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bloodiedrogue · 1 year ago

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WHERE'S YOUR PATIENCE? (7)

SUMMARY: You and Astarion finally have the conversation. Among other things.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,912

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, little bit of hand stuff, vaginal sex, CONSENT IS SEXY, mentions of past sexual/physical trauma, potential spoilers for acts 1/2.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Say thank you to the 2 bottles of Corona and the tequila shot I took to loosen up my brain enough to write this smut. I couldn't have done it without them. (And also my bardic inspiration @imgoingtofreakoutnow)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The weeks following feel like an uphill battle —a never-ending course of constant information and action all tied into one long work month. Without warning, you find yourself overwhelmingly annoyed with the pace of it all. Not to mention the unwavering guilt, knowing that if you’re not fighting hordes of Absolute cultists or doing research on how to rip the Illithid out of your head, your time is essentially wasted.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

Considering the severity of everything, even when you’re resting from a long day's work, you always find your mind wandering. Picking apart texts from old books you’ve found during infiltration missions. Oftentimes late at night when Astarion’s come back from feeding, you spend a lot of your time together relaying said thoughts. Using the late-night silence to fuel the drive that’s been missing throughout the day.

By the time you get to the Inn within the Shadowlands, you’re surprised he’s not sick of you for it. Nowadays, just the mere thought of your own voice makes you want to rip off your ears, and although you know it’s crucial that you discuss things like this, you know there are other things that are important too.

Like your shared confession. And your promise to talk of the past when you were both ready.

Since that night you haven’t asked him about it. With everything happening so quick, it’s been pushed to the back of your mind —lost amongst the clutter of thoughts that you’re often forced to leave behind. Deep down, you imagine he’s somewhat in the same boat but still, there’s even more guilt that surfaces. Filling both sides of the spectrum like an overflowing glass of water —so much so that by the time you’re gifted a proper night’s rest in an actual bed you’re already too tired to care.

As soon as you enter the Inn after your journey through the cursed shadows of the forest you head straight to the bar, barely batting an eye at the barkeep who looks you up and down, horrified by the state of your dress.

“Whiskey, please.”

“And… whatever else you got back there that doesn’t taste of fermentation.”

You turn to see Astarion already standing beside you, moving his hand to the small of your back to usher you into one of the stools. Immediately, you oblige with a sigh, blinking back sleep as you rest your bloodied elbows on the countertop, earning yourself a look of annoyance that Astarion squashes with an unfriendly scowl, showcasing his canine teeth.

If you weren’t so exhausted you probably would’ve laughed at such a sight, but considering you are, you instead let out a soft hum and down your whiskey when it’s placed in front of you, signalling for another.

“I see you’ve already decided how you’re going to spend your night off.”

Nodding your head, you barely register his words, slumping your damp forehead down against the counter with a groan. “How the fuck are we even alive?”

It’s a fair question when you take into account all that you’ve been through. All the puzzles and battles and endless expectations to now save all of Baldur’s Gate just to get these damned Illithids out of your head.

At this rate, you and everyone else should’ve been dead ages ago. Either murdered and looted for your tadpoles and their powers or already turned into tentacle-faced beasts. Not sitting next to Astarion, covered in blood, sweat and tears, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going. How you’re meant to keep this unrealistic momentum of burnout over and over and—

He runs his palm along the base of your spine, drawing his fingers up and down as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hells if I know, darling.”

Feeling a bit delirious, you laugh and raise your head to look between him and the new drink in front of you. “We should’ve been dead by now.”

“You? Perhaps. Me?” He pauses to dig his digits into your aching neck, making your head fall forward again in delight. “Well, I have far too much to do after all of this is over.”

“Yeah, like what?”

When he doesn’t answer right away you remember the conversation. That moment by the fire where you kissed and confessed and told each other you’d talk about it. Immediately it fills you with anxiety, clouding your features with a worried brow and frowning lips as you crane your neck to the side.

When you look at him you notice he’s not really there. His eyes sit in their normal position, staring back but there’s nothing. Not a thought or feeling; just two empty voids surrounded by bloodied dissociation.

It pulls at your heartstrings far too much —makes you let out a breath and raise your frame to slip off the stool and move to hug him. Despite the lack of attention, he manages to follow suit as it happens, wrapping his arms around your neck as you burrow into his chest, once again sighing, wondering if you should apologize and offer your ear or merely forget the exchange entirely.

Before you can even think to do either he’s standing up, keeping his hold as he grabs your other whiskey and proceeds to drink it down, barely batting an eye.

Raising your brow at him, you feel his fingers dig into your neck again, rubbing rough circles that have you resting your forehead against his chest, trying to form any semblance of a thought.

It makes him laugh and raise his hand to your hair, running his fingers through the roots. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You’re already off and climbing the stairs before you’re able to answer. Pushing through the pain that radiates through your calves with every step. Leaning against him with tired eyes that eventually open up when the door creaks open in front you of.

Somehow you managed to earn yourself a private room. One that’s actually clean with a real bed and a tub —all of which almost have you in tears.

“Nice of them to give us some privacy, hm?” Astarion smirks down at you as he speaks, watching as you roll your eyes and finally pull yourself away, reaching for the clasps of your leather vest. Like the rest of you, it’s coated in a thick layer of dirt and blood. All of it dried and coming off in disgusting clumps that have you scrunching up your face. Brushing off the top few clasps, you try not to focus on the way it feels against your fingers. How it collects under your nails as you narrow your eyes, struggling to get the damned thing off.

It makes him scoff and pull you back in, pushing your hands aside to undo the first clasp. “I feel as though I recall a time where you claimed to be patient?”

As he moves down to the next one you shake your head and look away. “Emotionally, yes. Physically I—“

“I’d say you’re far more patient in that regard, actually.”

For a second you’re not sure what he means but then it hits you. He means sex. Physical intimacy. A line of which you hadn’t yet crossed due to several things. The main being your lack of conversation —your lack of focus to a promise you both said you wouldn't break.

Obviously, the lack of time hasn’t helped either, but as you stand there, watching his fingers pull apart your top layer, you find yourself visibly frustrated. Angry at yourself for not taking the time to offer the piece of yourself you desperately want.

After that night it was always your intention to go first. To tell him all about your past in order to open the floodgates. You figured if you were brave enough to do it —to be the one to bite the bullet— maybe he’d inevitably follow.

But then life got in the way and now nearly five weeks later it suddenly feels like you’re stuck in this limbo. One where you’re dancing on the edge, teetering with bated breath. Wondering if maybe the time is right.

As his hands move further and further you find yourself fighting your imagination. Brushing off the feelings that start to surface as you stare down at his hands, watching their delicate ministrations.

It’s apparent then that he's no stranger to the art of undress. As his fingers twist and turn to work the clasps apart, you have to stop yourself from giving in to temptation, knowing that it’s wrong. Remembering the promise you made.

Moving your hand to stop him, you clear your throat and watch his eyes. Noticing the way they filter through the air to eventually focus on you, blinking as if he wasn’t there to begin with.

“Can we talk now? Maybe?”

His hands sit against your leathers, gripping the metal with tightened fingers that still somehow manage to pale from their hold despite his complexion. “Course.”

Running your fingers along his knuckles, you slowly wrap your fists around them, bringing them up toward your mouth to place soft kisses despite the mess of battle that lingers. Then you drag him further into the room, placing him on the edge of the bed.

“Do you know who Beshaba is?” you ask, plain and simple, unsure how else to start the conversation of your past as you sit beside him.

“The deity?”

You nod, slowly, letting your gaze anxiously fall to your lap. “I grew up in one of her churches after my parents died. Learned everything I know about the world from a priestess named Hessa.”

As you try your best to further collect your thoughts, Astarion leans in, narrowing his eyes at the way your hands start to shake against your thigh.

“Is she the one in your dream?” he asks.

Without hesitation, you nod. “They thrive on infliction,” you explain after, watching him frown. Taking in the way his demeanour changes without warning to become something you’re not quite sure you've seen before. “Their doctrine revolves around fear. If you don’t participate you’re expected to endure only pain and misfortune.”

You remember growing up underneath all these women, listening to their cautionary tales of Beshaba’s terror. It instilled fear in you from the get-go —taught you that the only way to endure the horrors of this life was to devote yourself to her. To offer everything you could in exchange for peace, so you did. Unwaveringly so.

“As a child, I grew up listening to these women scare everyone for the sake of their goddess.” You pause to swallow, feeling the memories of Hessa’s knife each time you later disobeyed, slice across your skin. “Then, as an adult, I followed the cycle.”

“Willingly?”

You shrug your shoulders. “At first.”

You remember as soon as you were old enough you were sent out to recruit. To trick the minds of all the simple folk, weaving fabricated tales of disasters that were carried out by Beshaba’s hand. It was difficult to do. Seeing all those ruined minds come crawling to you for salvation —begging for forgiveness in the form of eternal loyalty.

Thankfully though, it grew old pretty quickly. The formula of travelling Faerûn, following the endless calamity and blaming it on the lack of faith was enough to pull you out of the fog. As each day passed, it became increasingly hard to pretend your faith was still intact, so you formulated a plan.

“When we arrived in Baldur’s Gate I tried to leave. In the middle of the night I abandoned my sisters —tried to run and never look back but…”

There’s a moment where your mouth just closes, trailing from the memories of your story; straying solely to the image of Hessa. To her hands and face each time she broke you apart and put you back together.

Without even trying you can feel her next to you, whispering her teachings in your ear —touching your scars with calloused hands. Her voice still has that icy hold on you even when you’re far away, keeping you still as she forces you down to kneel on the stone floor and await your punishment.

A punishment you’ll always feel you deserve. Even now that you’ve well and truly denounced the faith. Deep down you still feel the guilt of your exit. The pain of having to carry the trauma of an existence you never had the choice of living. To this day, it still eats away through the scars that line your stomach. Boring lines of betrayal across your skin.

The last thing you want to do is cry, but as the reminder of such abuse continues to penetrate your mind you find the tears falling anyway. Collecting at the edges of your eyes so quickly that you’re forced to close them in order to reset your vision.

