#i use that term only to reach the intended audience
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Ah yes....
The legendary game 'Tnb Bingngthilhb'
Say it after me now: runes are not a fun font for you to use at your leisure, they are their own alphabet
#the archive hobgoblin#the admiral's homebrew#archaeology#runes#rune fail#say it after me: runes are not a funky font for your use they are their own alphabet#vikings#viking#ancient nordic#ancient norse#i use that term only to reach the intended audience#on thus blog we are not norse (norwegian) we are danish#anyway stop using the runes like that you cretins#the bloodline#the bloodline game
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Part One / Part Two / Part Three (You Are Here)
Complete Thing on A03
Sure enough, Jason Carver had brought a priest.Â
The idiot himself stood next to the guy, smugly grinning like a hunter posing with his prized buck, a small crowd already gathering.Â
Opposing them was Michael Wheeler, hands planted on Hellfireâs table and back up like a pissed off catâs, mouth moving faster than Eddie thought possible.
He couldnât hear what Wheeler was saying.Â
Frankly did not want to know what Wheeler was saying, and could only do his damndest to intervene before Mike tanked the situation entirely.Â
Gareth and Jeff flanked him, both tense as hell. Neither had backed down though, standing tall and holding ground even as Jason pulled more and more people into his little spectacle.Â
Lucas and Grant on the other hand, were standing off to the side.
They werenât cowering exactly, but both were definitely wincing as Gareth opened his mouth to add his own two cents.Â
Given the scowl on the priest, it was probably something nasty,Â
âFuck.â Eddie thought, teeth clenched, as Jason drew out his arms, making an even bigger production for his little audience. âFuck, fuck, fuck!âÂ
The worst thing of all?Â
Dustin managed to reach the group before anyone else did.Â
Wheeler and Emerson might have low charisma, but Dustin had a particular combination of snark and a know-it-all attitude that really pissed off authority figures.Â
(And Eddie would know, given he was the reigning champion of pissing off authority figures.)Â
He did, however, slide in right in time to hear the priest respond.Â
âI donât care for your tone, young man. Jason here has some concerns over your club and I have to agree, what I see is quite,â The guy paused, jowls jiggling as he looked over their table, clearly eyeing Hellfireâs logo. âalarming.âÂ
 At least wasnât an actual sermon.
Not yet, anyway.Â
Eddie came up right inbetween Mike and Dustin, intending to make himself out to be the new target for all to aim at. Â
There was an art to making yourself the sole owner of everything evil in this world, and Eddie had learned it all, trial by fire style. Â
âCarver is full of--â Mike snarled, and thankfully was cut offânot by Eddie, or the hand heâd just clamped onto Mikeâs shoulderâbut by Harrington.Â
Who sauntered right up as if he was joining everyone for dinner, and not walking into a circus act.
âHello Father.â Harrington said, voice warm and welcoming. âWould you like some of our cookies? We have a sample platter.âÂ
âOh--Steve!â The priest blinked, actually blinked, that he was startled to see Hawkinsâ golden boy appear next to him. âIâm sorry but no. Iâm ah, here for other reasons.â
He paused so long it was nearly comedic before tentatively asking; â Are you with this table?â
Like the guy couldnât see the same Hellfire logo plastered across Steveâs ridiculous jock chest.Â
Eddie opened his mouth to give a resounding no, Hellfire shirt or not--when Mike of all people put an elbow into his side.Â
As if Eddie was the one who needed to be silenced. Â
âI am.â Steve put an arm down on Dustinâs shoulder, squeezing it in a way that looked like fond encouragement (but what Eddie was pretty sure was actually a warning in the same way the hand on Mikeâs shoulder was.) âI came to help out my friends and fundraise.â
Then he beamed, face lighting up with the full Harrington charm, giga watt smile and all.Â
Now the priest just looked awkward.Â
âYouâve apparently been fundraising for what I have been told is aâŚSatanist Club?âÂ
It was hilariously delicate, how the priest said it. Like now that a respectable member of Hawkins was here, he had to be more careful about what words he used.Â
Eddie would have interrupted then. Retake the reins and do what he did best in terms of making everyone forget about everything but him--except Carver was rounding on Harrington, and well.
He was always a fan of the rich eating each other.Â
âYou cannot seriously be with these--these,â Jasonâs eyes darted to between him and the priest, before physically reigning himself in. âhooligans, Harrington!âÂ
âIâm sorry.â Harrington said, and whatever Jason had been expecting to get hit with, it wasnât âgood olâ boyâ southern charm.Â
He blinked, taking on the air of a kicked puppy who couldnât understand why someone would be so mean as he glanced around the crowd. âI think I'm a little lost here.âÂ
Jason clearly wasnât prepared for that either.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âThis table is for a storytelling and math game.â Steve spoke slowly, in the same way one explained things to a toddler. âYou have to roll dice and add the numbers up to do anything."
âItâs not a game, Steve.â Jason spat back. âItâs an evil trick made to tempt the susceptible minds of children to the dark arts!âÂ
Personally, Eddie was amazed Carver even knew the word susceptible let alone be able to properly use it in a sentence.Â
(He tried to open his mouth to say so, and once again got elbowed, this time by Gareth.Â
The look he gave his younger friend could have melted steel beams.)
âThatâs what this is about?â Harrington slid his arm off Dustin's shoulders, leaning back to look at the priest and the people around them in a show of blatant disbelief. âYou think the nerd club is related to satanism?âÂ
It was Eddie's own tactic--arguing that D&D was âusing academic skillsâ and âmaking math fun!" not that Hellfire had ever been successful using it.
Of course, they werenât Hawkins golden boy either.Â
Jason sputtered.Â
âIt has monsters and--demons in it! It makes children do spells and sign over their souls!â He flung a hand out, for the first time acknowledging Eddie by pointing at his shirt. âJust look at that! Itâs awful!â Â
"Hey." Eddie said, hand going over his very well drawn dragon.
âI once had to stop an argument about how much weight a wooden bridge could hold.â Steve countered, hands moving to his hips. âI only got them to stop by agreeing to take the kids to a library so they could look it up.âÂ
He squinted, in Carver's direction, deadpanning; "I take it you think the library is evil now too?"
âThe name of the club is called Hellfire!â Jason shrieked, sounding more like an angry teakettle than anything dangerous.Â
âLook I get that it sounds scary,â Steve said, the tiniest hint of pity entering his voice, âbut theyâre trying to make math problems and English essays sound cool. Itâs the same reason Father John here calls our annual haunted house Hell House, isnât it? So people go in it to begin with?âÂ
Harrington turned to look expectantly at the priest, and Eddie had to admit it was an excellent way to both pander to the guy and sound like Jason was making a big deal out of nothing.Â
Perhaps, heâd stay quiet after all.Â
(Even if it went against Eddieâs entire being to do so.)
âWell, yes, but--â Father John had clearly picked up on the fact he was losing this particular argument, but plowed forward regardless. âThose activities are supervised by the churchâŚâÂ
âThis is evil Harrington, and you should know better to promote it.â Carver tacked on, like this was a two bit comedy sketch.Â
âWhen I played it we just saved some poor town from a bad guy who set it on fire.â Steve rolled his eyes.Â
Then he leaned in, converting his voice into a stage whisper that somehow projected it, giving the impression that everyone around them was listening in on a secret.Â
âThe doctor said it was a really good way for Dustin and Erica to process the mall fire. Heâs a specialist--my mother managed to convince him to fly down to help all the kids who got hurt.âÂ
Eddie was 100% sure that was total bullshit, but the mere mention of Harrington's mother had seemed to have an effect on the people around them.
