and have included more extracts under the cut, but in summary:

Violence that does not proceed from personal injury requires no such breakdown. This kind of primarily ideological violence can be directed against a perfectly functional system - functional, at least, for the perpetrator - simply because it appears the ‘just’ thing to do. No wonder, then, that in our mass media, the characters practising ideological violence are cast as morally unsound. If normality is not self-evident but a site of contention, then it problematises easy narratives of rebels vs tyrants. And if dispute over the political system is enough to justify force, then that implies violence against the modern Western state, even its violent overthrow, could be justifiable. This is understandably concerning for many writers, who tend to come from backgrounds closer to the Lannisters than the ‘smallfolk’.

If a person can commit violence simply because they believe it’s right, without any hidden ambition, then nothing stops us from acting to change the world.

Separately, there is in screenwriting a kind of uncodified rule: villains act, heroes react. The hero, according to traditional Hollywood structure, can’t fulfil their destiny until an extraordinary event drags them out of the world they know. More often than not, that event begins with the villain. Harry Potter is only the Chosen One because Lord Voldemort killed his parents. Luke Skywalker would have stayed on Tatooine dreaming of adventure, until Darth Vader’s attack on a rebel ship sends a secret message to his farm. Frodo would be safe and happy in Hobbiton if not for Sauron. Heroes rarely set out to change the world. Villains want change, and heroes run to keep up. [...] Many of these characters live with occupation, oppression, and state brutality as part of their daily lives, but they don’t turn to violent resistance until their families are directly threatened or killed. When heroes commit political violence, it must be to avenge a personal injury. This is supposed to be substantively different from political violence committed for ideological reasons, which receives a much less sympathetic treatment. [...] When we see violent characters who kill for primarily political reasons, they are often anti-heroes at best, outright villains at worst. The idea of the full circle revolution - of the secret dictator hiding in the throat of every rebel leader, waiting to leap out and betray the non-ideological hero - is utterly pervasive. It appears in videogames, where good old-fashioned all-American heroes like Jim Raynor of Starcraft or Booker DeWitt of Bioshock Infinite are betrayed by villainous revolutionaries Arcturus Mengsk and Daisy Fitzroy (and after all they’ve done for them!). It is common in films, from supervillains like Magneto and Killmonger, liberationists written as would-be conquerors, to the rebels of The Hunger Games, who vote to continue the games as soon as they’re in power, except with the children of the dethroned elite rather than the children of the poor. The same reversal is mentioned in A Song of Ice and Fire, where rebel slaves, once liberated, enslave their former masters; in the TV version, an evil fundamentalist visits the kind of cruelty on the King’s Landing nobility that they visited on others. In all these examples we see an echo of the primal fear of every oppressive class, the nightmare at the heart of modern white supremacy: what if someone did to us what we’ve done to them? Liberation is re-imagined as the world turned not so much upside-down but mirrored. [...]

Rensin attributes the hatred of the High Sparrow to his hypocrisy, but I don’t think that’s quite right. What is terrible about the High Sparrow is that he has no personal grievance. He didn’t see his father killed by the ‘good guys’, like Killmonger. His family weren’t murdered by his oppressors, like Magneto. By his own account the High Sparrow was a cobbler who became disillusioned, found religion, and now, thanks to the vagaries of a civil war among the elite, finds himself in a position to overturn the social order. The feudal system of Westeros never injured him personally. He simply came to believe it should be torn down, and acted accordingly.

We seem to find this faintly repellent. We are so used to looking for an ulterior motive that, when we can’t find one, we grow uncomfortable. If a good person can commit violence simply because they believe it’s right, without any hidden ambition, then nothing stops us from acting to change the world. [...] Violence that does not proceed from personal injury requires no such breakdown. This kind of primarily ideological violence can be directed against a perfectly functional system - functional, at least, for the perpetrator - simply because it appears the ‘just’ thing to do. No wonder, then, that in our mass media, the characters practising ideological violence are cast as morally unsound. If normality is not self-evident but a site of contention, then it problematises easy narratives of rebels vs tyrants. And if dispute over the political system is enough to justify force, then that implies violence against the modern Western state, even its violent overthrow, could be justifiable. This is understandably concerning for many writers, who tend to come from backgrounds closer to the Lannisters than the ‘smallfolk’.

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 10

The wind was blowing as Ysilla sat by the window, a book about the conquest in her hands, reading about Aegon the Conquerer and his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys, for the umpteenth time. She knew those words by the heart; she did not need to read them, but she did not care. She loved those heroes from her family. Her fingers touched the drawing of Balerion the Black Dread, the biggest dragon that had ever been seen in Westeros. Ysilla wondered what he could have looked like, how fierce some he must have looked. She knew that his last rider had been her Uncle Viserys before the giant dragon passed. Ysilla had never laid upon the Black Dread; he died before she could. He must have been beautiful.