As you do you feel Astarion wrapping himself completely around you. Pulling you into his chest with heavy hands that feel nothing like hers. Reminding you that you’re safe. That you’re here with him and nobody else.

“Is this wretched woman still stationed in Baldur’s?”

You feel his fingers on your chin, pulling your face up so that he can see you when you nod, holding back tears.

“Good. Then our destinations align.”

His voice sounds different. Instead of the usual softness or flirtation, it’s spoken through clenched teeth that strain against his throat, somehow feeling almost like a threat. An unspoken but well-articulated phrase of warning that has you sniffing and wiping your eyes. “What do you mean?”

At first, you figure he’s talking about the Illithid. The urgent need to get to Baldur’s Gate before time runs out. But then you’re ripped back to reality —to the moments where he’s briefly mentioned his desire to return home. To finish whatever business he has after this timely journey is over.

“The person who sent the hunter—“

He practically spits out his name. Cazador Szarr. A man you’re unfortunately well aware of given his reputation.

After arriving in Baldur’s Gate it was common knowledge to avoid him and his property. As awful as your church was about promoting the misfortunes of others, they made it very clear not to get involved. According to them, he was an unholy man —one that could never fully be understood due to the obvious seclusion of his person.

To this day, you've always wondered what lies behind those doors of his. What sinister things he was up to throughout the years.

However, when you look at Astarion —when you see the way his rage suddenly seems to know no bounds, you know it’s bad. Worse than bad considering Astarion hardly ever gets angry. Sure, annoyance and frustration often come out but anger —real anger— never does.

“When you told me that you wished I didn’t know what it felt like, I didn’t realize how similar our experiences were.” His fingers rub rough circles into your flesh, distracting his mind as he lets out a breath and continues. “I didn’t know the level of your pain.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know.”

His voice cracks. Your heart breaks. Then, both of you sit in another wave of silence, letting the words previously spoken sit at your feet as you stare at one another, trying to gauge what happens next.

You don’t anticipate his hands moving to his armour. Nor do you retain any sense of restraint when you reach to follow them, both of you working to pry it off before he pulls his tunic over his head.

Despite being on the road together for so long you’ve never seen him bare like this. So open and willing to prove to you that he's here. With you, here’s here and ready to share whatever you think you need.

Embarrassingly, it makes you want to cry all over again, reaching for his face. Feeling that familiar coolness beneath your touch as he turns to rest both hands on your hips again.

“It’s been so long since I’ve willingly wanted this.”

“This?” You look at him confused.

“To be intimate.” His fingers tighten around your flesh, digging into the plush ever so slightly. “To share the act of sex with another rather than exploit it.”

There’s a small smile that creeps through then. An inkling of hope for the vampire’s happiness as you inch in closer, placing the softest kiss you can muster to his cheek. “But you’re nervous?”

“Terribly,” he admits with a heavy breath. “In the span of 200 years I’ve bed countless men and women —all of them willing. All of them happy to have enjoyed my body only to end up at death’s door.”

It’s a lot to take in —the admittance of his faults. As soon as the first detail is uttered it’s as if the floodgates open and he’s telling you everything. From the moment he was turned and forced to crawl from his grave to the years that followed luring person after person into the Szarr home for a master so cruel you immediately wish to kill him.

“I spent so long under that bastard’s thumb that… I don’t even know who I am anymore. How I’m meant to be now that I’ve attained even the slightest bit of freedom.”

You understand how he feels. Perhaps the levels are different but deep within there’s always been this nagging feeling of how you’re supposed to live your life. How you feel as though you should be travelling the world in search of a new purpose rather than once again fulfilling someone else’s.

But then you remember what’s at stake. And how even someone else’s fate can affect your livelihood. Then it’s as if the cycle repeats itself, constantly reminding you that if you don’t participate then that’s the end. Your freedom is null just as Astarion’s, leaving you to wonder what’s the point of it all.

“I think people like you and I are just meant to live.” Your hands move up to touch his hair. Carefully, you grip his curls between your fingers, pressing the pads into his skull as you run them down, hearing him sigh. “To enjoy what little time we have.”

“Little?” He raises his brow with a smirk. “Darling, I’m immortal.”

“True but you could still become a Mind-flayer like the rest of us.”

“Fair point.”

He seems calmer now. The usual persona of his overbearing personality coming through, making you grin.

Instead of tightly wound he’s relaxed under your hold, practically melting against your touch as he lowers himself to rest on your shoulder. As he does, you end up catching a glimpse of his back, fully seeing Cazador’s work in the form of rough, red etchings that coat his entire spine.

You have to force yourself not to ask about them until he’s ready, tightening the hold you have around his head as you riddle his face in kisses, letting your lips linger against his temple as you close your eyes.

“They’re not as bad as they look,” he says then, somehow reading your mind.

As painful as it is to admit, you know he’s right. Compared to other scars you’ve seen his look undeniably perfect. The way they paint the image of what looks to be some sort of sigil against his pale flesh. Despite the violence endured to create such a piece, it’s obvious that there was care put in too. A meticulous hand working away with the precision of someone borderline obsessed.

If it wasn’t the result of abuse you could even call it beautiful. But since it’s not, you only continue to hold him, gripping his face for dear life, wondering what kind of pain he had to suffer to earn such a massive reminder of his ownership.

“Do you know what it is?”

He lifts his head, looking at you like he’s seeking the answer himself. “A brand I’m guessing. Not that I can tell. Unlike you I can’t use a mirror. Nor can I very well reach to trace the damned thing myself.”

Your fingers twitch at his words, feeling the temptation to touch them grow as you remember your own scars. In terms of appearance, they’re much more rigid. Three jagged lines that cover the middle of your stomach, making sure you remember. Ensuring your mind that every day you live on this earth —every new moment spent thinking that you’re worthy of whatever this is between you— that you’ll never be normal.

The moment they dug that first knife into your gut you were marked for life. Branded just like him.

Swallowing hard you force yourself to slip away from his grasp, watching the confusion that erupts before the understanding starts as you shakily discard your leather layer and throw your tunic over your head.

It takes everything in you not to put it back on when you see the look on Astarion’s face. How it studies you with knitted brows and a clenched jaw that makes you want to hold him again.

“Mine are just… lines. They don’t mean anything.” As you motion to the thick slashes that have been carved over countless times you catch his gaze twitching upward, taking in the exhaustion.

“She did this?”

After you nod you feel his hand move forward, ever so gently grazing the top of the centre line with curiosity. “How many times?”

“I don’t remember.”

“But you remember how it felt?”

You press your lips together, breathing through your nose. Sucking in the Inn’s dusty air before blowing it out as you nod, forcing back the memory. Pushing through the pain as your tadpole squirms, asking to let him in.

Like all the other feelings you’ve shared as of late, it’s been so long since you’ve felt his presence like this. Even with the Illithid’s constant use outside of each other, when he calls out to you it’s completely different. The movement behind your eye doesn’t feel like an annoyance. It feels like a call. A tingle of hope that has you answering before you can even question what it is he might want.

When you answer there’s a warmth that hits your skin. Enveloping you completely, you feel the aching of the heat carry through your extremities, cascading down in anxious pools that have you breathing rather hard. Closing your eyes, you see the image of Astarion’s hands in front of you. Slowly he wiggles his fingers and turns his palms, taking in the fact that he’s safely under the sun, despite what he is.

You realize then that this is the first memory he has of freedom. Of a life where he truly believes the tether’s been severed. All the thoughts inside his mind are full of nerves. Building anxieties of the past and the future being interrupted by a present he never thought was possible.

It’s a memory that stirs you to move. To guide his hands to your waist as you crawl into his lap and grab his chin.

Touching his skin you feel that same warmth flow through to your core. Letting it take over all the thoughts of scarring and owners and the lives you’ve both lived to get to this point, it takes away your breath. Pulls from you the needs of anything but him.

In this moment, none of it matters anymore. Every experience is nothing more than a dimming shadow compared to the sensation of his breath wafting over your face as you angle your head down to look at him.

“Do you want this?”

His tongue darts out to line his lips. His hunger growing at the sight of you —at the feeling of you moulded to him like melting wax just cool enough to touch. “Yes.”

“So it’s okay if I—“

There’s a hand in your hair before you can finish, forcing you down to his mouth. It’s rough at first but quickly softens once he’s got you where he wants you. Firmly set atop his thighs and in his grasp. Allowing him enough access to reach up and touch the edge of your neck, his thumb lingering towards the centre to press a soft touch —reminding you that you have to breathe. That the usage of your lungs is no longer second nature but something you actively have to think about through the open-mouthed kisses that work to take it all away.

Your head dizzies at the feeling. All at once your vision blurs while your hands begin to roam, stretching over skin and bone, eventually hitting raised scars that make you kiss him even harder, knowing it’s what he needs. What he deserves after countless years of loveless encounters. After touches, empty of anything resembling the adoration you wish to offer him.

While laying waste to his bruising lips, you clumsily slide down his lap so that you’re standing on the ground, tucked between his open legs and bending forward.

Confused, you feel his face twist against your own, prompting you to pull away and lower yourself further, letting your knees gently come in contact with the floor.

“I was enjoying you where you were,” he muses then, cocking his head to focus on the way your hands begin to slide up over his knees, resting on each outer thigh.

“And now you’ll enjoy me over here.” You smirk.

“Cheeky pup.”

“The cheekiest.”

After that, you shuffle closer and reach for his belt, keeping eye contact every step of the way to make sure you aren’t stepping over any boundaries.

The last thing you’d want is to make him feel uncomfortable —to feel used in all the ways he used to experience. So you combat all that by checking in; offering him subtle glances every time you take the next step.

You can tell immediately that he’s appreciative. Whenever he nods there’s a faint smile that sits across his lips, offering you approval as your fingers knock against the metal clasp of his belt, shakily moving to open it up.

At some point he ends up doing it himself, leaning forward to kiss your forehead and laugh at the nerves that render your fingers useless. Nerves that only spread when you stare up at his face while his hands busily move the strap aside.

After tossing his belt aside he doesn’t let you go further. Instead, he drags you further between his legs, leaning down to cup your cheeks and kiss you all over again.