 Like Steve had invoked the name of an old but beloved God, not always benevolent but definitely memorable.Â
âSheâs always been a champion of helping when you can.â Steve spoke to the priest, like they were having a conversation between just the two of them. âEncouraging people to volunteer and helping fundraise.â
âShe has been." Father John said, in the kind of instant way one does when they donât want to offend a very large donor. "Tell your mom I look forward to her coming back from her--ah, trip.â
 With an awkward glance to the table, he added; â...I suppose I donât see how math comes into play?âÂ
âOh itâs right from the start. Hey Jeff, come here, show Father John how you have to do a bunch of calculations and stuff to make a character.âÂ
âAh--right.â Jeff sprung to life, moving around the table to Steve.
âWe uh, we start with this character sheetâŚâÂ
âEddie Munson runs the club.â Jason interrupted, before Steve could get Jeff to going.
âHeâs right there! Does he look like this whole thing is just an innocent board game?âÂ
This was a last ditch effort, and it was clear by the chattering that had started circling amongst their audience that everyone knew it.Â
Unfortunately, it was a good one.
This was the downside to making yourself a target. Once a bad guy, always a bad guy--particularly in the eyes of the PTA.Â
âMunson?â Harrington dismissed with a scoff. âHeâs harmless.âÂ
Which was news to most of their audience given the amount of attention Eddie suddenly had on him, but it was fine.Â
He was used to the disapproving stares and glares, and gave his best award winning smile in response.Â
Jason looked at Harrington like heâd lost his mind.Â
âHe has skulls on his fingers for fucks sake!âÂ
âJason.â Steve admonished, in a perfect mimic of an upset southern mother. âLanguage.âÂ
Carver's jaw dropped, face purpling in rage.
Steve ignored him, turning back to the Priest. âI donât know what's gotten into him but Iâm sorry Jasonâs wasted your time, Father.âÂ
âMunson is a drug dealer!â And ah, here came the Hail Mary move, Carver's one and only trump card.
âWe all know heâs a drug dealer, and heâs using this--this game, to give drugs to kids!â
âReally?â Steve turned. âLucas, what happens if I ever catch you smoking weed?âÂ
Lucas answered instantly. âYouâre going to make us run laps at five in the morning.âÂ
âFor a month.â Dustin added, with an exaggerated shudder.Â
It would have been too much--except his disgusted face sold it.Â
âEddieâs just loud and wants to be a rockstar.â Harrington said, like this he was harmless.
No one on Steve's side of things had ever thought of Eddie as harmless.
 âIâve babysat these kids for years and Eddie was a huge help in making sure no one in high school messed with them.â He continued, like they were some sort of team or friends even.
(Like Eddie hadn't been at Harrington's throat all day, pissy and defensive.)
âWe have a real bullying problem right now. Funny enough,â Steveâs nailed Jason with a look, âI keep hearing that itâs coming from the basketball team.âÂ
âWhat are you implying?â Jason asked darkly.Â
âJust that itâs funny how nobody got caught fighting when I was team captain.â Steve returned.Â
God the man was such a bitch. Eddie kind of wanted to kiss him a little.Â
Okay, more than a little.
âI get you have some kind of beef with Munson, but letâs not drag a bunch of people into it. Especially not Father John.â Harrington was playing up to the mothers around him now, dismissing Carver entirely as he did so. âHeâs a busy guy.â
âVery.â Said Father nodded solemnly. âI do not appreciate being pulled into a high school squabble.âÂ
Jasonâs mouth swam through shapes, words stuttering out of it. âThis isnât, thats not--â
âWe can talk about this after church on Sunday.â Father John interrupted, the finishing blow to Carver's little show.
âYou came all this way, at least have a cookie on us.â Steve said with an appeasing tone, reaching an arm back behind him.
Quick on the uptake, a cookie appeared in his hands.Â
He offered it out to the priest, who took it happily.
"Okay, who wants cake!?â He called, in a clear and obvious dismissal of Jason.Â
Who stood there, like he couldnât believe what just happened.Â
His eyes slid to Eddie's, fists clenched tightly at his side, hatred pouring off him so strongly one could almost taste it.
Eddie winked at him.
(Unknown to him at the time, Jason had also looked at Steve--and Steve would wink too.)
xXx
Steve Harrington, who Eddie had been an absolute ass all day too, had looked Jason Carver, a Priest and half of Hawkins in the eye and announced that he, Eddie Munson, was a good person at heart.
It made Eddie want to vomit a little when he thought about it too hard.
âI know this is horrible timing,â Robin said, sidling up as the crowd finally dispersed, âbut I really, really need to talk to you.âÂ
Eddie turned, head full of far too many thoughts and ready to tell her such, when he caught sight of Buckley's face.Â
Was reminded, by the sheer nervous, âhorse about to boltâ vibe, that he owed it to Robin as a fellow queer not to be a dick about her accidental outing.
Even if all he wanted was to preen in the wake of Carverâs defeat.Â
âSee Mothers of Hawkins? Your own golden boy just gave me his stamp of approval!âÂ
A mental image that immediately changed to Steve Harringtonâs name stamped on his ass and dammit he had to get ahold of his thoughts before he fell down rabbit holes like this--!
âBack there, at the stairs,â Robin started, voice dropping low, and Eddie didnât miss the way her eyes kept seeking out Steve, like he was some kind of safety net--which he probably was. âWhat um--what did you hear?âÂ
It took a lot of guts to come talk to him, knowing what he'd overheard--particularly given they'd just fended off the church.
He'd never exactly underestimated Robin Buckley, but then, he'd never expected this level of badassery from her either.
âEddie?â Robin prodded again, chewing hard on her bottom lip.
âSorry, distracted.â Eddie waved a hand behind himself. âNot everyday the King decides to defend your honor to a priest.âÂ
With a little bow, he offered his elbow out to her, a clear signal to take it and let him escort them away from unwanted ears.
In a show of bravery, Robin took his elbow and let him lead, even as she frowned up at him, looking like she was about to say something.
Likely it was in defense of Harrington, but Eddie had been interrupted enough for one day.Â
âYou and His Highness over there really should be more aware of your surroundings." He started, voice low. "Lucky for you, youâre among friends. You and Dorothy both.âÂ
He reached a foot out, tapping Robinâs own.Â
Right on top of a doodled pair of tits.Â
Robin let go of his elbow and glanced down, before flinging her head right back up, panicked.
"I--"
âIf youâd like I can pretend I never heard a thing.â Eddie interrupted, dropping his voice into the gentler tone he reserved for delicate conversations.
People were always surprised by the lengths he went to make sure someone was comfortable--but then, people also forgot how often Eddie heard things he shouldnât.Â
People didn't take drugs just for fun, after all.
âOr I can offer a friend of a friend discount on my wares,â He put a finger to his lips, miming smoking with one hand while he opened his vest with the other to flash the little pink triangle pin that sat inside, announcing his own sexualities status.
âand we can, say, discuss the differences between radical and social feminism while admiring the fine forms of Susan Sarandon and Peter Hinwood?â
The smile he gets is two parts relief, one part genuine delight and Eddie grinned right back at her, flicking his vest closed.
âI did not take you for a Peter Hinwood type.â Robin said it hesitantly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. âThought youâd find Tim CurryâsâŚacting skills, more to your taste.â
âIn the case of Rocky Horror? I am Tim Curry.â He announced, loud and proud (well for this kind of conversation at least.)Â
He was rewarded by the tension finally melting out of Robinâs shoulders.Â
(This, Eddie reflected, is what he should have been doing this entire time, instead of getting tied up in knots over Harrington and turning into some kind of non-conformist tyrant.)Â
âDo you actually know the differences between social and radical feminism?â Robin challenged, braver now, and Eddie knew then and there heâd been successful in assuring her her secret was safe.
That she was safe, with him.
âGuess youâll have to find out.â Eddie said, giving a playful nudge to her shoulder.Â
Baths in the laugh he gets for it, and for the first time today feels like heâs finally on firmer ground.