“My Darysyr is more beautiful,” she said proudly to herself. In her eyes, there was no dragon as beautiful as Darysir and his dark purple scales and violet eyes.

“This is all so boring,” She heard Aegon say. He was standing across the chamber, his arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head. Ysilla noticed Aemon next to him, glaring at his brother.

“Mother wants for us to take this lesson,” she heard her younger cousin say as she set her book aside, “It’s our duty.” Aegon did not answer. He just gave a sigh of boredom.

“Aemond is right, Aegon,” she spoke from where she was sitting. Fixing the skirts of her red gown with elegance.

“Dancing is for girls,” Aegon answered. His tone was always so dramatic every time he didn’t enjoy one of their lessons.

“Lords dance with ladies,” Ysilla said, “It is called courting.”

“Dance of fire,” Helaena muttered from next to Ysilla.

“Courting I like,” Aegon answered, ignoring his sister. Aemond scoffed from behind him.

“And what is your courting strategy, my prince?” Ysilla asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You do not wish to know, Ysilla,” Aemond answered before his brother could.

“Shut that mouth!” Aegon yelled. Ysilla stood up, walking towards her cousins.

“Lusting after servants and whores is not courting,” she stated, glaring at Aegon, “Those are interests not fit for a prince, sadly though they are common among men.” She saw Aegon look away, on his cheeks appeared a faint blush, more due to irritation than embarrassment. “You two are princes, sons of a king, members of the most powerful House in the world,” her eyes went from one boy to the other, “You need to find a woman fit for a prince. She has to know courtesy and manners. And she deserves someone who shares the same costumes.”

Aegon's hand moved to touch the white hair that brushed the side of her face. "You seem rather fit for a prince," he said with an allusive smirk that made Ysilla roll her eyes. She moved her hand so that she could free her hair from his grip.

"Will we ever be able to have a serious conversation?" She exclaimed, glaring at the prince. But he seemed to enjoy her reaction more than anything.

"I don't think I want to." He answered with a shrug as the doors opened to reveal Jacaerys and Lucaerys Velaryon. That was one of the few lessons Ysilla and Helaena shared with the four princes, usually divided to learn what was most fit for a lady and lord. Ysilla wondered how that day would have gone by, and her eyes moved to look for Aemond, hoping he was feeling better from what had happened in the Dragonpit the last time they went.

Her cousin looked stiff and uneasy as the two Velaryons shared words with Aegon. She knew that they were talking about the last lesson in the yard with Ser Criston, but Ysilla was afraid to hear a jest against Aemond sooner or later. So she decided to walk towards her cousin; his hands were behind his back as he looked at the ground.

"My prince," she spoke softly so as not to startle him. Aemond looked surprised at hearing her voice, and he moved his gaze to her with a frown.

"Ysilla?" He muttered.

She smiled, reaching out a hand for him, "May I dance with you?" She asked, trying to sound reassuring.

"I-" he muttered, looking over at where Aegon and his cousins were standing.

"Are you not dancing with me?" Aegon asked with a pout, and Ysilla shook her head.

"Later," she answered, "I'd like to have this dance with Prince Aemond." Aegon scoffed at her words while Aemond looked at her with wide eyes.

"Do you?" He asked, still unsure.

Ysilla let out a sigh. "Of course," she said, moving forward to take his hand so that she could lead him to the center of the room. Soon, the Septa told Helaena to move next to them with Jacaerys.

The light music started so that the princes could learn the steps of that dance. Ysilla smiled at Aemond, whose eyes were fixed on the ground.

"You're not going to step on me," she assured him, who gave her a shy glance.

"I still don't know the steps." He muttered, embarrassed.

"Confidence is the key, my prince," she said, gently leafting his head so that they could meet gaze. His eyes observed her as they kept dancing.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked suspiciously. Aemond was young, but he was a proud soul. And yet none of the other boys seemed to take him in account. Helaena wouldn’t do much to ease her brother’s pain, but Ysilla knew solitude. And she knew what it meant to feel like when people underestimated her. Like her father.

“Raise your head high,” she said touching his chin with her fingers, “Targaryens are proud and strong.”

“Targaryens have dragons,” Aemond answered with sadness in his eyes, but Ysilla noticed that he kept his posture.

“And you will, my prince,” she assured, “Do not think any less of yourself because you have not one yet.”

Aemond moved his gaze to the other boys, but she was quick to make him turn to her.

“Forget them,” she said with steady voice, “You don’t need their approval. Focus on yourself, on what you can become.” His eyes grew larger at her words, and she could see that he was not sure on how to answer. But he didn’t have time to figure it out, since the Septa wanted for Ysilla to dance with Jacaerys.