It’s distracting, to say the least. The feeling of his lips moving in tandem with your own as he reaches around to rid you of your bra with two quick swipes, leaving you just as bare as him.

It sends a shiver down your spine that makes him smirk, his upper lip quirking against yours before he gently bites down making you groan.

“Can’t let you be the only one with a view,” he mutters against you, making you awkwardly laugh as you watch his gaze lower to your naked chest. “Can I, pet?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Your voice sounds anything but confident as his hands continue their descent, matching your previous desires when they linger at your belt, waiting for you to give him the okay.

When you do he makes quick work, unclasping the belt with skillful hands before lightly smacking your ass, signalling you to stand before he carefully slides the rest of it down, thumbing the edges of your legs.

You have to force yourself not to cry out right then and there, feeling overwhelmed by the soft touch of his fingers. How they barely graze the outer parts of your already parting thighs, stopping at your knees when he looks up at you with a smirk.

“You seem nervous, darling.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove an open palm to his chest, pushing him back against the bed with a scoff. One that makes him laugh and watch as you kick off the remainder of the fabric, trying to appear brave. Something that proves to be harder than you anticipate when he swiftly follows suit, giving you a show of your own in the form of freshly exposed skin you’ve only ever imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

In almost an instant, the fabric slips away, revealing more of him than you possibly could’ve expected, making your mind wander as the building arousal between your thighs twitches with desire. Telling you that you need this.

You open your mouth to ask for more only to be yanked upon his lap causing a yelp to fall from your lips that makes you both laugh.

“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”

With a smile, his eyes scan your naked frame. Up and down and back, they linger at every part as if he’s studying you for future use. Taking mental notes with each passing freckle or scar that lines the length of bare skin. “I mean truly, look at you.”

As he speaks, one hand runs along your neck —over your shoulder and down your arm until it’s resting at your thigh, gripping you tight. “I’m not sure what God out there decided to make you but remind me to give them my utmost thanks after this is over.”

When he leans in you have to force yourself not to nervously laugh at his praise, once again feeling his lips find refuge on your own, driving you to take things further. Encouraging you to make him feel as good as he deserves.

This time though, instead of asking for approval with a glance you do so with a touch, reaching down to grip the end of his length with gentle hands that make him moan. Ever so quietly, the second you hear it you immediately strengthen your hold, using your free hand to grip his shoulder as you work him slowly, noticing him push. Feeling the subtle arc of his hips buck against your hand, wanting more.

For a moment you think about doing it. Letting your hand tighten further while you pick up the pace. It’d be easy. Nothing more than a simple readjustment but something mischievous stops you from doing it.

Remembering that night at the grove —the one where he relentlessly teased just to get a rise out of you— you find yourself smirking and pulling away, gripping his shoulder even tighter to keep him in place.

Almost immediately, he knows exactly what you’re doing. He can feel it in the way you languidly pull at his cock, barely holding on with each stroke.

“You think you’re clever, do you?”

You quirk your brow and bite your lip, massaging the apex of his shoulder. “I have to be if I’m going to be hanging around you.”

Furthering his torment, you then tighten your grip for a couple more pumps before returning to your previous pace, eliciting a hiss of disapproval that has him gripping both your hips and maneuvering you to sit against his right thigh.

“Oh really?”

Pushing up into your core, Astarion shifts you back and forth with his hands, making your breath catch inside your throat once you realize what you’ve done. How you’ve instantly set yourself up for a failure you know he’ll only revel in winning.

Considering he’s more than capable of making you fluster solely with words, you should’ve expected this —saw it coming from a mile away.

Continuing your ministrations as lazily as possible, he barely registers them as he glides your folds against his leg. Holding you down, he manages to apply the perfect amount of pressure to build the tension, making you press your lips tightly together, forcing back any sound that might be deemed a loss.

Even though it’s anything but a competition. A detail that’s reminded once he maneuvers one of his hands to cup your sex, rubbing rough circles into your clit.

It makes you lose all semblance of thought, forgetting the hold you have on his cock as you shakily reach for his other shoulder, steadying yourself against him.

“Doesn’t it feel nice when you give in?”

Despite the context, there’s surprisingly no snark to his words. No sarcasm or bite —just genuine thought. A question so true to its word that all you can do is pant through the building pleasure and nod; letting him raise you off his leg and station himself at your entrance.

It fills your mind to the brim with needs and wants you never thought you’d feel again. Having been subjected to abuse and then forced upon a journey you’re still not sure you’re ready for, the thought of attachments like this never once crossed your mind.

Even after everything you’d been through, you never thought Astarion was capable of such tenderness —of loving care and safekeeping. Of gentle touches that run across your aching skin as he looks at you and you at him, both of you deciding it’s okay.

As soon as it’s given, he’s sliding into you. Painfully slow, he uses the approval to grant you access to your shared pleasure, pushing through the tightness just as you open your mouth.

“Feel alright?”

Your fingers press against his neck as they slide up to cup his chin so you can pull your foreheads together. “More than alright.”

Through an unsteady breath, he laughs and guides you further down, allowing you both to savour the sensation for a moment before pulling back out again.

As soon as he’s missing you’re already longing for more. Desperate for the fill of his cock, prompting a whine to escape; earning yourself a tut.

“Remember patience?”

You do. More than anything in this moment you remember your claim and how foolish it was to think he wouldn’t forget it.

“I recall you saying—"

“Astarion, please.”

You’re not sure if it’s the anguish in your voice or the squirming of your hips that does it, but almost instantly he’s giving in. Once again offering you exactly what you need in the form of a push and pull so viscerally satisfying you’re left slumped against his chest, keeping hold of his neck. Forcing his hand to grip the back of your head to see the way he ruts inside of you.

It’s a sight that’s almost too much. One that makes you moan and close your eyes, allowing him to move your face to his. At which point you’re on the precipice of ruin. Both body and mind becoming a mess of everything and nothing, forcing your breath to falter.

You can tell Astarion’s in the same boat, struggling to maintain his starting pace the longer you mindlessly grind against him, unable to contribute much of anything else.

Together, the two of you try to move in unison, pushing and pushing —inhaling and exhaling. Anything you can do to share the burden of the building pleasure that grows and grows until—

When it hits, it feels better than you imagined. Deep within there’s a blooming that unfolds, petal by petal, opening to reveal unholy tremors that make you release a heavy plume of air through your closed lips.

Gripping you close, you can feel Astarion follow quickly behind, twitching inside before he inevitably spills out, making both of you groan and fall back onto the bed in a fit of nervous laughter before he cheekily suggests you make use of the tub.

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi

(If you'd like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form. Also, if your name isn't on here and it should be I couldn't tag you so message me and I'll try again next time!)

#where's your patience?#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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thisisnotthenerd · 7 months ago

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statting out the rat grinders

this analysis is based on what we've seen of the rat grinders and their abilities in ragenarok. a few assumptions: if we follow my original xp analysis of the rat grinders that puts them at a comfortable level 19. however, we know that they've been doing far more than that, and that they may be unevenly leveled.

we know from the adventuring party that they have 20th level class/subclass features, without the benefits of leveling through it: no ASIs or feats, no additional hit dice, no hit points reflecting 20th level. the rat grinders are glass cannons to the extreme. i would guess that their stats and hit points are roughly equal to the bad kids at level 14, which leaves them vulnerable to being taken out within a round or two: if they fail a couple of saves they're stuck. what they do get is high level spell slots and the improved proficiency bonus for their best skills.

i'm presuming that the rage stars have this effect; granting access to power that your body can't support, using rage and deep emotion to sustain this state. they're functionally equivalent to the bad kids, given the bad kids' other resources and tactical cooperation. the bad kids do big damage every time because their resources are more measured--they don't have a 9th level spell to drop on the first turn.

kipperlilly copperkettle

level: 20

estimated hp: unknown (21 damage taken)

abilities: 10d6 of sneak attack, expertise to stealth, bonus action help, insightful manipulator (read for abilities), misdirection (move attacks to others in your space), reliable talent, soul of deceit (mind can't be read), elusive (no advantage against you unless incapacitated), stroke of luck (turn a miss into a hit/check to a 20)

commentary:

i can believe she's a level 20 rogue based on her damage output. i don't think her weapon is enhanced, so it's likely not adding much to her output. riz regularly does more damage because he has magical enhancement to his weapons.

she seems more like an assassin rogue than a mastermind--she does a lot of sneaking around the battlefield to get the drop on people. she could have thrown bonus action help but stayed out of range despite having ranged options. she also doesn't have magical means of her own to hide, presumably because she wasn't using it during this fight. not much on her hp at the moment, but i'd guess she's squishy based on her strategy.

buddy dawn

level: 20

estimated hp: unknown (75 damage taken)

abilities: full suite of spell slots, warding flare (impose disadvantage on an attack roll), channel divinity, potent spellcasting (wisdom modifier added to cleric cantrip damage), divine intervention, corona of light (enemy disadvantage against fire/radiant damage)

commentary:

buddy has spent two turns of this battle holding concentration on a banishment and trying to dispel a slow on ruben. not really doing too much to help his party. he could have healed oisín but didn't. it speaks to their priorities as a group that he wasn't healing. he was there to banish the poll box and participate in the ritual, not really as a functional combatant.

honestly he's the purest example of what the rage stars do; they can give you power, but that means nothing if you don't know how to effectively use it. buddy hasn't protected himself or his allies at all

ivy embra

level: 11 | 9

estimated hp: ~78 (78 damage taken)

abilities: action surge, hunter's mark, dread ambusher (extra attack on first turn), extra attack (1), iron mind (wisdom save proficiency), 4 arcane shot options (2 uses), indomitable, land stride (no difficult terrain), indomitable, stalker's flurry (on a miss you can make another weapon attack)

commentary:

i split her at 11 | 9 because we know she doesn't have 2 extra attacks, and she attempts stalker's flurry but fails. the arcane shot she used (halving an opponents speed with a con save) isn't technically a standard arcane shot option.

she really doesn't have the hit points to suggest she's 20th level. even assuming no bonus to con, average hp from from 20d10 (10 from ranger, 10 from fighter) would be 110. it's closest to 14d10 with no con modifier. also this would put her on even ground with the bad kids. this is what i used to estimate the rat grinders being similar to the bad kids.