They chatted for a moment longer, making a loop on the very outskirts of the gym, voices hushed when it came to things that small town ears shouldnât overhear--but of course, Robin couldnât just leave things at that.
âHey Eddie?âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âCan you do me one more favor?â
âAnything for you, my favorite feminist.âÂ
For the first time since this conversation started, Robin managed to sound firm.Â
âStop referring to Steve as a King.âÂ
She rushed ahead, anticipating being cut off, and thus Eddie is hit with a wave of words, none of which heâd ever thought heâd hear in relation to thee Steven Harrington.Â
âHeâs working really hard to get away from it, the whole King thing and how he used to be. I donât know what all he did to like--you guys,â She flapped her hand in the general direction of Hellfire, âand I know he wasnât an innocent bystander, but I kinda realized over the summer that I blamed him for a lot of things that were in my own head, and that he wasnât--he was never as bad as I thought he was and he's still trying to make it up to me anyway.���
Robin trailed off, seeming to try and piece out what she wanted to say next without giving away the whole farm. âItâs not some act, Eddie. Steveâs really trying to change.âÂ
Which yeah.
Eddie could see that, now.Â
Maybe not before butâŚ
âOkay.â He said, after a long, long moment. âNo more King Steve. Got it.â
The smile he got for that also felt like a victory, even if it was wrenched out of him.
xXx
Two hours and a dispersed crowd later, Eddie found himself once again stuck in his own head.Â
The facts were thus:
Steve Harrington was a good dude.Â
He used his good dude-ness to save Hellfire from a literal priest, right smack in front of God and Principal Hairy Ass both
All of Hellfire actually liked himÂ
According to Robin Buckley, Steve was entirely fine with âall us trianglesâ quote/unquoteÂ
And;
Eddie was jealous.
He was self aware enough to admit it, alongside the fact that Jason Carver aside, maybe Eddie had been the villain today instead of Steve.Â
Which meant he not only owed Harrington an apology, but he owed it to both of them to work out his own stupid shit before it blew up in his face and cost him all his friends.
(Heâd have called this move âpulling a Harringtonâ before today but now that feels mean, which Eddie supposes signals heâs grown as a person or some shit.)Â
So now he sits on Steveâs beemer, knowing the move will likely antagonize the ex-jock but equally knowing heâs planning on jumping off the car the second the guy comes near, and that the move itself will get Harrington to listen to him the second heâs done supervising whatever Hellfireâs youngest is doing.
(Eating leftover cookies like the older members are as they finish packing up, Eddie assumes.)Â
Ducking out like he did had allowed him some much needed time to think things though. Figure out what he was going to say--without an audience present.
Heâd apologize publicly if he had to. But being vulnerable is hard, and given the way his friends had been acting, Steve isnât the only person he owes an apology to.Â
For now, heâll begin here, without an audience.Â
Eddie doesnât get to plan for long--only gets to rehearse a few lines of his little spiel when a pointed cough jerks him back to reality.Â
There stands Steve Harrington, a fat wad of cash in one hand and a box in the other.
Like a man sent to the gallows, Eddie leapt off the beemer, squaring his shoulders.Â
He could do this.
 Apologize-- and mean it.Â
Not that Steve gave him the chance to.Â
âThe guys told me to give this to you.â He said, holding out the cash. Then he took a breath, like he was preparing to go to war, and added;Â
âI know you werenât happy with me being here, and you probably donât want this, but Dustin said you really liked cinnamon brownies so I made you some.âÂ
The box was now held out alongside the cash, proof that Steve had tried to start this whole thing off on the right foot.Â
Eddie stared at it, then at Steve.Â
Felt the guilt chew on his gut just that much harder.
âI have been shitty to you all day. Why are you giving me this?âÂ
Steve shrugged.Â
âTo be fair I didnât exactly make it easy on you either. You said jump and I said âwatch thisâ.â Steve laughed, a small, almost self depicting sound. âDustinâs been on my ass all day about it.âÂ
Of course he had.Â
âMine too.â Eddie admitted. âIt's his tone, I swear."
âYes!âÂ
Carefully, Eddie reached out, accepted the box and the cash.Â
âThanks by the way. For the stuff you said about me earlier.âÂ
Steve grimaced, cheeks tinting a (lickable) red. âYeah sorry, I--â
âNo not--not that stuff.â Eddie said, mentally hauling his thoughts back in line, fiddling with the cash. âThe stuff about being a good person. No oneâs uh. Said that. About me.â
Not except for Wayne, but Harrington wouldnât know nor care about Eddieâs uncle.Â
Steve shrugged. âI didnât say anything that wasnât true.âÂ
Heâd argue that, except something was off.Â
It took Eddie a moment to place it--that the wad Steve handed over was way too big for the little bake sale theyâd just attended.Â
He tucked the box under his arm, quickly counting the stack with a smoothness only drug dealers and bank tellers could manage.
âItâs all there, I promise.â Steve told him simply, but without judgment. He sounded like he expected this and that didnât sit right with Eddie either.Â
Not that he could do anything about it because heâd just counted up didnât make any sense.Â
Not trusting himself, Eddie stacked it back together, before counting it all again. He was faster this time, trying to figure out among all the ones, fives and tens how the hell they had managed to sell that many cookies.Â
Particularly considering the most expensive thing was one of the cakes and heâd watched Steve sell it for fifteen dollars.Â
So why were there three twenties sitting in the stack?Â
âEither you up charged the absolute shit out of someoneâs mom, in which case I congratulate you, you sneaky devil,â Eddie said slowly, âOr you put extra cash in here.âÂ
Steve blushed properly this time.Â
Eddie zeroed in on his face, watching as Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, trying to pull his charming mask into place.
He didn't quite manage it.
Hadnât even been wearing it before now, Eddie realized suddenly.
This entire conversation Steve had a realness to him that Eddie had never really seen.Â
Had maybe not wanted to see, from someone like Harrington.Â
âI donât know what you mean.â Steve protested, like a kid whoâd been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. âThatâs what we charged.âÂ
âYou are a terrible liar.â Eddie accused, hand trembling. âWe canât take this, man. This is a almost two hundred dollars.âÂ
Way more than what theyâd need for Gen Con. It was enough to get them two fuckinâ hotel rooms!Â
âIf It helps any, I didnât do it for you.â Steveâs blush slid into something more genuine, as he nodded his head to where Hellfire was spilling out of the gym doors, laughing and shoving one another.Â
âThey deserve to have a good trip.â He added, eyes fond as he watched Dustin and Mike squabble over how to fold Hellfire's banner.
It made his whole face soften, the harsh features of his jaw turning into something that was so adorable Eddie wanted to bite through it.Â
âDo you want to come?â Someone said, and it took both Steveâs startled look and a second long pause for Eddie to realize that someone was him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid-!Â
âTo the convention?â Steve asked, looking doubtful.Â
Pity that Eddie was already nodding, like his brain and his body were at a total disconnect.
Maybe aliens had finally taken him over. Or a demon.Â
(Demonic possession could frankly explain a lot about today, Carverâs weird little power play aside.)
âDude you donât even like me.â Steve said. âWhy would you want me to come along?âÂ
âI dunno Harrington. All of Hellfire seemed to like you, and not just my freshman.â Eddie countered easily, gliding right over the fact that he himself did like Steve.
Way more than he should, and that right there was half of Eddieâs problem.Â
âThey have pretty good taste in things.â He waived a hand, as if this wasnât a complete 180 from how heâd acted all day. âI could understand if you didnât want to slum it with us nerds though.â
Steve rolled his eyes.Â
âIâve been slumming it all day with you nerds, if you havenât noticed.âÂ
âYeah? Whatâs your verdict on us?âÂ
âNot as bad as you could be.âÂ
Eddie tilted his head back and laughed. âHigh praise from the King!â
He felt bad immediately after, and made himself promise to be more mindful about Robinâs ask--but thankfully Harrington didnât take it hard.Â
(Habits, Eddie knew, were hard to change.