Ysilla was about to move, when Aemond took her hand to give it a kiss. Ysilla had not expected the gesture, and she was even more surprised by the words her cousin spoke as he raised his gaze to look at her. “This is how a lord thanks a lady for her attentions.”

He then let go of her hand and walked towards the side of the room, under the gaze of his brother. Aegon wore an irritated frown as Aemond stopped next to him. But he did not say anything.

Ysilla stood still for a moment, surprised by the sudden boldness of her cousin, but then she cleared her voice before gesturing for Jace to come closer.

Jacaerys was younger than Aemond. He was the same age as Daeron, even if the last son of Alicent had been sent to Oldtown not so long before. Ysilla found herself wondering how the boy was doing there. If he was alright. She knew how unsettling it was to change place from a day to another.

“The bow is important,” the Septa said to the boy that had a shy expression on his face, “It shows your posture, your grace.”

Jace nodded before trying to bow, but the septa was not convinced so she made him do it again. In the mean time, Ysilla observed the boy. He had no trace of lord Laenor in him. Nothing. And yet nobody addressed the two Velaryon’s with their proper status. Ysilla felt a peck of envy, because she knew that the only reason was the shield that the King had built around them. Was it possible?

Was it even possible that someone could love someone else so much?

Why did Viserys loved Rhaenyra that much? How did she manage to made her father have so deep emotions in his heart for her?

Where did I fail? She found herself wondering.

“Do not look so pensive,” Aegon’s voice came so close as a whisper, making her turn her head in surprise to find her cousin inches apart from her face. Ysilla felt like blushing at the proximity. Aegon had always been eager in touching her hair and sharing compliments, but getting closer was something he had started to do recently, and it had the power of flush the girl.

On his face appeared a little smirk, “What’s with the blush?” He asked, but she was quick to shook her head.

“It is just hot in here,” she answered, looking away from him, but she could feel his hand on her waist and the blush on her face would not disappear.

“So nothing to do with me?” Ysilla shot a glare to Aegon, that chuckled before stepping away. “I’m just jesting.”

“I see you’re getting bolder with ladies,” Ysilla said eyeing her cousin.

“There’s nothing more delighting than pleasures?” He asked with a smug expression on his face. And Ysilla found herself shook her head.

“Duties?” she said crossing her arms, looking at Jacaerys that was still talking with the Septa.

“You are my mother’s favorite,” Aegon said from behind her. Ysilla turned to him with a frown, not quite catching what he was getting at. “You are not Hightower though, and sooner or later duties will bore you as much as me.”

Duties had been something that Ysilla found getting drag into more and more as she grew up. She had become accostumed on what people expected on her. It become like a shield. Be a proper lady, doing everything it was asked of her was what she felt was the best way of getting less associated with her father. Daemon Targaryen was famous for his endeavors. He was a man impossible to tame. Ysilla had found herself clutching to duties and on what was expected of her, like her mother, lady Rhea Royce, had always wanted.

“And Vermax will be ready to fly, in a year or two,” Jace was saying as Ysilla and the two Velaryons walked through the corridors of the Red Keep. Alicent had summoned the young lady, there were important matters to discuss, that was what she had told her. And since the chambers of the King and the Queen where right above Rhaenyra’s. So Ysilla found herself listening to the lively brothers telling her about their day and news.

“When will Arrax be ready?” Lucaerys asked, looking at her with curious eyes.

“It really depends on the dragon,” Ysilla answered bowing with courtesy at some lords that walked nearby.

“When did you fly Darysyr for the first time?” Jace asked with a little frown, “Mother said you were my age.”

“Your mother is not lying.” She was not lying on this topic at least, “But Darysyr was larger at that age.” According to her studies, dark dragons, especially black, grew larger than other dragons. Darysyr was growing everyday more, and Ysilla could not wait to see what he would become. She surely would not have lived long enough to see if he would have grew as large as Vhagar, or Balerion, but she sure hoped he would have. No one was sure he would have survived, due to his legs, but Darysyr was truly a resilient dragon.

When they arrived to Rhaenyra’s chambers, Luke was quick to open the door to run to his mother. Ysilla immediately noticed that Ser Harwin Strong was there, with little Joffrey in his arms. Both Jace and Luke were to busy running around, but both adults had seen her on the door. Rhaenyra was not subtle at all. Inviting that man in the middle of the day, when anyone could walk in. Decency was not something that the future Queen was acostumed to, it seemed.

Ysilla shared a look with her cousin, before bowing to take her leave. The two Velaryons waved at her, but when she was walking in the corridor, Ysilla heard steps coming from behind her.

“Dear, cousin,” Rhaenyra’s voice made Ysilla stop on her tracks, feeling her lips turn up into a knowing smirk.