oisín hakinvar

level: 20

estimated hp: ~90 (121 damage taken)

abilities: full suite of spell slots, arcane recovery, minor conjuration (summon an object), benign transposition (30 feet teleport swapping with a small/medium creatures), focused conjuration (concentration can't break on conjurations), durable summons (all summons get 30 temp hp), spell mastery and signature spells

commentary:

even though he died before his turn, i can believe oisín is a level 20 conjuration wizard, based on what we saw at the party. i'd guess what he did is some sort of ritual on top of a control weather.

hp-wise he falls in the range of for 14d6+40 assuming he has +2 to con. it works on the high end. i'd guess his actual total is lower than the damage he took, since brennan said he was on death's door after taking 86 damage, so i'd say no higher than 90, even though he took a total of 121.

ruben hopclap

level: 20

estimated hp: ~75 (75 damage taken)

abilities: full suite of spell slots, bardic inspiration, psychic blades (psychic damage from weapon attacks), words of terror (1 minute to seed paranoia), mantle of whispers (steal shadows of the dead), magical secrets, shadow lore (charm a creature for 8 hours)

commentary:

the only spellcaster of the rat grinders to actually use their high level spells in this fight, with the psychic scream that didn't stun the bad kids. he actually did get both spells off despite the slow, but couldn't counterspell or grant inspiration.

hp-wise he's in the normal range for a 14th level bard at 75. he did roll nat 1s on both the slow and the fireball saving throws, and failed synaptic static by 1. man is bad at saving throws.

mary ann skuttle

level: 20

estimated hp: unknown (52 damage taken)

abilities: rage, frenzy, mindless rage, intimidating presence (action to frighten a creature), brutal critical, resistance to psychic damage, relentless rage (drop to 1 while raging instead of 0), persistent rage (rage only ends if unconscious), primal champion (STR & CON go up by 4, for a max of 24)

commentary:

we haven't seen very much of mary ann--she got slowed and then couldn't effectively get anywhere for 2 rounds of combat. i'm excited to see what she has in store. i'm guessing she has more hp than the rest of the party by virtue of being the barbarian, but as a berserker she only halves bludgeoning/slashing/piercing, and the bad kids have a lot of other damage types that they work with.

i'll be back with more next week: covering the gaps in this analysis and maybe hitting jace and porter.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #the bad kids #the rat grinders #kipperlilly copperkettle #buddy dawn #ivy embra #oisín hakinvar #ruben hopclap #mary ann skuttle #dimension 20 meta #the perils of xp leveling #thisisnotthenerd's d20 stats

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gaslightgatekeepgirlbosscombat · 1 year ago

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Group H, Round 1, Poll 9:

Propaganda under the cut

Ianthe Tridentarius

She is trying so hard to be the main character by lying and manipulating her sister, her cavalier, her mentor, her ?love interests? (Spoiler???) And also god. Not sure how it's working out for her but she does love to lie and manipulate

Worstie Ianthe is the DEFINITION of gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. She is one of a set of necromancer twins that are the heirs to their houses rule. Except wait, only she is a necromancer and she has spent their entire lives doing necromancy for the both of them. She is constantly mean to their cavalier, Naberius, who she occasionally nibbles on like a chew toy, before eventually killing and eating him to ascend to sainthood. She goes to gods spaceship with another woman who ascended to sainthood who she has a crush on, this other woman is like…. Both incredibly mentally unwell and also haunted by at least 211 ghosts. Ianthes method of flirting with her? Gaslighting her about the corpse that keeps moving around and hiding under her bed. For no real reason tbh. She is clearly plotting to overthrow god, and at the moment that consists of her manipulating him while he’s too sad about his long term partners betraying him and subsequently exploding to really care. She dresses in terrible outfits and makes soup by burning onions to the bottom of a pot, putting meat in and some vegetables and then it doesn’t taste like anything so she puts in a few teaspoons of salt so it tastes like a few teaspoons of salt. She had her crush amputate her arm and regrow her a new one out of bone and it’s one of the horniest things I’ve read in my life.

"Gaslight = told her lobotomized (she helped), schizophrenic girlobsession that there was no corpse under their bed, even tho there totally was. Gatekeep = girl did NOT share the secret to god-like ascension. She kept that shit to herself until it was time to eat her boytoy, and by then everyone knew already. Girlboss = she has a non-necromancer twin sister, and literally Everyone thinks they r both necromancers because Ianthe is so good at it. She reverse engineered ascending to the aforementioned ascension without even completing any of the supplementary tasks. She held her own in a fight against a 10k year old lyctor. She becomes the figurehead of her entire empire. "

She uses a man as a chewtoy in the first book, literally gaslights the protagonist of the second book about a corpse, and elder-abuses God when he gets depressed in the third book. Nobody is doing it like her.

Dives headfirst with no regrets while basically laughing and covered in blood into murdering her cavalier once she realizes what the gothic locked room mystery/competition leads to while everyone else is questioning it, helps perform lobotomy on harrow so she doesn't remember the person she loves, manipulates everyone to get to the top

idk just everything about her

her relationship with her sister is incredibly Bad, she fosters codependency and views Corona(the sister) as an extension of herself. This does not stop her from keeping up the con that Corona actually has magic (She doesn't, it was always just Ianthe) for 22ish years and every single person who interacts with them falls for it. She killed a man against his will (most dying for this purpose specifically go willingly) and she consumed him and she will be burning his soul for eternity. She's completely repulsive and still somehow incredibly hot.

she takes advantage of the fact that the main character is prone to hallucinations. at one point she gaslights the mc into believing that the corpse under her bed isn't real just because she can. she reverse engineered a set of very complex trials on her own without anyone realizing she had the skills to complete them normally. she's also babysat god through his drunk and pathetic era.

Artist:@starcanist

Remy the Rat

Gaslight- 'hmm? Me? Steal papers? I'm just an innocent little ratty rat.' Gatekeep- I would debate he's gatekeeping food and taste from the other rats because they just don't GET it. Ugh! Girlboss- doesn't he own a rat restaurant at the end?

#round 1 #group h #tlt #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #ianthe tridentarius #cw ianthe tridentarius #ianthe the first #Remy #Little Chef #Ratatouille #runner's note: not to be biased but that's my absolute participant here. Let this fight be fun and challenging #also Ianthe. Queen of the greatest amount of propaganda

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hugogetspowerbottomed · 8 months ago

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VARIGO CANON COMPLIANT ROUNDUP

A collection of all the Canonverse Varigo that I've enjoyed over the past three years. It is likely that there are a few missing due to them being deleted or my memory being poor. Nonetheless, pls enjoy.

Mature: +++ Explicit: *** Not Rated: 0

Teen/Gen: Not Marked

hello to my old heart by izabellwit

“Why do you trust me so much?”

Or: the beginning of the end for the betrayer. In which Hugo asks a long-overdue question, and gets the answer he never wanted to hear.

Say You Won't Let Go (I Won't) by DragonTalyn

Hugo needs some reassurance that Varian isn't going to leave

The Simple Act of Scraps Unraveling by @hybrix-hidings

There is a moment, on the trail to the library, where Varian realizes that he will love this man.

Or: Hugo and Varian enjoy a show, barefaced.

(Prompt #2 - Fireworks)

Snippets in Time by @sonicgetsrawed

Snippets of Varian’s adventures through the seven kingdoms to save his mother.

Darling you look perfect tonight by @the-reverse-mermaid

Hugo, Varian and Yong are invited to a winter holiday event in Nuru's kingdom, but one of them is having significantly less fun than the others… Hugo is already feeling insecure when a snobby noble decides to turn her nose up at him and make everything worse. Good thing his friends are there for him.

Small Chocolate Confections by @glitter-lisp +++

Sending Varian in to distract their target isn’t ideal, but someone has to keep him occupied while Hugo searches his room, and the duke made his interest pretty clear at dinner last night.

Hugo’s fine with that. Hugo’s very good at what he does, and so focused on the task at hand, and completely unbothered by the thought of Varian hanging out with a handsome guy who's probably feeding him fancy little desserts and talking about how rich he is while Hugo crawls around upstairs looking for loose floorboards and secret drawers.

Save Your Convictions (They Never Will Do) by @littlemisslol-fic

Varian and Hugo return to Corona after the events of the Varian and the Seven Kingdoms AU, with mixed reception. Turns out Rapunzel won't hold a grudge against people who slight her, but if they hurt her friends? And then show up still dating said friend?

Let's just say Hugo's got a storm coming.

The Dating Game by @littlemisslol-fic

In which Rapunzel, bless her heart, didn't know Varian and Hugo are dating, and thus takes it upon herself to find her darling baby brother a man of proper pedigree if it kills her. However, bloodlines aren't everything, and her choices are... less than stellar.

Darling, so It Goes (Some Things Are Meant to Be) by @littlemisslol-fic

My submissions for Effin' Varigo week! Big thanks to battybatzgirl for setting it up!

Hugo and Varian have been dating for three years, and are finally ready to take their relationship to somewhere a lot more serious. However, the world has other plans. With Hugo's proposal in shambles, and Varian focused on saving their friends, they think things can't really get any worse.

They would be wrong.

Prompts are Family ‧ Firework ‧ Fever ‧ Flirt ‧ Fight/Forgive ‧ Future ‧ and Free Day!

as long as it leaves a mark by @aziraphalesbookkeeper

For a guy who never takes off his gloves, Varian sure does lose them a lot. It’s not really the gloves Hugo notices though—it’s the scars underneath them.

Or: 5 times Hugo tries to take off Varian's gloves + 1 time he doesn't have to.

Whumptober Day 27: Scars AILESS Whumptober Day 9: Scar Reveal

We Carry Through by @aziraphalesbookkeeper

Adjusting to living in the castle with Varian is hard. Going from having nothing to having everything makes Hugo feel...twitchy. Luckily, there's one person who knows exactly what he's going through. Unfortunately, it's Fitzherbert.