Took a lot of careful attention to change.Â
He had a long road ahead of him, and he hoped this little olive branch put him a few miles down it.)Â
Steve awarded him a small smile. âI havenât been the King for a long while, man. But if you guys have an opening, I think I wouldnât mind being a knight or whatever.âÂ
âSte-eeeve Harrington, defender of the realm.â Eddie nodded once, decisively. âI can see it.â
He tucked away the cash, and thus missed how Steve looked weirdly contemplative at that.Â
Raised his head and stuck out a hand.Â
Tentatively, Steve took it.Â
âWelcome to the club, Harrington. We meet on Fridays. Bring snacks.âÂ
âCookies okay?â
âGoing by Garethâs judgment, theyâre more than okay.â
Eddie smiled and Steve smiled back, and God how he hated how fucking cute Harringtonâs face was.Â
Particularly since he now got to think of the guy as âSteveâ without feeling weird about it.Â
As in his possible, potential, friend Steve.
What a fucking trip that was.Â
âOh, and Steve?â He called, the thought hitting him as Steve turned to welcome the group making their way to the beemer.
Steve had let his hand fall, turning to open the front door of the Beemer with a cocked eyebrow.
Eddie flicked a finger out, lightly tapping the Hellfire logo. âTell Lucas Iâll get him another shirt. That oneâs all yours, big boy.âÂ
If there was a pink hue to Harringtonâs cheeks, he was blaming sunburn.Â
(Two months, six days, and one meddlesome asshole named Henderson later, and Eddie would find out that Steve had in fact, been blushing.
Heâd be furious at Dustinâs involvement, if it hadnât directly led to Eddie finding out Steveâs blush did in fact go down his chest.
And his happy trail.
And his--
Well.
Men do not kiss and tell.Â
Not to fucking freshmen, anyway.)Â
THERE IS A GEN CON, "THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED BECAUSE DUSTIN IS A MEDDLESOME SHIT" BONUS BUT it's on A03 cause it was long enough to be its own post and I wasn't gonna add it to this one. You can read it here LINK
#steddie#Door Prize#Alt s4#pre steddie#FINISHED FINALLY#see I can commit#I can finish things#steve harrington#eddie munson#0o0 fanfics#stranger things#Steve vs a priest#Eddie has a panic attack#mean girl steve harrington#in defense of Hellfire#hellfires adopting him now sorry eddie#apologies
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Shadows of the Past
Chapter 11: Fate's Folly
Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse FaerĂťn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.
Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.
The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.
With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?
Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.
Word Count: 6.4K
Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.
Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]
Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.
Winter has gripped FaerĂťn in a deadlock. The trees have long since shed their leaves, and the bare limbs reach for the sky like bony fingers trying to scratch the heavens. The winter sun is dipping below the horizon, leaving the land stark and frigid. The wind whistles over the plains and whips your hair, churning it wildly around your face. You canât even pick your feet up anymore, so your boots scuff across the hard earth.
How long have you been walking this road without stopping to eat or sleep? Your feet ache, your eyelids feel like lead weights, and your mind urges you to make camp for the night to allow yourself to slip into your trance, but you dare not. You donât want to be assaulted by your nightmares any longer as they feed off sorrow and torment you. They pain you more than this exhaustion ever could.
Your fingers are frozen and numb. Lifting your hand, you try to summon fire, but youâre so tired even the Weave has abandoned you until you rest. With a defeated sigh, you pull your hood up and wrap your arms around yourself, shivering so hard your muscles cramp painfully, and your jaw chatters, clicking your teeth together.
If I can keep walking, at least I am advancing toward him.
⌠Hopefully.
As you continue your sluggish walk, your eyes begin to drift closed of their own volition. Youâve pushed your body too far, and itâs succumbing to exhaustion. You trip, sending yourself sprawling, and pebbles, twigs and gravel bite into your palms and knees. With no energy left in your reserves to push yourself up, you can do nothing but slump over on the cold earth and curl up.
If you do not trance, it will force itself upon you, and you quickly fade into a half-conscious state. You can feel the ground sap your body heat and infuse you with a raw, frigid sting that balls up your muscles and lances your skin as it permeates your robe. Your head hits and cracks the thin layer of ice atop a muddy puddle, splashing and submerging your hair in the slush. The murky liquid is piercing on your forehead and scalp, but you donât have the energy to move. Unable to keep your eyes open, you drift and see Astarion in your mindâs eye.
Astarion relaxed at home, reading to you, cuddled up in bed while you giggle at his theatrical character voices. He only does these for you. He would never do such a thing in front of anyone else.
Astarion and you drinking his favourite wine by the fire all day, laughing, and dancing.
Astarion and you jump into a cold lake in the dead of night because he challenged you to see who would get out first. He won, of course.
Astarion walks through the rabble of taverns, playing your little game with a mischievous glimmer in his beautiful eyes, and he winks at you when he catches your glance.
Astarion and you making love. Your ears twitch, and you can almost hear his voice panting, âI love you, Kamena, my only one.â
Astarion humming a soothing tune because you were having trouble sleeping while you lay on his chest.
A wolf howls somewhere in the distance. When your eyes finally allow you to open them, your eyelashes are burdened with frozen teardrops, an icy stage for your woe. Your hair is an icicle of mud rooted to the ground. The first snowflakes drift from the sky, kissing your cheeks. You donât have any strength left to rise, so you lay there as the snow starts to form a blanket akin to a death shroud on your body. You canât even weep. You lay and wonder if this is it. Is this the end of your story? A powerful, fierce sorceress, torn asunder, doomed and destroyed by true love?
Why did you leave me, Astarion? What did I do?
You wake with a start, lunging upright and taking deep breaths. Your bones still ache from the cold, the remnant of your dream still evoking shivers. You flex your fingers, forcing them to release the bed linen balled in your fists. Nightmares still plague your meditation, but at least this one didnât wake you up screaming. You glance at Astarionâs side of the bed, letting your hand slip over the silk sheets. He must still be out hunting. Every time he leaves, you worry that this time is the time he does not return.
Will I ever be able to trust him again?
Winter is starting to settle over the land, and the nights have become far too cold for your liking. There is no way youâll be able to fall back into your trance. Flicking your wrist, a fire roars to life out of thin air, and you push it to burn unnaturally hot. Slipping Astarionâs shirt on, you sit on the floor before the fire and hold your fingers close to the flame, hoping the heat might blow away the remains of the dream gripping you. It doesnât work. Your fingers still tremble with that panging soreness that will not relent.
Intense shivers run up and down your spine, making your body tremble with the same verve it did on that rigid, icebound earth. A cutting, frigid cold settles over your body as if youâve been plunged into a crevice and fallen to the very depths of Cania. The flames of the fire start to turn a frightening blueish-white. Yet, no matter how hot you push it to burn, you cannot get the gnawing ache to abate.
You donât hear Astarion enter, and you jump when he sits in the plush chair behind you, with you between his legs. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, rubbing your arms, âYou are up late or early, depending on how you view it. Nightmares again?â
âYes,â you sigh as you pull the blanket around you. Your teeth continue to chatter despite the sweat sheening your skin.
Astarion kisses the top of your head, âIâm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?â
âNo.â
What does he expect you to say? The year you spent without him by your side still haunts your dreams and thoughts. Lately, it has been all-consuming, and itâs absorbing your happiness. You can feel yourself slipping, and no matter how hard you try, the slipping never seems to stop. Anything you say will hurt him, and heâs had enough pain in his life. He does not need to bear your misery.