“Princess,” she said turning to look at her cousin. The woman was looking at her with a smile. But it was not that genuine, she could hide it well, but Ysilla did not miss the worry in her eyes. The young lady knew she had seen something compromising, especially because Ysilla was so close to Alicent.

“I see you are feeling well, after Joffrey,” Ysilla said with a polite tone, “With such an impressive health, you’re surely will deliver more heirs soon.”

Rhaenyra showed her best smile, yet not truthful, “If the gods are good.”

Ysilla found herself let out a chuckle. The gods had never answered to Ysilla’s prayers. She had tried, both her mother’s and the Queen’s, but Ysilla was not a devoted person. She attended the rituals, as a lady should have, but she much rather think about flying on Darysyr, or study about Valyria. That was a place she would have liked to see. With all that ancient magic and knowledge. That would have been fascinating. But the gods… the gods seemed to mock everyone. They stood high looking down at all of them, but never dared to move a hand for justice. The mother had not brought back Rhea from her hunt, and the Father had not made justice on Daemon for his actions. As he was not bringing justice to Rhaenyra’s behavior.

“I wish that we could spend more time with one another,” Rhaenyra said taking a step towards Ysilla, “We’ve been living so long under the same roof, and yet we never have time to get to know each other like two cousins should.”

“Duties takes all of our time I’m afraid,” Ysilla answered crossing her arms over her chest.

Then her cousin cocked her head to the side, observing the young lady, “You know. You look like me at your age.”

She was quite skeptical that the two of them looked anything alike at her age. Ysilla observed the woman, tilting her head, “Mayhaps we share some likeness,” she answered with a deep breath, “Very few, though. Or I’m sure my father would accept my presence more, even too much.”

She saw Rhaenyra frown at her words, “What do you mean?” Ysilla observed her silently; what she had saw at Rhaenyra’s wedding was a sight Ysilla had difficulties to forget. That had changed her liking of Rhaenyra. It was because of her father interest in Rhaenyra that her mother had been murdered, and her cousin unawareness angered Ysilla even more. But she did not indulge in such feeling, so she just laughed.

“The Realm’s Delight,” she said forcing a light tone, “If the rumours are true, it was my father who gave such a name,” she could not stop a bitter laugh to pass her lips, “He has quite the imagination with names, you’ve probably heard how he used to call me.”

The goat’s daughter…

“Ysilla…” Rhaenyra was about to talk, but the girl shook her head.

“Forgive me, cousin,” she said looking down, “I can be quite unpleasant sometimes. I know it is not fit for a lady, but if I recall my sisters name day had just passed. That makes me quite bitter.”

That was always a strange day to her. Her sisters in Quaart with their father, having the attentions he had never given to his first born. There was always someone better than Ysilla in her father’s eyes. Rhaenyra, now her sisters. Would have made any difference to him that she was fluent in Old Valyrian? That she was an excellent dragon-rider, and that all the noble men and ladies kept complimenting her on her perfect behavior? That she was studying history, politics and philosophy? Would Daemon Targaryen take Ysilla of any account if he knew?

No… she knew nothing would have changed. And still she kept pushing herself to be perfect in hopes that maybe she was wrong, that maybe her father would have cared for her sooner or later.

Stop wanting to please him, Ysilla. The girl repeated to herself. She did not need her father approval or affection. She was nearly a woman grown, she would not allow her father to hold any power over her.

Rhaenyra took a step towards Ysilla, “I just wish for us to become friends, not just relatives.”

Ysilla observed her cousin, “I think I found another likeness,” the girl said, “We’re both quite stubborn.” Then she bowed with courtesy and her best smile, “The Queen awaits. And your sons need you, they’re both quite strong in their will.” Then she looked at Rhaenyra with a smirk, before turning to make her way towards the Queen’s chambers.

Just a corridor and few steps of a staircase was between the Princess’ chambers and the monarch’s. So it didn’t take Ysilla long to meet with Ser Criston, the sworn shield of Alicent Hightower. The handsome Dornishman was taking his guard in front of the door, and he greeted Ysilla bowing his head.

“My lady,” he said, “The Queen’s waiting for you.”

“I thank you, Ser Criston,” she answered politely, then she pushed open the heavy wood door. As she stepped inside, Ysilla was surprised to see the King in the chamber. His skin was always pale and his hair had became thinner during those hears. And on his face the tiredness was visible, but he was sharing words with his wife, trying not to show.

“My King, my Queen,” Ysilla greeted the couple with a deep bow and she heard her uncle let out a happy laugh.

“Such good manner, my dear niece.” He said taking some steps towards the girl. Ysilla smiled before standing again.

“Anything that makes you happy, Your Grace,” Ysilla answered looking at her uncle.

“Come,” he said politely, “Sit with me, I really wanted to share words.” Ysilla’s lips turned up, but her eyes searched the Queen. She was not expecting for her uncle, the King, to be there that day. She thought Alicent wanted to gave her some duties.