Prompt: Family

The Touch of Sunlight by TheArtistsMuse ***

Varian was used to being kidnapped- as sad as that sounds- but he can always trust his friends to save him. Only this time was different, and now something is deeply bothering Hugo. Will Varian be able to get his secretive boyfriend to open up? Will they be able to figure out why he was taken?

... Will Varian be able to hide his very inconveniently timed sexual awakening?

meteor shower by @oshunalchemy 0

varian has a nightmare.

Wither and Decay by @eggmuffinwaffles

The Moonstone and the Sundrop were gone, the trials were completed, the Eternal Library was opened. Everything in Corona had returned to as close to normal as it could possibly get- but Corona seems to have a habit of attracting trouble. When old enemies arise, bent on her downfall, it will take more than just quick wit and luck to ensure that they fail.

My Head's Above The Rain and Roses by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober Day 5: Every Whumpee Needs

Varian, Hugo, Nuru and Yong decide to go camping for the first time in a while after the trials. What could go wrong?

The answer is everything. Everything can go wrong.

Aka Part 1/3 of Hugo learning to like the TTS gang

Maybe if You Fixed the Whole World by Yourself by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober Day 7: The Way You Shake and Shiver

Hugo had a really unfortunate habit of ruining his own life. It wasn’t intentional- if you asked him, he’d swear up and down that he played absolutely no part in causing his entire life to go up in flames, and yet time after time he would keep doing it. Funny how consequences work.

Maybe he was being a little bit dramatic.

OR:

Hugo finds himself being blackmailed by a noble at a ball, and gets help from an unexpected source

Part 2/3 of Hugo learning to like the TTS gang

Keeping Me Up At Night by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober Day 29: What Doesn't Kill Me

Even a year after moving to Corona, sometimes Hugo's guilt finds itself creeping into his dreams. In the middle of an episode, he realizes he has more in common with Rapunzel than he thought.

Part 3/3 of Hugo learning to like the TTS gang

Turning Saints Into A Sea by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober Day 25/Day 30: Silence is Golden/Note to Self Don't Get Kidnapped

Varian has to confront his jealousy head on when Hugo's ex finds herself back in Corona. Unfortunately her return might not be as innocent as she wants them to believe.

I Won't Let You Pull Me Down by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober 2022 Day 16: No Way Out

Hugo and Varian get into a fight. Instead of handling it like an emotionally healthy adult, Hugo manages to go and get himself possessed.

Possession 2 electric boogaloo baby

Lessons in Luxury by @varibean

All his life, Hugo wanted nothing more than to live a live of riches and luxury. He had always failed to imagine what a change like that would entail. Real life was becoming too much like a fantasy and it was always the same questioned that brought him hurdling back to reality.

"Have you eaten today?"

Amalgam by @varibean 0

After relying on Ulla’s notebook to help them through their journey, the gang find that the next kingdom has little to no notes on where the next trial takes place. Their only clue is a location that might have a lead on where to go next. However, after a royal mess up on Hugo’s part, they’re left up the creek without a paddle. Not only are tensions high, but emotions as well. One thing was certain though: Hugo and Varian did not mix well.

#fic recs #canonverse fic #varigo #vat7k #varigo fanfiction #vat7k fanfiction #varian and the seven kingdoms #my recs

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raayllum · 9 months ago

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this isn't how i'm writing it in fanon s6 bc i can pace things however i want with zero time constraints but this is something i could see s6 doing + i like being self indulgent so

They'd been stupid to trust the Celestial Elves.

It was the only thought running through Callum's brain as he stared in horror, the corona sealed back glass, the Nova Blade a weapon no mortal could wield, and Rayla—

On her knees, the leader holding an ordinary but no less terrifying blade to her throat, his face still a bit scraped up from his and Rayla's earlier scuffle. She'd been the one to catch the elf reaching for Callum's bag when they slept that night; she'd be the one to draw her sword first and engage him, quickly overwhelmed by the time Callum and her parents had arrived.

They were all talented warriors, but rusty after two years in a coin—Runaan unable to draw his bow with only one arm, and something long range was needed here. Some way to kill the leader and give Rayla time, even if he held her in a vice grip, pressing down hard enough on her throat there was thin, scarlet line growing.

"You have something we need, boy," the leader hissed, breathing heavily through a broken nose. "You know what it is."

Runaan's voice broke through, sharp and demanding—"What is he talking about?"—but Callum couldn't tear his eyes away from Rayla. She was struggling to breathe, let alone speak, but gave her head the barest shake. No.

"What are you going to do with it?" Callum says as neutrally as he can, stalling (there has to be a spell or a way out of this) even if he already knows the answer.

What else could they hope to do with something called the Key of Aaravos?

"I'll tell you what we're going to do your elf girl unless you give it so us," the Celestial elf snarls. "On the count of three, I'll slit her throat. One—"

"Stop!"

Two hadn't even left his lips, Callum having an excuse to look away from Rayla's glaring, tearshot eyes now as he digs the cube out of his bag. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as he holds it up.

On Finnegrin's ship, at least he'd been able to hide what he was doing—what he was willing to do—in the shadowy depths of the ship. Here, in the light, there's nowhere to hide.

Callum holds it out, taking a few steps closer. "Lower the sword first," he says.

"And have her wriggle free? I don't think so."

"Callum," she wheezes. "Don't—"

"Fine then," Callum snaps. "At the same time—an exchange. On my count of three. One—" He looses his grip on the cube, the ring of celestial elves watching eagerly. "Two—" It's not ideal, him and Rayla in front of where any of her parents could join the fray; there will have to be distance before anyone can fight either way. But then, he's not doing this out of the certainty he'll get the Key back, that it won't end in disaster.

Just for her safety. Just for himself, because he can't live without her.

This was his destiny, what Aaravos was banking on. And he was right.

"Three!"

The Celestial elf takes his blade away and shoves her forward at the same time Callum tosses the cube over. It's caught in one shiny blue hand, the elf towering over him as Callum slides to his knees, catching Rayla as she careens forward before she can hit the floor. She coughs weakly in his arms, bleeding at the throat, but it seems shallow.

The celestial elves make it maybe five five away with their prize before her parents leap into action, swords clashing, but Callum grabs his staff and constructs a funnel of wind around him and Rayla, a thick enough wall of air to keep anyone else out momentarily, as he helps her sit up.

"Callum." She's crying, but alive.

"Let me look at you," he murmurs, lifting up her chin. He uses his scarf to wipe away the blood, relieved when more doesn't follow. A shallow cut just to scare him, but it'd worked. He pulls her into his arms next, just needing a moment to feel her heart beating against his.

She takes a second to hold him back and then does so, tightly, and his heart settles as they sit there shaking. She hasn't forgiven him for it yet, maybe—but she will.

#rayllum #s6 speculation #cube hostage exchange theory #celestial elf variant #my fic #fic #predictions #not really?? but close enough #first actual CHET scenario fic in... god 4 years??#jesus #last time i wrote one of these callum didn't even know who aaravos was #oh how far we've come :')#tdp #the dragon prince #if anything here gets repurposed for fanon s6 and u notice it no u didn't

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superfan44 · 2 months ago

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Why Sora Should be Treated the Same as Superman (An Opinion Piece)

As I get older, I'm able to look at various fictional characters more closely, understanding more about why they're so iconic. A few years ago, I gained a renewed interest in the Kingdom Hearts franchise, seeing why so many people love its story, characters, and of course, its crossover element with Disney and Final Fantasy. I want to take a little look at the franchise's main protagonist, Sora, shed a light on him if you will. I feel you could draw some similarities between him and the DC Comics hero Superman (aka Kal-El, aka Clark Kent).

Now, I know this may seem like an odd comparison to some of you, but personally, I think it does kind of make sense when you think about it. Obviously these two have very different personalities, backstories, powers, and motivations that drive them. However, both are kindhearted, optimistic heroes from humble beginnings, with a strong sense of justice and morality. Not to mention a desire to help others and do the right thing.

Their respective actions certainly speak for themselves on that front, as they each go about it in their own unique way. In the comic book All-Star Superman, one issue sees him fighting a group of lizard men invading from the Earth's core. Then, in another issue, we see him stop a depressed teenage girl from stepping off a building, giving her comfort and support. Yes, he's got super strength and godlike powers, but he's also considerate, compassionate, and gentle enough to offer a helping hand whenever needed. Superman is a hero who inspires the best in all of us. He is, as filmmaker James Gunn once put it, kindness in a world that sees kindness as old fashioned. Even though he lives on a planet he wasn't born on, he still aspires to bring hope to that planet, providing them a light to show the way. Krypton made him the man of steel, but Earth made him human.

There are moments in the Kingdom Hearts series where we see a bit of that kindness mirrored in Sora as well. One minute he would be cutting down Heartless with his keyblade, the next he'll be enjoying good times with his friends, old and new. Whether it's dancing around with Rapunzel in the Kingdom of Corona, visiting Winnie the Pooh and his pals in the 100 Acre Wood, or helping to make Boo laugh in Monstropolis. He protects the world order and fights against the forces of evil, but he's also having fun along the way. There's a playfulness to Sora, a big smile on his face that warms people up inside. He's a brave young man who can easily form connections with anyone he comes across. There are still hardships to face, but he perseveres through it, showing that deep down, there is a light that never goes out. Even when it seems like he's on the verge of giving up, his friends are there to inspire him and lift him back up, just as he had done for them. He follows his heart, which is, and has always been, his guiding key.

You could say that these similarities are due to the fact that Sora and Superman are very much archetypal heroes. Joseph Cambel's hero's journey cycle (which also heavily influenced Star Wars) can be seen in both of their respective journeys. Individuals from humble beginnings who venture out into the wide world ahead of them, encountering various allies, enemies, and obstacles along the way. The journey ultimately leads to the heroes gaining greater powers and becoming more than who they were before.

It's also worth noting that another thing Superman and Sora have in common is that sometimes they are both willing to take great risks in order to save the people that they love. In Superman: The Movie, the man of steel himself flies around the Earth at great speed, turning back time to save Lois Lane from an earthquake. In Kingdom Hearts 3, Sora uses the power of waking to bring back Kairi after her body was destroyed by Xehanort, sacrificing his own life in the process.