âWe used to talk about everything and anything. I told you all about myâŚ,â Astarionâs jaw clenches. Heâs uncomfortable talking about that night he cried in your arms for hours, but he pushes himself to continue, âMy feelings and fears. Itâs not easy for me either, you know. I am unaccustomed to sharing my weaknesses. Hells, Iâm not even used to feeling it. I spent so many years feeling only hatred, disgust and loathing, and then you came along and ruined it all,â he smirks, trying to lighten the gloomy mood.
âWe used to before you left me,â you whisper. Thereâs a hint of irritation in your voice. Being pushed to share your pathetic moments and weakness grates at you, but then again, maybe you need someone to drag it out of you. Youâve been keeping this woe bottled inside you for so fucking long, âIâm not sure what you want me to say, Astarion. Whatever I tell you will be painful to hear, and I donât want to do that to you because itâs not your fault.â
Astarion bursts out of his chair. He shouts with an inflection rough as gravel, âIt is my fault! Stop making excuses for me because there is no excuse for what I did. I am not a fool, and I am not fragile. What did you ask of me? The truth even when it hurts? Do I not deserve the same courtesy?â
âI donât want to hurt you,â you whimper, hand covering your mouth and blinking away tears.
âI deserve the hurt, and I can handle it. Let me bear it with you.â
âNo,â you shake your head, eyes fixed on him, âYou donât deserve it.â
Astarion wracks his fingers through his hair and over the frustration that darkens the planes of his face, making him look severe, âStop being so bloody pig-headed!â
Youâre swayed in a sudden grip of outrage. It festers in your veins, heating your skin and palms. The fire leaps wildly as if pure alcohol were poured onto it as you jump to your feet. You canât help yourself, and you pace as you scream at him, âWhat do you want me to say, Astarion?! You want me to tell you that I walked for days at a time. All day and all night! I never stopped to eat or rest because if I did, I didnât know if I would have the strength to get back up!â
Good Gods. Youâre so fucking livid that flames are starting to writhe over your skin like snakes in a pit. That draconic fire is hard to control when your emotions are high. All the feelings youâve been tampering start to spew out of your mouth spitefully, and you canât stop the avalanche.
âYou want the fucking truth?â You roar, unable to stop the emotion seeping from your pores, âI walked until my feet and legs were numb from pain. I walked until I was so exhausted that my eyes closed without consent, the Weave, even fire abandoned me, and my pathetic body forced me to stop. Do you know what happened when I stopped? Exactly what I feared would. I had to relive memories of when I was happy, memories of us, as the cold earth sapped the rest of my strength. When I came to, I did not have the strength to continue, so I lay there while snow blanketed me and considered letting death have me because I was so godsdamned miserable without you!â
Tears stream down your face, dripping from your chin. When you look at Astarion, his cheeks are as wet as yours, scarlet eyes ashine behind sorrow. This is what you did not want to do. You donât want to hurt him. Astarion told you he left you because he was afraid, and at the time, it felt like the best option available. That need to run, ignore, and flee your problems is an old friend now, and you canât blame him. Itâs what you did for a year and are continuing to do.
Instead of facing the fact that he was gone and he did not want to be found, you kept pushing your body to its limits and putting yourself into stupid situations because you could not accept the fact that maybe he did not want you any longer. Your heart is hammering as you choke and suffocate on all the memories youâve been repressing. Days and nights of walking or running as far as your feet could take you until you were senseless. Battles with brigands, neâer-do-wells, and all manner of beasts. The boiling heat of summer and the glacial cold of winter. Staring at the moon while you wept because your soul could practically feel the distance between you enlarging.
The fact heâs made you upset him stokes those embers of anger further. You rasp low, wiping your eyes, âThere. Now you know how pathetic I am. I am not a fearless leader or a fucking hero. I am just a broken, foolishly weak woman who could not even take care of herself and could not accept that you left me. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now that my fragility and broken pieces are displayed for you to gawk at and judge? Go ahead, Astarion. Tell me how objectively stupid I am.â
Astarionâs brows furrow as tears tiptoe from the corners of his eyes, gliding down his cheeks. Astarionâs voice is gruff, a woven lace between anger and anguish. âBy the Gods. Why would you do that to yourself? For me, of all people?!â
Good Gods, is he truly so blind?Â
âBecause I love you! The way I fell for you was as effortless as breathing. When you left, the moon split, and the stars fell from the sky into the sea I was endlessly suffocating in. I watched my whole world crumble.â Splaying your hand on your chest, you try to halt the ever-increasing tightness constricting your lungs. You laugh sarcastically at yourself, âAnd itâs all my damn fault. You are not accountable for my happiness or lack thereof, or how I handled you leaving, or what I did after the fact. Itâs all on me.â
Itâs an epiphany of sorts. All that anger, fear, and hurt youâre holding onto, repressing, and running from is not his doing - itâs yours. You cannot blame Astarion for how you reacted to his leaving, regardless of how he handled it. Youâve been smothering yourself, and your anger is entirely misplaced. You are angry at yourself, and you have been for some time.
The silhouette standing in the road, blocking you from happiness, is yours.
You need air and space to think, and you dress quickly while Astarion begs you to stop and talk to him. Gods, youâre going to asphyxiate if you stay in this house. Your chest heaves in short, quick breaths that only make you dizzier. Your heart is thudding in your ears. Your muscles tremble with the urge to run, and you lunge toward the door.
Run.
Astarion steps in front of it quickly, âNo,â His voice shakes, tears streaking down his cheeks as he blocks your path.
âGet out of my way, Astarion,â you snap at him sharply. âGet out of my way, or I will move you out of my way.â
Please donât make me move you.
âThen move me,â he challenges with a scowl.
With a grimace, you cast Telekinesis and glide Astarion across the floor to the other end of the room gently. His eyes round, shocked. Youâve never cast against him in anger before. Guilt devours you, consuming whatever was left of your rationality.
Once again, panic takes the wheel, and you run.
Iâm sorry, Astarion. Iâm so sorry.
He watches the slow rise and fall of her chest and listens to the somnolent beating of her heart as she trances by the fire to keep warm. He only needs a taste, a nibble, to test how far this newfound freedom truly spans. He can walk in the sun, and so far, Cazador has not been able to control him, but is he still bound by the rules Cazador planted in his mind?
If heâs quiet enough, he should be able to⌠Her eyes snap open, and she jumps to her feet with a scowl.
ââŚShit.â He puts his hands up and backs away slowly, watching her intently to see if she reaches for a weapon or if magic starts to dance on her fingers, âNo, no - itâs not what it looks like, I swear!â
Shit. Shit. Shit. Heâs got to recover from this. Quickly, or she might try and stake him, âI wasnât going to hurt you. I just needed - well, blood.â
âHow long since you killed someone? Days? Hours?â
âIâve never killed anyone! Well⌠not for food,â He glances at the ground. How much should he reveal? Itâs a fine line to tread. He needs to tell enough of the truth to earn trust but not enough to unveil his âlittle plan.â
She is not wholly soft-hearted and pure, but heâs spent two hundred years manipulating people. He can surely get her to spread her legs for him, to fall for him, and ensure his safety. The living are as much of a slave to their more animalistic desires as he is to bloodlust. It makes them simple prey.
âI feed on animals. Boars, deer⌠Kobolds. Whatever I can get. But itâs not enough. Not if I have to fight! I feel so... weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.â He slips on his expert manipulative demeanour and intonation, âPlease.â
He feels an odd pinch in his mind as it half unfolds for her. Gods. She has access to his memories and thoughts. Will she intrude into his mind unapologetically and violate him as so many have in the past? More than likely. He sighs, resigns himself and awaits the transgression.
Her brow quirks up, and her defensive stance relaxes slightly as she shakes her head to rid herself of the unfamiliar sensation of the tadpole writhing behind her eye. Her voice is gentle, almost hurt, âWhy didnât you tell me?â
She⌠she didnât force herself upon him? She didnât take the bait and play his mind like an instrument, plucking the strings of his memories?