The woman looked at her with an encouraging expression before she followed her husband to sit next to him on the couch, fixing the cushions behind Viserys, so that he could sit more comfortably. Ysilla was set last to take a sit, on the couch opposite from them. It felt a different type of encounter from the ones she was used to. Did something happen?

“I cannot express how happy I am to have you here in my court,” her uncle started to speak, on his face the smile never faded.

“And I’m grateful for your kind hospitality,” Ysilla answered.

“You are much more than a guest,” the King said with a shook of his head, “We are family.”

Ysilla felt a peck of happiness in hearing those words. The King, his wife and their children were indeed her family, and she was glad that they shared the same feeling as her. When she lost her mother and her father abandoned her, she was afraid that she would have felt lonely and afraid. She had been lucky.

“And we are very proud of the lady you are becoming,” Viserys said sharing a look with his wife. “You are almost a woman, and a discussion is needed, my dear.”

Ysilla waited for her uncle to keep with his speech. It sounded serious, and she could think of some reasons why a discussion among them was needed. One was more frightening than the other. She knew that she was the heir to Runestone, and that soon she’ll have to take her place as the lady of that castle, but she had no intention of going back. She loved her mother dearly, and her memory gave her strength and porpoise, but Ysilla was a Targaryen. She did not want to be closed in a castle in the mountains. She belonged with the House of the Dragon, with the royalty. She was not less than anyone. Her place was in King’s Landing. She wanted to stay in the Crownlands.

“Alicent and I are beginning to think that it is time for you to find a proper husband,” Ysilla took a breath at the King’s words. They did not want to send her away.

“Since your father is not present at the moment,” Alicent spoke and the young girl felt her own fingers grip at her gown as she did her best to keep a smile on her face, waiting for the Queen to continue. “We will look for the most fit union for you.”

“We think you are ready, dear,” Viserys spoke again with a kind tone, “It is most fit for a lady such as yourself to begin to think to your future.”

Ysilla knew that was what it was expected of her, and she knew that day would have come sooner than later. They had been preparing her for all this time, she was not afraid to find an husband. “As my King wishes.” She answered with a bow of her head.

Viserys chuckled, “That is good to hear,” he said with joy, “I remember how difficoult it had been with Rhaenyra when it was her time.” He searched for his wife approval, but the woman looked down with a forced smile.

Ysilla did not know about Rhaenyra, not that she cared that much. But it was not use to fight their destiny. Nobles did not wed for love, that she knew, her parents had showed it very well. But for no reason she would let her future husband to treat her as Daemon Targaryen did to her mother. They all shared the same path. But the epilogue would have been different. That she promised to herself.

*****************

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[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Tergrid, God of Fright

"Terror is the natural state of a child, they know they are small, vunrable, glass fragile. It is only once we grow that we delude ourselves into thinking we are safe, that we are strong, that we have control over the world we live in. Show a grown man how little control he really has, and you will see the child he always was: pissreeking, repentant, and pleading for his mother. " - Gerheart, village executioner

A goddess for those who hold close to the light dreading the unknown or those who wander gleefully into the dark seeking it, Tergrid is a deity of imagined horrors and terrible omens.

Depicted as a young woman always bearing a lantern, myths speak of Tergrid's shadow as a monstrous, murderous thing with a will of its own. Unable to kill the goddess due to the light she carries, it vents it's directionless wrath on those who linger beyond the lantern's glow. This duality, as both as the victim of fear and the source of it defines the brightmaiden's worship; as she is both threat and saviour to those who draw her attention.

Adventure Hooks:

The party arrive at a country roadhouse at dusk, only to find the inhabitants have nailed shut every door and shutter as if preparing for a siege. They say some horrid murderous things are lurking just off the road, and as the light wanes they refuse to let the heroes inside. The roadhouse's residents are terrified and are willing to fight to keep the party out, half convinced the party are themselves the things they should be afraid of... which isn't to say there ISN'T anything else waiting for that door to open. After negoitating their way inside (or forcing the issue) the heroes discover the roadhouse residents were warned of the danger by a mysterious woman who passed through earlier, though none can remember exactly what she looked like.

A knight renowned for his fearless deeds wanders the street in a waking nightmare, seeing threats everywhere and lashing out at phantoms and passersby. Even after being subdued it’s clear he won’t awake, and many suspect interference from jealous rivals in the upcoming tourney. The knight’s meek squire asks the party to help investigate the causes and possible cures of her master’s madness, never suspecting that her suppressed resentment at his recklessness might’ve manifested as a curse.

In desperate need of answers, the party consults an oracle dedicated to Tergrid who has them undergo trials of fear and phantasm so that they might know the truth. Chiefest among these is battling in a dark cave full of shadow monsters, while flickering visions of the future are cast on the wall by the guttering lantern light. The longer they can endure, the more they will know, but that isn't likely to be long unless they fight harder than they ever have before.