So, why do I bring all of this up? Because I believe that this is something that writers should keep in mind when tackling Sora, whether it's for fan fiction, comics, novels, etc. I've noticed this trend on the internet of people deconstructing the psychology of Sora and delving into the negative effects that his adventures have had on him. A few of them have even declared his optimism and playful smile as a form of "toxic positivity". While it does seem like an interesting idea, I feel like it's causing people to forget about why they love him in the first place. In some cases, there are those who end up going too far with that notion.

Not long ago, I stumbled upon a Kingdom Hearts fan fiction story titled Keys to the Kingdom. Basically, it reads as an alternate universe reimagining of the events of Kingdom Hearts 3. Even though it was well written, this version of the story gets extremely dark, depressing, and cynical. Not only that, but it also mistreats Sora in a somewhat disturbing way, portraying him as a tortured and tormented soul. While his arc in this does prove to be compelling at times, it was still very jarring, making for an overall unpleasant experience. The fic seemed to be so focused on beating this character down, so intent on having him suffer throughout, that it ends up losing sight of what makes him so endearing and likable. Or, to borrow a quote from the young keyblade wielder himself:

"You're so caught up in finding the shadows, you forgot about the light that cast them."

This doesn't feel too out of place with the "evil Superman" trend that was around for a period of time. The video game Injustice is a prime example of this, as it depicts Superman as a merciless dictator of a fascist regime, who rules with an iron fist and shows no compassion towards crime or his enemies. Even other creations like Homelander from The Boys and Omni-Man from Invincible are representations of this idea since they are basically evil Superman-types. Admittedly, I do give those two a little more leeway since they were made specifically for the stories they came from. They are not directly related to Superman other than having similar powers. Although this concept can be fun to tackle with an original character, I don't think it feels right to try to do it with the genuine article himself. That's not really who he is.

When making the first Superman movie back in 1978, director Richard Donner took it upon himself to do the big blue boy scout justice. He didn’t want the material to be treated with disrespect, nor to be seen as a joke. There's a word he used to emphasize this as a top priority: "verisimilitude". For those unfamiliar, the basic definition of it is the appearance of being true and real. Not only was that word hung up on the wall above Donner's office (which it was), but it also established the mission statement that many of the great superhero movies made in the years since then have followed:

Be truthful, honor the source material, believe in it, take it seriously.

This is the type of mindset that should be adopted by anyone who adapts any kind of preexisting work, especially when it comes to something like Kingdom Hearts. If you want a good example of how to write Sora in a way that showcases how great he is while also being faithful to who he is, there's another fan fiction story titled Starbound, created by my friend @skygent. An anthology with an overarching narrative mixed in, it uses the setup of Sora's disappearance at the end of Kingdom Hearts 3 as a way to examine the impact that he's had on all of his friends and allies. In a deeper, meta sense, it offers an analysis of the connection that fans of the franchise itself have formed with him.

The stuff that has been written so far for this fic is absolutely amazing. In fact, it's what led to my renewed interest in Kingdom Hearts in the first place. It has pretty much what you would want in a story like this one. Balancing a sense of scale, mystery, and adventure, but also quiet reflection. Offering some fun little twists, but still retaining the core essence of what the source material is all about. Through this story, we see various characters (including some not featured in the games) learning of and reacting to Sora's disappearance, remembering their encounters with him in the past. Some of them are even inspired to try and figure out where he is, willing to doing whatever it takes to help find him and bring him back home. Here, they demonstrate just how much he means to them, just as they all do to him.

To be clear, I'm not saying that Sora should stay exactly the same. In a series like Kingdom Hearts, we want to see those characters grow and evolve. With the things that Sora has experienced throughout the series, and with where we will find him at in Kingdom Hearts 4, it'll be interesting to see where he goes next. At the same time though, we also should remind ourselves that people love this character for a reason. As this young hero embarks on his newest adventure, he shouldn't lose what makes him who he is as a person. Instead of pulling him apart, I think Sora is someone who deserves to be celebrated. To be treated with dignity and respect, just as Donner did for the last son of Krypton. In the same way we've celebrated Superman over the years for what he stands for and represents, Sora should also be recognized in an equally similar way. Their respective core values and good morals, all the stuff that makes them heroes. It's these things that turned them into pop culture icons who remain with us to this day. It's why they will continue to be icons in the foreseeable future.

Two beacons, shining bright in the darkness. Never forget that.

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twotangledsisters · 3 months ago

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Chains of Regret

Terribly unoriginal title but hey, this one-shot isn't about originality, it's about angst and practicing first person writing.

Warnings for the story: mentions of major character death (not majorly graphic but continue at your own risk)

The cold, damp air of the dungeon clings to my skin. The iron chains weigh on my wrists, but I barely feel them. All I can see, all I can think about, is her. Rapunzel. She was gone in an instant. The light of the Sundrop extinguished as Zhan Tiri’s cruel laughter echoed in the room. As I watched, a sense of helplessness washed over me, witnessing the combined power of the Sundrop and Moonstone fueling a demon’s strength as it seized her. The demon’s grip on Rapunzel was unyielding, constricting her so tightly that her screams of agony pierced the silence, each one more desperate than the last. And that last one… it was the last breath to leave her lips, alongside the light in her eyes. I wanted to scream, to run to her, to fight for her, but my feet wouldn’t move. The black rock armour that had previously given me strength now weight me down, kept me on the ground, helplessly watching. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I’ve replayed that moment a thousand times in my mind, wishing it could be different. I try to imagine a world where I wasn’t the one who betrayed her. But every time, the ending is the same. The light disappears, the darkness wins, and I’m left alone. Zhan Tiri didn’t even acknowledge me when Rapunzel fell. She was too focused on the power she’d finally claimed, on tearing down the walls of Corona and destroying it’s people. The kingdom fell in hours. The guards, the people—they all tried to fight back, but it was hopeless. What’s a sword or a shield against a force that can tear the sun and moon from the sky? And me? I just stood there. A puppet with its strings cut, wondering why my heart was still beating when Rapunzel’s had stopped. I don’t know why Zhan Tiri spared me. She didn’t gloat or taunt when she tossed me into this dungeon. She didn’t look me in the eye as the chains were locked around my wrists and ankles. It’s like I didn’t even matter to her anymore so why let me live when everybody I loved had to die? Maybe that’s it. Maybe this is my punishment. To be forgotten. To be nothing. But to still be alive. This is what I deserve. To live with the weight of what I’ve done. To be haunted by the memory of the friend I betrayed, the parent I left behind, the kingdom I doomed. Every breath I take is a reminder that I’m still here and they’re not. That I was the one who opened the door for Zhan Tiri, who let the darkness in. If Rapunzel were here, she’d tell me to be strong, to find hope, to keep fighting. But she’s not here. I’m alone with my thoughts, and they’re louder than any encouragement she could have offered. Maybe Zhan Tiri kept me alive as a trophy. Proof that even the fiercest loyalty can be corrupted, that even the strongest bonds can be broken. Or maybe I’m just a loose end she hasn’t bothered to tie up yet. Something to deal with later. Or most likely, I return to my first thought; she left me alive because she knew that death would be a mercy. That living with the knowledge of what I did would be far worse than any pain she could inflict. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Days, weeks—it all blurs together. I don’t know if there’s anyone left to care, if there’s anyone still fighting. But I do know one thing: I’ll never stop asking myself why. Why did she let me live? Why didn’t I die alongside the rest? Why couldn’t I see the truth until it was too late? But the worst question, the one that gnaws at me in the darkest moments of the night, is this: Was I ever worth saving at all? The chains rattle as I shift, the sound echoing in the silence. I close my eyes, and for a moment, I can almost hear Rapunzel’s voice, my father’s orders, Eugene’s bickering and my people’s screams. But when I open them again, all that’s left is the darkness, and the crushing weight of what could have been.

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typingcorgi · 2 years ago

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unexpected (part i of a two-part series)

rating: e (minors, please shoo. you will be blocked) word count: 1.7k+ pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: pre-outbreak timeline, canon divergent timeline, hint of vague age difference (if he's 36 I'm thinking like the reader is 5-10 years younger but honestly insert whatever age you want), tipsy sex, fingering, creampie, protected p in v sex (yay for responsible joel), praise kink makes brain go brrr, porn with plot, quasi-public sex, soft-ish!joel, no use of y/n story summary: a one-night stand with a handsome stranger doesn't go as planned. chapter summary: you and joel meet at a bar and fuck in the bathroom. author's notes: no apocalypse, yay! this is part one of a multi-part series. excited to get this new ball rolling. this is just going to be a fun romp away from the mushroom zombies, okay? have fun getting yours ;) and as always, please feel free to reblog or leave a comment! your feedback is so very appreciated.

“I don’t normally do this.”

You admit it through a panting breath, during the one rare moments in which this perfect stranger isn’t capturing your lips against his. In a languid motion, he turns the lock of the door behind your head, ensuring your stolen moment won’t be sorely interrupted.

You’re not so drunk that you don’t remember his name: Joel. Of course, he hadn’t shared his daughter’s name, but just hearing that he had one to take care of at home—and she seemed reasonably responsible, attesting to her father’s clear grip on parenthood—caused something to stir beneath your navel.

“That makes two of us,” he rumbles against the shell of your ear. His fingers press against the flesh of your hips, and he adjusts his stance so that one of his feet stands between either of yours. He hitches up his knee against the locked door, encouraging you to ride it if you want to.

And holy fuck, you want to.

You’d met the guy at the bar a couple of hours ago. He’d been moving past you and nearly spilled your drink right out of your hand. He apologized profusely and chalked it up to not having been thrown into Austin nightlife in a while, but then he also mentioned he got nervous around pretty women, and you were sort of a goner.

You didn’t want to show your hand so readily, though. “Uh-huh,” you nodded, arching a brow. “How many girls have you tried that line on tonight?”

“None,” he shouted over the thrumming guitar of some country band playing over the bar speakers. “Just you. I’ve been out of the game for so long, I figured I’d try my luck. How’d I do?”