âAt best, I was sure youâd say no. More likely, youâd ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.â
She scrutinizes him in a way that makes him feel like heâs been stripped of his clothes and naked. âI do. I believe you.â
âThank you.â he sighs, relieved. She trusts him? Objectively stupid, but he will take it. âDo you think you could trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.â
She nods, âFine. But not a drop more than you need.â
His brows shoot up his forehead. Is she really just going to allow him to bite her? Stupid woman. âReally? I - of course. Not one drop more. Letâs make ourselves comfortable, shall we?â
âWait!â She halts him, pushing him back by the shoulders.
He recoils, a little aggravated at her blockage. He was so, so deliciously close. âWhat is it, Sorceress? Donât tell me youâve chickened out already. Iâll be gentle, I swear. It will only hurt for a moment.â
âNo, Rogue,â she frowns at him. She is cute when sheâs angry. Her fingers hover by his lips, âPain does not frighten me. Open your mouth.â
âOpen my mouth?â He arches a brow at her, âWhy?â
âIâve noticed your fangs, but Iâve never paid them much thought,â she muses with a wily grin. âI would like to see what youâre about to plunge into my neck.â
He scoffs, âI am not an exhibition for your eyes to feast upon.â
âDo you want to eat or not?â She smirks, âI believe itâs a simple request.â
âYouâre very strange,â he clicks his tongue but opens his mouth for her with a roll of his eyes. It is a small price to pay if this works.
She pricks her finger against his fang, âOuch! Sharp!â
âNo, shit.â He chuckles with a scoff, âHave you finished examining me now? Shall we continue?â
She scoffs back at him, âYouâre very impatient. Very well. You may continue with your supper.â
She lolls her head to the side. His fangs break her supple flesh, and her blood flows freely into his mouth. Cazadorâs rules do not bind him any longer. Gods, she tastes like clouds parted, heaven is stroking his tongue, and angel wings flutter through his veins. She leans into him with a sigh. Her body shakes, excited. Excited? An odd reaction, but alas, who is he to complain? He can feel her inside of him. Her essence fills him, and his nerves hum a sonnet heâs never heard or felt. He loses himself in her.
She pushes against him feebly as her body starts to grow cold, âStop! Itâs too much.â
Reluctantly, he removes his fangs, cleaning his lips, and licking his fingers. He will not waste a drop of that liquid bliss, âAh! Of course. I was just swept up in the moment. But it worked. I feel good. Strong. Happy.â
He got carried away. He will have to watch himself more carefully if she ever allows him near her again.
She wavers on her feet, hand coming to her forehead and eyes glossy. She groans, and he expects her to chastise him. Instead, she steadies herself and chimes resolutely, âIâm looking forward to seeing you fight.â
Thatâs it? No beating? No flaying? No putrid rats? Not so much as a âbad vampire!â Just... looking forward to seeing him fight. What in the Hells?
He hides his surprise behind that practice veneer of confidence, âShouldnât take long. So many people need killing. Now if youâll excuse me, youâre invigorating, but I need something more filling,â he lies. Heâs full, happy, but inexplicably highly aroused.
Is this something that always happens with thinking creatures? Is it simply a natural response because sheâs his first? He has nothing and no one to compare this experience to.
âThis is a gift, you know.â She might be a gift from the Gods after theyâve ignored him for centuries. He is no longer bound by his puppet master or the rules rooted in his brain. He has broken his chains. He purrs, âI wonât forget it.â
She stops him, giggling lightheaded and ethereal, âThe boar was you, wasnât it?âÂ
She is clever, isnât she? He chuckles, âYes, my dear. I said a vampire killed it, did I not?â
She plops down on her bedroll, âYou conveniently left out that you were that vampire. Very clever, Astarion,â she smirks. âIâll watch you and the pretty words that leave your beautiful mouth more closely from now on. Happy hunting.â
She thinks his mouth is beautiful? Â
The door slams hard enough to cause the tower to shake, and sheâs gone. Kamena had always been the unshakable light of their group of misfits. She took everything in stride.
Galeâs orb might explode and kill them all? No problem, we will find magical items for him to consume.
Sharran Cleric? No sweat. Your beliefs are your own.
Warlock bound to his contract? Easy. We will find a way to break that.
Murderous Gith with a superiority complex that could rip out her spine? Tell me more about you and your people.
Tiefling spewing Hellfire from her body with an infernal engine for a heart? Welcome aboard. Now, letâs find a way to fix that heart of yours.
Vampire spawn who tries to bite her while she tranced one night? No matter. I trust you. While we are at it, let's make a pit stop and kill your master so you can be free.Â
She never flinched when confronted that they might all burst into Mind Flayers any second. She always kept the group moving forward toward their goals while taking the time to sort out everyoneâs problems. His stomach sinks. Itâs nearly dawn, but he can catch her before the sun rises⌠probably. He sprints out of the room and down the stairs.
âLet her go, Astarion,â Gale grips his arm and shakes his head.
âAre you mad?â He pulls his arm away. âDonât touch me.â
âYou look lost,â Gale pats his shoulder. âDespite our differences, we do share one thing in common. Our love for her.â Astarionâs jaw tightens. âPurely platonic on my end, of course,â Gale assures with a genial smile. âIf you need to speak to a trusted⌠friend. Well, I do hope you might consider me one such friend.â
âAre we,â he quirks his brow at the wizard and grimaces, â⌠friends?â
âPerhaps friends is a little superfluous,â Gale chuckles. âBut I am here for you if you need a friendly ear or advice. I have navigated the waters sheâs currently treading. It can be a dark path.â
âUgh,â he scoffs, crossing his arms. The wizard always likes to beat around the bush. He prefers someone to speak their mind, âJust speak plainly.â
âCome, my friend,â Gale gestures toward the sitting room, âLetâs sit. I would offer you some tea, but⌠I know that doesnât fit your particular dietary needs.â
Astarion groans, relinquishing his hold on the door handle. He looks longingly, willing it to open and for her to rush back into his arms. He sits on the sofa and lets his head fall into his hands. His fingers splayed into his hair.
âDo you want to be with her, Astarion?â Gale begins.
âWhat are you getting at, Gale?â He mutters annoyance weaved in the deep baritone of his voice that he canât hide, âGet to the point.â
Galeâs voice loses the honeyed intonation, âDo you want to spend your life with her until hers ends, or will you run again when it gets hard? There is an imbalance in your relationship. You are immortal. She is not.â
âYou know as well as I that there are ways to extend life - beyond my⌠condition,â Astarion drags his hand through his hair.
âThere are, but nothing is assured,â Gale retorts, âIf she cannot extend her life or find a cure for you, are you willing to stay with her when she gets old, and you remain forever young? Itâs an eventually you must consider.â
Can he do it? Is he capable of spending the next 800 years with her only to have her age and die, leaving him alone again? Gods. A world void of her fire? Perish the thought.
Astarion cants a brow at him and scoffs, âIf this is your attempt at a pep talk, youâre failing abysmally.â
âYou have enough pep,â Gale chuckles, rubbing his hands together. âNo, I am trying to have a real discussion with you, and you are making it exceedingly gruelling.â
âYes,â he answers truthfully. Astarion swallows hard, trying to dissuade the ball in his throat to ease, âI want to be with her. More than anything.â
âGood,â Galeâs hand comes to his chin as he contemplates. âThen you must keep fighting for her. Every day, you must treasure her. When the days are cold, warm her. When the shadows disturb her rest, hold her tight. When she needs space, let her go. Show her you can handle the storm, and be prepared to weather it with her.â
âI am trying,â he sighs, leaning back in his chair. His brows furrow as he eyes Gale with palpable caution. Gale is still in love with her, and he knows. It makes him wary to have these conversations with him, âI have never done this - a real relationship. Love. Itâs all new to me, and I have no idea how to navigate it.â
Galeâs bourbon brown eyes reflect the firelight as he examines Astarion with a probing case that makes him uncomfortable, though his expression remains nearly blank. Is there empathy in his eyes? Delight? Pain?