Inspiration: Tergrid is a shameless lift from Magic the Gathering's Kaldheim setting, which I've never played but apparently keep returning to as a consistent well of inspiration.

Fear both as a mechanic and motif is something I think is underutilized in D&D which is odd considering it's a game about venturing out into the unknown to face potentially deadly challenges. Fear and risk are what our heroes must endure to experience the wonder and rewards on the other side of their journey. As such it makes sense for a goddess of fear to play a role in the thematic weave of the stories we end up telling.

Speaking in less lofty terms, I also think using the lantern as a symbol for being frightened fucks hard. It's a tiny, fragile, and temporary respite from an ocean of darkness and the threats it contains.

Worshippers: The lost and abandoned, Unseele Fey, Shadowcasters and other denizens of the shadowfell. There is also heavy overlap with the worship of the night goddess Nyx.

Signs: Nightmares, unnatural or living shadows,

Symbols: A Lantern, often surrounded by a circle of darkness.

Artsource

[ouransisters]

Top Tier Danny Phantom/Batman crossover things (but from someone who doesn't care about either source material)

•Danny being the first hero

-gives a reason for why the justice league doesn't get involved

-his actions/struggles sets a precedence for the future heroes

-theres all of these well established and famous heroes who have been through hell and back; and then they suddenly melt because that's! their! hero! Holy shit it's him!!!!

•Danny is summoned and what he says sounds condescending and expected of a eldritch monster, but then it cuts to him just being outrageously casual and the translation just isn't working

-there's this really cool fic of Shazam finding out about that and ends up roasting this eldritch being about it

•Danny and Shazam are in a justice league meeting, they're both pretending to be ancient beings instead of literal teenagers, and upon realization they back each other up without any discussion needed

•Danny is the son of mad scientists and it shows

-he's not a rouge himself, but he has an intimate understanding of how their tech works at glance cause he grew up with this kind of crazy

-it's just a Tuesday afternoon

•Danny becomes an astronaut and his powers make him a very useful resource

-there's not nearly enough of this

-in a world where aliens are a thing and space monsters are am actual threat, having Danny on the ship makes him indispensable

•Danny's a retired vigilante and his skills make him seem suspicious

-He's out. He's not getting dragged back in. He accidentally freaks out the local heroes at every turn

•Danny becomes ghost king or whatever and realizes he can fuck over grandpa-al-ghul

-so technically I haven't read a fic where that's the main concept but i want it ok

-just batman being his dad? Doesn't matter. Damien being his twin? They were never on good terms or they're secretly communicating, but that's not relevant to the plot. What's important is that he can make his grandfather go cold turkey on the Lazarus Pits and secretly gut his entire league with no one knowing what the fuck happened

-Danny's plotting and slowly executing the plan to obliterate his grandfather's legacy, with dashes of outsiders pov of watching the ancient league of assassin's being dismantled by thin air

-a conversation in which Damian is on good terms with his secret twin and he overhears his family talk about the leagues destruction: "Ah, Daniel did that" "...who?" "My twin" "Your twin!!!" "Yes. He never liked grandfather's methods, so it is hardly a surprise he did this as a ghost" "....as a ghost" "Of course. Once he was made The King of the Infinite Realms he sent a letter stating his intentions towards taking down grandfather. Sentimental fool. He visits occasionally to complain about the council" and then just walks away whole scrolling through his phone, like a normal teenager. And THIS is how they find out about the anti-ecto act.

-bonus: Danny finds out after defeating Pariah Dark that he's the ghost king and has a hysterical fit of laughter. This is how his friends find out he was a child assassin

[churrobird]

guys can i have a category 7 autism event. will you put up with my cringe.

rospierce slay the princess au/route!!!!!! because GOD i love slay the princess

(slay the princess spoilers under the cut! i won't be talking about the overarching story (but there is a brief reference to the characters involved in it at the end), but i will be referencing and taking inspiration from certain routes in StP, including ones from the Pristine Cut DLC!)