He was grinning, the smile beneath an unkept and patchy beard wide and almost cheeky, meeting the edges of his tired eyes. You couldn’t fight him on his charm, but you’d challenge him on being a good conversationalist.

He bought you your next drink. He told you his name: Joel, and that damn knucklehead over there that I came with is named Tommy. Joel explained his situation: his brother tricked him into enjoying a rare guys’ night out. He worked like a dog all damn week, and the week before that, and the one before that, too. And even though his preferred Saturday nights comprised of passing out to late-night Simpsons reruns, his daughter had been babysitting a neighbor’s kid before heading off to a sleepover with her friends. It seemed as though a night out had fallen into his lap, and he wouldn’t have heard the end of it from Tommy had he passed on such a perfect opportunity.

You people watch together, guessing what conversations were shared between the obvious first-daters or commiserating coworkers. You’d started out the night as one of them: two of your friends from work joined you for dinner and drinks, but once they’d realized your attention was occupied elsewhere, they gracefully whispered their goodbyes into your ear as they headed out for the evening.

“Who’re they?” Joel asked over the edge of his Corona bottle.

“My colleagues,” you said. “Friends. We got dinner next door earlier tonight at that little Italian place.”

Joel hummed as he took a swig of his beer. “Yeah, and what is it the three of you do? You supermodels or somethin’?”

You tried not to giggle at the obvious line. “No, we’re teachers. I teach English. High school.”

Joel gave an appreciative whistle. “God bless you,” he commented, shaking his head. “Never had the patience for kids to deal with them in mass numbers. Thank god mine is a good one, otherwise, I’d be in real trouble.”

It wasn’t one singular moment that called on you to beckon Joel into the single ladies' bathroom at twelve-thirty in the morning, but instead a compilation of smaller ones. It was the way he caught eye contact with you once or twice when he thought you weren’t looking. It was the way his flirting caught you off guard, because he didn’t strike you as a player, a serial dater, but fuck, he was good at keeping your attention. It was the way he continued to ask you about your career, and if you liked it, and what you liked about it. It was the way he asked you what you did for fun, and if you ever got your thrill from kissing older guys in crowded bars. It was the way he kissed you when you said you didn’t.

“Come with me,” you cooed into his ear, tugging the shirt collar of his plaid button-down. He was helpless.

And now you’re here, beneath the dim lighting of this bar’s bathroom. Joel’s tongue sweeps against yours as you ride his thigh. You revel in the friction of your panties against your clit, the path of his free hand, sliding up the hem of your dress before kneading the meat of your ass. He moans against your lips, removing them from yours if only to catch his breath and praise you for being such a goddamn good girl.

He calls you that and you nearly melt. He calls you that and you wonder where in the hell he learned game like that, if what he says is true; he’s been out of the game for quite some time.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he drawls. The hand massaging your ass now slides toward your front, slipping beneath your underwear. Two thick fingers tease your entrance, and while you’d normally feel a little pathetic for getting so wet for a perfect stranger so damn fast, Joel doesn’t seem to mind at all. He groans as he slips one finger in, curling and releasing it against your walls while your hips begin to buck in time with his motions.

Joel chuckles darkly at your obvious enthusiasm. “That’s right. You like that? You like ridin’ my hand underneath this pretty dress?”

You groan a yes as slips a second finger into you, and you’re damn near ready to come, but as you feel your upward crest begin to settle beneath your skin, Joel retreats.

“Wh—what are you doing?” You ask, chasing his kiss while your hand finds his wrist. “No, you need to keep going, keep go—”

“Greedy,” Joel hums, the smile on his face one of unbridled satisfaction. “Yeah, I will, but unfortunately for us, we don’t exactly have the luxury of time.”

You notice him palm the back pocket of his raw denim, pulling out a worn leather wallet. And from there, you want to laugh at him for still being the sort of man that carries condoms around in his wallet, as if sex could happen at any of life’s junctures, but instead, you silently thank god that he has one, because you don’t, and holy fucking shit, you need him to fill you up right now.

The drinks you’ve had in his presence give you an unusual sort of confidence. You normally wouldn’t be the type of woman to ask a guy to fuck you in a public bathroom, nor are you the type to get your fingers on his belt buckle and help him slide his jeans down his legs. You aren’t the type to hold onto the edge of the bathroom sink while the guy at the bar fucks you from behind, filling you up to near pain, causing tears to form along the corners of your eyes.

“Holy—holy shit, Joel,” you pant. “You’re s—so, so fucking—”

“Take it,” Joel grunts, his pace punishing, sweat forming along his furrowed brow. “I wanna see the way you look when you’re freshly fucked.”

You gasp, careful not to give away your delicate position to anyone who might be waiting outside the locked door (although the music is so damn loud, you’re fairly confident they’d be none the wiser).

He collects your hair in a gentle fist, planting a kiss against the hot skin of your neck. Your fingertips are bone-white from their grip on the edge of the sink, and Joel continues to fuck into you, steady and sure with every thrust that he makes to the hilt.

Your vision damn near blurs when your walls clench. It’s enough of a signal for Joel to move a little faster, bring you to your climax sooner because he can’t get enough of your body, and he can’t fathom you leaving this little space without you singing his name.

“J—Joel,” you stammer. “I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” he interrupts you, and you know it through the nearly pained tone that falls from his lips. His fingers on your hips draw tight, pressing each digit into your flesh as he groans into the back of your shoulder, meeting his own edge.

And then, in the midst of the comedown, in between his heavy breaths beneath his broad chest, Joel retreats from his goddamn spectacular space inside of you. Joel retreats, and turns you around, and kisses you.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he admits, clammy forehead pressed along yours. “I don’t—I don’t mean to presume or anythin’ like that, but—could I see you again? Another night?”

You’re shocked.

You’re fucking shocked.

This had all of the makings of a one-night stand: two strangers drunkenly crossing paths on a busy Saturday night, they meet, they flirt, they fuck, they go home. Why the hell would Joel want to see you again? Sex, obviously. Sure. But couldn’t he do this again with another nameless woman, another pretty face he meets in a different bar on Main Street?

Your surprise must be evident because Joel quickly backpedals. “Forget it,” he says, suddenly sheepish. “Was a risk, I know. This was probably just a one-off for you, too, I get it. I just—”

You’d interrupt him with words, but kissing him is so much hotter.

“You’re thinking too much,” you whisper with a sincere smile. It’s only then you give yourself a minute to straighten yourself up, pulling your panties back over your hipbones and turning to unzip the tote bag you’d discarded onto the tile floor earlier.

Of course you come prepared. Of course you have a pen. You grab a paper towel from the stack resting at the edge of the counter, scribbling your phone number in crisp purple ink.

“Call me the next time you’re looking for a night out,” you say, offering up the napkin to him. And holy fucking shit, you feel so fucking cool, because this doesn’t happen in real life. Women like you don’t meet hot strangers in dimly lit bars and let them fuck you in the bathroom.

Except, now you do. Joel’s smile is awkward and shy when you kiss him on the cheek right before you leave.

#this is a little slow start but it willll pick up ;) stick with it babes #heheheehe #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #no y/n

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leoleolovesdc · 11 months ago

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Okay, dont get me wrong, i do love Cass and Raps ending the show as best friends and it hurt me like a bitch when Cass betrayed her in season two, but I also need them to be a little toxic and weird about each other.

Yeah, Cass is good now, she’s traveled a lot, healed, took a break and came back to Corona and everything is fine, but when something ticks her off, especially if it relates to Rapunzel in any sort of way, she’s suddenly stiffen, cold, quiet, awkward to a level that feels almost threatening. She grabs Rapunzel by the wrist and drags her away from Eugene, from anyone really, she takes her face in between her hands brashly in a way that is just painfully familiar. She loves Rapunzel more than anything in the world, but she loves her violently.

The same is true for Rapunzel, of course in her own way, but when Cassandra stiffens so does she. If Cass reaches for her sword, Raps’ automatically on fight or flight. When she grabs her by the arm, Rapunzel’s instinct kicks in before anything else, pushing Cass against the nearest wall and immobilizing her. When Cass cups her face, she grabs her by the collar, ready to strangle her if it comes to it. She loves Cass back, more than anything in the world, but she loves her paranoically.

If anyone in Corona saw those two together they’d think the possessive one would obviously be Cassandra, I mean, look at her! She’s all serious and protective, but Raps has already lost Cass before and she won’t take chances again. No one approaches Cassandra. No one is allowed to without authorization from the princess. If anyone is foolish enough to get near her without consent, be ready to get knocked out, because when it comes to Cassandra the first thing that speaks inside of Rapunzel is instinct. A contradictory instinct that tells her to proctect as much as it tells her to fight.

Fight for your life, don’t let her killl you.

Protect her with your life, don’t let them take her away from you.

#toxic yuri is my favorite kind of yuri #cassunzel #its supposed to be romantic but ig if you want to see it as platonic it also works #cassandra #rapunzel #cassandra tangled #rapunzel tangled #tangled #tangled the series #rapunzels tangled adventure #toxic relationship #toxic yuri #post canon #tts #cassandra tts #rapunzel tts #cassandra gothel #rta

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shollow · 4 months ago

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I read the entire locked tomb serie not long ago and I'm convince that if it was a slice of life, all the cavalier primary (that includes Corona) would get along so well and take turns at making fun of Babs (let's be honest he would let them because of Corona). And sometimes, one of them would even get a chance to make Camilla crack a smile.

But their necromancer would get themselves in so many scientific and moral debates and it would always be Harrow arguing against Ianthe and Silas, trying to prove them wrong while Palamedes would argue with Judith about moral, duty and "the emperor's way". And when they get into those debates, Abigail, Dulcinea and Isaac would just sit and enjoy tea watching them almost get into fist fight because Silas called Harrow a war crime again.