âYou hurt her deeply, but I donât need to tell you that,â Gale finally says and leans forward. âYou, of all people, should know that pain leaves scars, whether visible on the skin or unseen on the heart. Remember, Astarion. When youâre speaking to her, you are touching her scars.â
Hells below. He had not thought of it like that before.
Gale smiles, âNow, that awkwardness is over. Tell me, Astarion. What do you know of the Wish spell?
Astarion balks at the quick change in subject, although heâs happy about it, âWish? I know itâs a powerful spell, but not much else. Spells are not my expertise, Gale. You know this. I leave magic up to you and Kamena - much more so Kamena.â
âKamena is a substantially powerful sorceress. We have not seen the like of her kind for some time,â Gale smirks with an amused chuckle. âShe gave up sparing with me because I could not keep up. Can you believe that - an archmage unable to keep up with a sorceress? I often wonder if her ancestor is Tiamat herself.â
âI am well aware of how powerful she is,â Astarion snickers, âBut youâre getting off-topic. What of this Wish spell?â
Galeâs eyes brighten, and he beams. âKamena never stopped looking for it, you know. Even when you left, she continued and persuaded me to continue as well. I have a lead - an excellent lead.â
âIs Kamena capable of casting it?â Astarion mouth drops. âCould she actually use it?â
âShe is more than powerful enough to cast it,â Gale nods, but his expression turns sullen. âThough spells of this power often have a cost and can be rather⌠finicky. It could be dangerous - for you and her. I have not found it yet, but I believe we are getting close. In theory, she could use it to cure you, but it might go awry. We cannot be sure of the consequences, though. We have not found any documentation on such.â
âCan it kill her?â Astarion asks bluntly. Spells of such power often have unforeseen consequences. You cannot evoke such power without cost. Sometimes, it is minimal. Other times, it is life itself. Heâs read enough books to know this much.
âPossibly,â Gale concludes with a grim look. His jaw clenches, setting his lips in a thin line.
âStop looking for it, Gale.â Astarion shakes his head. His heart sinks a little. This would be the closest thing he could get to a cure since he didnât complete the Rite, but he cannot justify the payment, âHer possible death is not worth my possible life.â
âMy friend, you will have to speak to her about that,â Gale chuckles with a sullen shrug. âShe has already been appraised of my objections.â
âUgh,â Astarion scoffs, tousling his hair, âLet me guess. She said, and I quote, âYour objections have been noted.â
Galeâs laugh booms through the halls, âYes, precisely. She is stubborn, and that silver tongue of hers is dangerous. Sometimes, she persuades me to do things I was adamant I didnât want to do! Are all Elves like that, or is she just special?â
âGale,â Astarion smirks, âI think we have much to discuss. I do not indulge in tea, but do you have something harder?â
Galeâs fingers come to his chin, âLike wine?â
âNo,â Astarion tuts, clicking his tongue with a scoff. âMuch harder.â
Gale grins widely, âOh, now youâre speaking my language, my sharp-toothed friend! Join me in my cellar, and pick what you like best!â
You close the bedroom door softly behind you and lean on it. Astarion is sitting before the fire in one of the chairs. He does not even twist to look at you, but he would have heard and smelt you coming even before you reached the manor. He sits with his head in his hand, propped up by his arm.
You take a deep breath and force the fire to take the shape of a dragon, fly out of the fireplace, around him and to you before you make it land on the log and continue burning in its natural state. Astarion does not flinch at your display. He barely seems to blink as the dragon gambles around him, driving and twirling. Itâs a sure sign that heâs angry, which is precisely what you wanted to know.
You have been caught in a stormy ocean of despair. Youâre being tossed like a ship on rough waves. Some days, the waves calm, and you feel like yourself again. On other days, the waves are agitated, and you toss, just trying to stay afloat, but sometimes you get dragged under the surface and start drowning again. It does not matter how hard you kick or fight to break the barrier. An anchor on your legs and arms that drags you down into the depths.
Perhaps itâs time to stop fighting the storm and weather it instead. Emotions are messy, and you are not well acquainted with these. Youâve never been in love before this. You spent most of your adult life alone, hunting down the wizard who purchased you and tortured you for your childhood in the name of âteaching you to master your talents.â
âIâm sorry, Astarion,â you murmur from the door, not daring to get closer to him. âI should not have cast on you. It was uncalled for.â
âYou shuffled me across the floor,â he chuckles, twisting in his chair with an amused smile. âThat hardly requires an apology. I am impressed with your control. However, I would prefer it if you donât use magic when we argue. Otherwise, think nothing of it. I should not have pushed you. I was too harsh... Iâm sorry.â
âI need to be pushed, I think,â you sigh, combing your fingers through your hair. âI keep trying to calm myself, but I just need to weather it as it comes. Sometimes... I get swept away, and thereâs nothing I can do. I think... I need to stop trying to stop it and try to survive it instead.â
âCome,â Astarion taps his lap with an affectionate smile and empathy shining in his eyes. âSit with me, and we can talk.â
Walking over, you discard your robe and are left in your underclothes. Astarionâs arms wrap around you as you ease down onto his lap, and he pulls you close to him. He kisses your temple, his cheek on your forehead.
Astarion takes your hand, interlocking your fingers with his and squeezing slightly. He asks blatantly, âDo you want to be with me, or is my presence here just hurting you further?â
âWhat?â You cup his cheek with your palm, and he nuzzles your hand. Astarionâs silken lips ghost over it, and he kisses it before resting on it, âI want to be with you more than anymore, but I need time. I told you. I am broken. I mentioned I was drowning when you left, but I am coming up for air now. Iâm fighting to keep my head above the waves, but sometimes I fall below themâŚ. I donât want you to leave. Please, stay with me. You are all I need.â
He nods. Astarionâs scarlet eyes swallow you, and empathy and understanding wash over you. âYou are not broken, sweetheart.â Astarion places a soft kiss on your lips. âYou are healing, and sometimes healing is messy. I know that better than most.â Astarion pauses and nuzzles your cheek, âStop running from me and start running to me, Kamena. I can be strong when you feel weak, just as you are for me. We do not walk these roads alone any longer. We walk them together, my Solicallor, my only one.â
Solicallor⌠His Elven nickname for you means âWarm light of the sun.â
What did I ever do to deserve someone so understanding?Â
Thatâs it, that breaks you, tearing you apart and rending you inside out. Your breaths come in rapid heaves, and your heart feels like it might fly out of your throat onto the ground before you. You clutch at your chest, and you start to tremble. Your eyes swarm with tears. You slip your hands down the back of Astarionâs shirt, needing to feel the cool chill of his skin, but are careful not to touch his scars. He doesnât appear to notice when your fingertips accidentally brush the raised edges.
Astarion purrs, crushing you against him, âBreath with me, my love. Deep breaths. Inâ he counts to 30, âand out,â he counts to 30. You try to synchronize your breaths to his as best you can.
âYou have not called me Solicallor in some time,â you shake while forcing a fireball to circle you as if youâre the gravity keeping it in place. You push all your hurt, fear and anger into that fireball, making it double in size and burn white-hot. âI can be your sun, Astarion. For now, at least.â
âYes,â he chuckles, but thereâs an edge to his voice that you didnât expect. âGale and I had an interesting chat today, but we shall discuss that later.â
âHe told you of the Wish spell.â Itâs not a question. You knew Gale was going to out you eventually. Youâre going to have to scold him later for it. You were not going to tell Astarion until you had the damn spell in hand and were sure you could cast it.