You're on a path in the woods, and at the end of that path is a castle, and in the basement of that castle is an Architect. You're here to slay her. If you don't, it will be the end of the world.

yep! as it is the easiest option, i am calling this au "Slay the Architect". i only have one route really... planned in my mind, but i think a lot of different angles could be done with this, just like the original game!

currently, the route i have is The Architect -> The Castle Keep -> The Heart of the Kingdom

Chapter 1: The Architect

the start of the "game", its pretty much like the start of slay the princess, except clownpierce is here. clown finds himself on a path in the woods. he's told by a voice in his head (that definitely isnt badboyhalo. guys do you ever think about evil circus (thats their duo name right?? pretty sure it is)) that he needs to slay the architect that lives in the castle.

i dont think clown would really buy into the whole "she'll end the world" thing, but he is an experienced assassin. he's not gonna question a client as long as he gets paid. bad promises that he'll get his reward after he slays the Architect, and he's satisfied after some negotiating on payment.

from there, it's pretty straightforward to how you would get The Spectre route in StP. clown rocks up to the castle, finds the basement, finds the Architect chained up. ros tries to threaten him to back off, and he doesnt even bother with a response as he just efficiently stabs her. clean, precise, no-nonsense. that's how he operates his business endeavors. he's a little thrown off by her not even struggling before dying, but he's seen every reaction to being murdered you could possibly imagine. false confidence isnt that weird, honestly.

and then, of course, he goes upstairs and tries to exit the castle, only to find the world is gone. he immediately starts threatening bad for betraying him, and is furious when bad says he never lied to clown; this is the "reward" he was promised, after all!

eventually, the voice of the hero speaks up, and tells clown he can get him out of this, as long as he just trusts him. clown agrees because what else is there to do, and hero takes over his body to stab himself, and moves on to the next chapter

(BY THE WAY. i have this entire thing in my head about the different trsmp members being the different voices? and im pretty dead-set on sneeg being the voice of the hero stand-in because YEAHHHH 3/3 LOSA!!!!!!!! also. i dont think he'd be called "the voice of the hero", since fairytale heroism is... not clown's default state of reasoning. genuinely sneeg would be most alike to the voice of the skeptic, as both sneeg and clown are very questioning people when Something Is Afoot. i dont know what sneeg's title would be? i'm considering "Voice of the Alchemist", as a reference to the twohickey and alchemy being a field of study both sneeg and clown share. also clown's "default voice" in such a confusing situation being a scientist who wants to cut through all the bullshit and find what's really going on is very in line for him.)

Chapter 2: The Castle Keep

so. according to google. the keep of the castle is defined as "the strongest and most fortified part of a medieval castle, serving as the last refuge in case of a siege or attack, and often housing the lord's residence"

EHEHEHEHEHEHEH

so, The Castle Keep is based off The Spectre and The Wild. after being killed in her own castle, the Architect's spirit has merged with the very walls she built. and she is threatened. this stranger, this archmage, had walked into her home and slayed her without remorse, or even a word towards her, and she will enact bloody retribution to defend the castle; to defend herself. this is an attack upon her walls, and she will see to it that the threat is eliminated.

clown and the voice of the alchemist are joined by The Voice of the Scapegoat (its pili 1!!! his whole thing is that killing the Architect was a necessary evil, and who cares that she's pissed about it. if she didnt die, then the entire world would. anyone wouldve done it, clown was just the unlucky sucker who had to. very much reflective of how pili 1 was the one who stepped up to kill for red, and was hated for it despite it being necessary so him and all his teammates wouldnt lose a life.)

the Castle Keep tries to kill clown as soon as he enters the castle again. immediately tries to drop a rock on him, or something, because the castle is her body and she can control it at will. he navigates the castle, dodging the very building he's in attempts to try to kill him. voice of the scapegoat is telling him to find the Architect immediately so he can kill her again, while voice of the alchemist tells him to actually talk to her this time and figure out what's going on.

clown talks to the Castle Keep while she's trying to kill him, and she finally starts relenting enough to entertain conversation. because she's hurt. she was killed for so suddenly and for seemingly no reason, and now her murderer has returned and is effectively running around inside her body. she doesnt know him. she doesnt know if he's going to hurt the castle like he hurt her. she wanted him gone before he could hurt anything else. and she wants to know why he would do such a thing for her. he tells her about the whole "ending the world" thing, which she tells him that she has no idea if she can or not. he tells her about the whole "well he paid me and im an assassin so of course i did my job" thing and weirdly enough, she laughs. she thinks its really funny in a morbid kinda way. so they bond about that.

the thing is though.... the Castle Keep was effectively tearing herself apart to kill clown. pillars falling to crush him, chunks of the wall falling out to also crush him, the floor cracking open to try and drop him into the abyss. with how much she's torn herself apart, she can't control herself from crumbling the rest of the way. right as theyre finally seeing eye to eye, rubble falls and crushes clown under it. the Castle Keep wails, screaming that she didn't mean to do that, that she's sorry, that she's trying so hard to move the foundation that once was hers, was her, but cannot anymore. clown slowly bleeds to death, but before he dies, he tells her that he is sorry, and it's only fair for her to kill him after he killed her.