#the locked tomb #tlt harrow #tlt palamedes #tlt ianthe #gideon the ninth #ihavesomanydrawingideasandwipbutimgettingallovertheplace #obviouslyitsnotasliceoflifebutiliketopretenditis

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mrfandomwars · 4 months ago

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Random Lists of TTS headcanons (mostly about Quirin and the Dark Kingdom) that I have:

Quirin became a Brotherhood member when he had a 'Home Alone' moment with Edmund and his wife because he thought they thieves (they broke in because it was raining HORRIBLY)

Quirin was in charge of the Brotherhood, in the sense that although Edmund as the King was in charge, Quirin was the one dealing with the group as a whole

There were more Brotherhood members, but they either retired, died or are simply lost in the world after the fall of the Dark Kingdom

The Brotherhood members had noble titles and pieces of land, Quirin had a BIG farming land (as the head in charge) and he used to help around before the Kingdom Fell. He used a few techniques he learned later on when he became a full time farmer (not all because different crops and different types of land)

You can find small communities from the Dark Kingdom moving around still, looking for some place to settle (and they eagerly go back to the Kingdom when Edmund starts rebuilding it)

The DK and Corona used to have a little bit of Beef because sun vs moon, that's why Quirin settling (probably with other people, lbh) there with the piece of the scroll was a good move

Corona was funded or helped fund by Demanitus

Demanitus is originally from the Dark Kingdom

Quirin was in the process of retiring when the Dark Kingdom fell

The Brotherhood all have specific face tattoos, but by the time Eugene was born they were only mandatory to use during events and things like that, hence why Quirin didn't have one, though if you wanted a permanent tattoo you could have it (hence Adira and Hector)

OR all the tattoos are temporary, Adira and Hector just have been reapplying theirs

The Great Tree used to be the border for the Dark Kingdom, hence why Hector set up shop in it

the Queen Ghost we saw was the one who helped fight against Zhan Tiri the first time around

Edmund (or at least, the Monarch that came before him) was the one who gave the Mind Trap to the Keeper, since he didn't have Any itent to use it

The place where the Mind Trap was was very Hush Hush, Cassandra only found out thanks to Zhan Tiri finding it out herself, BUT the existence of the Mind Trap was at least well known in the DK and was one of the 'cons' to joining the Brotherhood

The Mind Trap was originally meant to make sure that the Brotherhood wouldn't turn against the crown, the moonstone And to make sure that if a fight every happened, they would act in harmony. It's a 'made with good itentions, Very Bad Execution type of thing'

Eugene didn't reject his royal title from the DK, but he won't be it's King Outside of possibly becoming a temporary one until one of his and Rapunzel's kids are old enough to take over

To try and fix the plothole in season 3: people Forgot that Quirin was a Brotherhood member AND they had contacted (or at least TRIED TO) Adira and Hector at some point and they thought they weren't under Cassandra's control

Eugene grew a couple of inches between the movie and the series and that was because the two times he was healed by Rapunzel, he was healed

People either think that Cassandra was dead OR Cassandra was actually banned from Corona (and the Dark Kingdom) - she isn't getting away without consequences people

Varian had a therapist while in prison that he was forced to see, wether or not they worked or if they were a Saporian spy I haven't decided yet

The ACTUAL reason why the resistence against the Saporian was so small wasn't because of 'loyalty to the crown', it was because they had tried and it Blew on their faces and thus King Frederik and Queen Arianna aren't the only victims of memory wipe. Rapunzel doesn't know this because, well, would you admit to the rebellion to the crown?

Eugene and Lance, later on, are volunteers on Orphanages in Corona and Eugene got a LOT of funds given to them and goes to personally check to see if they are being used properly and that the kids are being taken care of well

the DK fondly call Eugene the 'fail prince' not because of anything he did but because his fighting skills are far below what the royal standard was.

I said this before but: The Queen of the Dark Kingdom trid to destroy the Moonstone, possibly because she was plagued by nightmares of what would happen in the future/of the stone hurting the Kingdom and her family

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griddlebait · 1 year ago

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have just seen your comment about the deleted scene where harrow takes pictures of cam and gideon wrestling and omg👀 i would die to see even a snippet of it

i’m not sure where to share it so i’ll just post it here under the cut!!

for anyone coming across this post: this is a deleted snippet from my fanfic, i imagine it probably won’t make a lot of sense without the context of the fic (ch 9 specifically) lol

Coronabeth planted the heels of her hands firm against Gideon’s shoulders, staring down at her with flushed cheeks. She sat heavily on Gideon’s hips, her eyes flashing wildly.

“Now get me off,” Corona told her. Gideon only smiled, a little confused, so Coronabeth shook her, a mix of frustration and amusement lighting up her lovely features. “Gideon, you’re supposed to fight me off of you.”

Was she? Gideon didn’t want to fight Coronabeth off at all, she wanted to put her hands on her big, soft thighs and—

Ianthe did a loud, horrendous impression of a buzzer. “You lose, Gizzard.”

Coronabeth cackled, sliding off of Gideon’s lap. The humiliation was immediate. Gideon sat up from the floor, cheeks burning.

“It’s not fair to make me go against Coronabeth,” she said. “Whose idea was that?”

“Yours,” Harrow said bitterly. She was sitting next to Ianthe on the couch with a pillow shoved between them, which Gideon found both hilarious and immensely satisfying. “You were too scared to go against Camilla.”

Gideon said, affronted, “I wasn’t scared.”

Camilla, from the bottom of Harrow’s staircase, said, “seemed like it to me.”

Even Palamedes smiled over that. Even Harrow. Today, it seemed, was Bully Gideon and Make Her Feel So Embarrassed Day.

“Fine!” Gideon said. “Come on, Cam. Harrow, get your camera ready.”

Harrow seemed startled. In a weird, twitchy movement, she rose from the couch and went to the edge of the living room, where the coffee table had been shoved out of the way. She grabbed her camera and made a go on gesture.

When Gideon turned her focus back to Cam, she was already in the ring—made out of pillows and less-loved books—cracking her knuckles. She was giving Gideon that look, the one where it was like she could see right through you. It got no less unnerving with time.

“Are you done checking me out?” Gideon asked.

Camilla flicked her cool, murky eyes up to Gideon’s. She shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t noticed before.”

Which, okay, she didn’t have to say it like that.

Gideon shook out her shoulders and they got into a starting position.

Corona called out, “One, two. . . GO!”

And fuck, Cam was fast. Gideon didn’t have the chance to pull out any of the moves Pyrrha had shown her—Cam simply hooked her ankle around Gideon’s knee, did a little pull motion, and brought her straight to the ground.

The blankets they’d laid out did not soften the blow as much as one would hope—but it wasn’t that bad. Gideon managed to roll over and push onto her knees, knocking Cam off balance with her shoulder. She had only a few seconds to stand before Camilla was on her again, and then they did some weird song and dance that ended with their arms tangled, face to face.

Cam’s expression was utterly relaxed, cheeks only just barely starting to warm. Her eyes were focused, calculating, never still. Until they met Gideon’s, where, for a moment, they froze. And then she smiled.

In Gideon’s defense, that was never not disarming.

She had no time to react; Camilla did the fucking ankle thing again. This time they were attached at the elbows, so it sent them both tumbling back to the floor. They fought to untangle their arms, both trying to be the one who got free first, which only made it more difficult—Camilla took the opportunity to fight dirty. She dug her blunt fingernails deep into Gideon’s forearms; Gideon instinctually stopped fighting and Cam slid free, with no small amount of self satisfaction.

“Asshole,” Gideon said, and then she lunged forward.

They flopped around, legs wrapped around legs, rolling and rolling until Camilla managed to pin Gideon to the floor face down, legs on either side of her waist, hands behind her back. Gideon struggled, but Cam only tightened her thighs. She pressed her body down, forcing Gideon to flatten against the floor. Her hair fell against Gideon’s neck—surprisingly soft. How was she so good at this? See, spy. What the fuck.

Coronabeth counted to three. Ianthe did the buzzer impression again.

“Ugh,” Gideon groaned, shoving Cam off once her victory was announced. She rolled onto her back, panting and staring up at the ceiling. “This is so fucked.”

Harrow was never going to bet on her after this.

Speak of the Devil, and may She appear; Harrow showed up above Gideon like a dark cloud. She hovered by Gideon’s side, pointing her camera, hesitating. The final nail in Gideon’s coffin of humiliation came in the form of Harrow stepping over her body so that she had a foot planted on either side. She aimed the camera at Gideon head-on; her face surely flushed and sweaty and gross; her arms splayed out on either side. A perfect depiction of defeat.

Gideon raised her middle finger as the flash went off.

—

This was a later scene but it was also deleted, so BONUS:

The bulk of these pictures were from the pathetic attempt at wrestling practice. Harrow had taken the first few sparingly, when Gideon and Coronabeth were wrestling, because that had gone by quickly and Gideon wasn’t even fighting back. But then she’d wanted to wrestle Camilla, and had told Harrow to take pictures. So Harrow did. She pressed down the button mindlessly, over and over, stepping around as they rolled across the floor. Griddle was becoming obsessed with pictures of herself, she’d want to see it from every angle.

Some of the shots were blurry, or pointed at the floor when Harrow had taken her eye from the viewfinder—throwaway. The pictures she put into the keep pile were more or less the same; Gideon and Camilla in various stages of their fight, skin to skin, shades of brown mingling, hard lines of firm muscles pressed together.

Harrow shuffled through them at a record breaking pace.

Camilla flipped through the keep stack. “Do I label all of these the same, or should I number them?” She asked. “Gideon vs. Camilla, left angle, from the bottom, number 3?”

Harrow’s blood warmed and she said, “whatever you think is best. They’re for Griddle. Leave out ‘from the bottom’, she’ll take it as a euphemism.”

Camilla made a small noise of acknowledgment. Harrow glanced down, saw Camilla flip over a photo and scribble: Gideon vs. Camilla - left angle number 3 - June 1996.

At the bottom of the photos, Harrow found the last picture from the wrestling practice; Griddle sprawled on the floor, curls sticking to her forehead with sweat, face flushed a few shades darker than usual. She was not sure why she did it, but she did not put this photo in keep, throwaway, or unsure. She shoved it beneath her thigh before Camilla could see. Harrow chalked it up to secondhand embarrassment and left it alone.

#asks #sckl #gideon nav #camilla hect #harrowhark nonagesimus #griddlehark #camgriddlehark?#griddlecamhark?#fanfic #tlt

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