Chapter 3: The Heart of the Kingdom

so welcome to chapter 3, the Heart of the Kingdom! this chapter is based off of The Wounded Wild, Happily Ever After, and the Thorn

the gang is joined by the Voice of the Penitent (aimsey, who expresses guilt over having hurt the Architect so callously without even considering how she felt about it, or considering that she was her own person and not just a hit to take out. aimseys role is reflective of how pre-death aimsey was very dismissive of ros' feelings and agency in the pursuit of doing what they believed to be the right thing to do for her)

clown approaches the castle again, and finds it a wreck. the damage the Castle Keep did to herself seems to have carried over, but there seems to be even more damage. banners ripped and torn down, deep gouges in the floors and walls like axe strikes, chunks mined out of the stairs.

clown eventually finds the Heart of the Kingdom not in the basement, but in the throne room. she's once more a human woman, not a spirit who lives in and lives as the very walls around them. she's sitting on the throne, but her demeanor is entirely unlike a queen. her face is puffy and red from crying, streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. she's hunched over, hugging herself, staring blankly at the floor with dead eyes. she's wearing a crown, a fancy dress, fit for a queen, but it seems so ill-fitting on her, like someone had dressed up a doll.

the Heart looks up at him, and doesn't say anything except for scooting over a little. clown sits down next to her, the throne big enough to fit them both. another thing that made her seem so small.

they sit in silence for a while, and then the Heart begins to speak.

she tells him that she built herself out of the violence he inflicted on her. he attacked her, and so she sought to attack in turn. he had come into her home, the very castle she built, and hurt its architect. but she doesnt want to seek revenge anymore. the damage she inflicted on her castle, herself, in pursuit of retribution was a million times worse than what he had done to her. her very self was as shattered as the building around them.

an eye for an eye, she says, echoing his final words. he killed her, so she killed him, even if accidentally. they could be even, she says, but wouldn't he have a reason to pay that back? couldnt he kill her again for killing him when they had finally gotten along? she would probably be angry enough to, if she wasnt so tired and hurt.

clown says he could, but he stands by what he said. they're even. to kill her now would to just spiral further into an endless loop of violence. it's unnecessary. he knows how to pick his battles. taking on a fight that brings you nothing, means nothing, is just a stupid way to potentially get yourself killed.

they lapse into silence. and then the Heart finally asks him who he is. he's still a stranger to her, despite all of what they've been through together. so they talk. he tells her about his studies as an archmage, a few fun facts about himself, but not much with depth. he's still a very private person, and she's right- they're strangers. strangers with a tumultuous short history, but strangers nonetheless. he'll make the steps to get to know her now, but he won't reveal everything right off the bat. he never would've.

the Heart can't tell him much about herself. she simply doesnt know who she is. she was an Architect, wasn't she? she built this castle. but she's the only person she's ever seen in it. while he was gone, in the moments before he returned to the castle, she had explored it. there are furnished rooms, personalized with color, but she doesn't know who she built them for. the castle is desolate. things that should be familiar to her aren't. it should be full of life, but theres no lights on. it's just her. and the castle is as empty as her memory. maybe it really is her.

eventually, clown asks her what she wants, and despite everything, she says she wants to go outside. the castle hurts, and maybe it would finally stop hurting if she left- even for just a little while. she's never seen the grounds, even though she's sure that she built that too. how strange that is.

they walk outside, and stare up at the sky in the garden. the Heart hopes this can be a fresh start for them. she says she finally feels at peace, but didn't expect it to feel so cold.

and thats when she gets taken by a bunch of hands

(idk who the shifting mound would be in this au. foolish, probably? i know bad is the narrator, but im imagining a kinda-sorta different scenario from StP where bad is the narrator and the long quiet because some fuckshit is happening with the overarching plot of Slay the Architect)

BUT YEAH. god its really fun to write rospierce with the perspective that they're complete strangers at the start of each route. they basically speedrun getting to know each other every time. usually with murder involved. also can i mention that it feels so weird to write clown inflicting violence upon ros. it feels so incorrect. but he DOESNT KNOW HER so why would he feel remorse about that. i imagine that with each route played, he starts developing this subconscious feeling that gets stronger and stronger that he Should Not Hurt Her. and mans definitely freaks out about why the hell does he feel this instinctual protectiveness and care for this woman he has never seen before in his life.

i also feel like its very interesting to explore the themes of the cycle of violence with them. tr!ros already has those themes, but its odd to see it depicted between rospierce. clown usually has absolutely no guilt for hurting people, so it's a curveball for him to actually feel sorry for hurting the Architect. and for the Architect, hurting and violence was all she knew when he killed her (basically speedran tr!ros' violent tendencies), so she doesnt know how to stop unless she's too hurt to keep going on. and then they get to talk about it together!!! yay!!!!!

(also... since the Heart of the Kingdom is based off the thorn... and im a filthy rospierce shipper... lowkey kinda want them to kiss. i dont think it would make narrative sense for who they are and what they just went through. but maybe the Heart gives clown a little kiss on his mask. for me.)