âHe did,â Astarion nods, rubbing your back and weaving his fingers into your hair. âBut thatâs a conversation for another time. Letâs focus on us for tonight.â
âI am going to have to chastise Gale,â you frown. You cannot help the anticipation dripping from your voice, âUs?â
âDonât chastise him too hard, darling. He is rather insecure, but who wouldnât be with me around?â he chuckles with an arrogant smirk. âYes. Us. Whatever that may be right now. We can stay in this limbo of indecision as long as you need. But to me, we are still us. You are only mine, yes? Or do I have people I need to murder?â
âWe are us.â You agree with a broad smile. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself close, âAnd I am yours.â
âOnly mine?â He sounds agog as if he cannot imagine you would be wholly his.
Does he still not believe he deserves me? Â
âOnly yours, AerasumĂŠ,â you kiss his cheek, calling him the nickname you gave him in private derived from your language. It means âSilvermoon of the Evening.â Youâre reluctant to say it, but itâs been on your mind since you met him, âI think I was born to be yours, thiramin.â
Astarion stiffens at your mention of âthiramin.â It is your Elven word for what is basically a soulmate. His clutch on you strengthens, and his fingers start running through your hair, but he doesnât say anything, and his jaw is tight. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Have you gone too far? Have you frightened him? Will he run?
âYou donât have to say it back, Astarion,â you encourage in a honeyed intonation, running your fingers comfortingly up and down his neck. âI do not expect you to feel that same. I just⌠I guess I just wanted you to know how I truly felt.â
Astarionâs mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. He swallows hard, making his Adam's apple bob. Itâs one of his tells when heâs uncomfortable. He kisses you intimately, but his reluctance to answer causes your heart to spasm, clench and descend into your stomach. Are you more in love with him than he is with you? Is that why you were so incapable of letting him go, but he so easily ran from you?
âI think... I need some space,â Astarion murmurs. âIâm sorry, I-â
You cut him off, slipping off his lap and shaking your head. You remain stoic, forcing tears to stay behind your eyes, âItâs okay. I understand. Goodnight, Astarion."
I went too far.
Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support.
Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past
AO3: Crossposted
If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts
Small Notes:
I just wanna hug Kamena.
Also Astarion
And Gale too for good measure.
#astarion x tav#astarion x you#bg3 astarion#astarion x reader#astarion#astarion romance#astarion x mc#astarion ancunin#astarion smut#baldurs gate astarion#astarion/oc#astarion x oc#astarion x named tav#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate#shadows of the past#astarion spawn#spawn astarion
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Name: Zomboni
Debut: Plants vs. Zombies
Plants vs. Zombies is such a silly game. Silly is baked into its very code. And I love that! You know me! I live under rotting wood, eating silly and breaking it down into nutrient-rich soil! But I think Zomboni has the honor of being the silliest thing in this already-silly game!
There is no way Zomboni would exist if it weren't for the wordplay. So thank goodness for the wordplay! A zombie, on a Zamboni. Though, we are informed that it is actually "more closely related to a space ogre than a Zombie". What impeccable word choice! So it's not even actually a space ogre. Just some weird guy creature. Awesome
Zomboni drives an ice resurfacing machine, and I have no idea what the general public's knowledge level of these things is. Does the average person know the exist? I knew, but I played and hated playing hockey as a child so I got to watch the ice being resurfaced, which was the best part. Some guy who may or may not be tangentially related to space ogres will drive this machine around the ice rink, cutting down the surface and laying down fresh ice to make a nice and smooth surface, I think. Now, I may be using the generic term for this product, but commonly, there is one brand name that is used commonly, like Band-Aid or Q-Tip or Velcro, and for that we can thank...
Name: Frank J. Zamboni
Debut: Utah
Frank J. Zamboni! Hooray! What do you have to say, Frank?
Wow. So true, Frank. I'm sure this message is reaching its intended audience in this post. Anyway, ol' Ice Tank Frank made such an iconic machine that it is THE ice resurfacing machine in the public consciousness, and there is even a trademark for its iconic shape! That seems unnecessary but ok. Now, when the ghost of the Zamberino was scrying the mortal realm for references to his work in media, he came across parody in a funny video game, and OBVIOUSLY something had to be done about that!
And from then on, Zomboni's description was updated to reflect that it is NOT to be confused with a ZamboniÂŽ brand ice resurfacing machine, you silly billy, why would you think that? And they also plugged the Zamboni website in-game, so that the audience of, I must emphasize, a silly video game, would be more likely to buy an entire ice resurfacing machine, or at least its related merchandise. I really would think this would all be fine under parody law, but maybe it has to do with the shape trademark. Whatever. To the Zamboni company's credit, they have some incredible merchandise.
What a powerful item. With this, the course of a baby's life can be changed forever...
Zomboni with an O, I mean with two Os, approaches while creating a trail of freshly laid ice that cannot be planted on. The brand-ambiguous ice resurfacing machine is quite tough, but instant-kill plants are effective, as are Spikeweeds and Spikerocks, which will instantly pop its tires!
Zomboni is a considerable threat, instantly flattening any plant it reaches before its destruction, though the player should be pretty well-equipped to combat it, and the ice is laid on the right side of the screen, rather than the precious left side. Pretty manageable! But Zomboni is only the beginning, and as much delight and intrigue as I have gleaned from Zomboni's existence, it's what FOLLOWS Zomboni that is, in fact, my favorite zombie(s) in the game.
If Zomboni is allowed to create an ice trail, it will be used by Zombie Bobsled Team! Yeah, Frank got a whole "name/debut" section and these guys just get a bolded name in a sentence. You never know what I'm gonna do next! Hee hee!
Zombie Bobsled Team is exactly what it sounds like! A team of zombies, in a bobsled! So that's four zombies, with a defensive vehicle that has to be destroyed before they can be harmed! Zomboni was already over-the-top silly, and then Zombie Bobsled Team goes even higher over that top. And it's a Big Top, where they keep all the clowns. There is not much else I can say about Zombie Bobsled Team, but it really speaks for itself!
For some reason there exists official art of "Mullet Zombie", the Zomboni driver without his vehicle and hat. And for an even somer reason, they put it on the box art for the DS version! PvZ1 is simply very strange when it comes to official key art. Messed up.
#zomboni#zombie bobsled team#zamboni#frank j zamboni#utah#plants vs zombies#not mario#funky friday#mod chikako#long post
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The Sight (Short story)
(MCD, set during the time Aphmau was trying to make the Irene statue to fix the corruption Zane made, after Laurance had just got back from the nether. It was a really fun writing excersise to have to write interpretive body language without any visual description!)
(Oh, also implied Garrance. But this is me, so I'm not sure who would be surprised.)
Laurance looked up out of instinct when the door creaked open, the wounds on his neck smarting as he did. He knew it was useless but old habits die hard, he supposed. The footsteps were far too heavy to be Aphmau or Zoey, but too careful and even to be Dale or his son. âHello. Garroth, I heard your name was?â The man stopped suddenly as Lauranceâs greeting rasp, as though he were surprised by Lauranceâs recognition, even without sight.
He was getting used to the lack. Slowly, but a little every day.
âHow-â Garroth began, before seemingly thinking better of it. âI came to change your bandages. Zoey and Aphmau are otherwise occupied.â Laurance nodded in thanks, and managed a small smile. Words were still painful through his singed throat, and heâd exhausted his supply for the moment with his greeting. Garroth stepped closer, then hesitated. Laurance recognised his hesitation, and reached down to undo his own shirt. They were hardly on terms to undress one another, even if only for the care of injury.
Garroth was swift but startlingly gentle in his work, even to a man he would gladly call his enemy. Laurance canât help but smile, even just on instinct. The time passed in near silence -surprisingly comfortable for the pair of them. The only words said happened when Garroth had to ask the shadowknight to move in some way, for access to his injuries. By far the most awkward were those on his legs and lower back, and Laurance couldnât help but snicker when the other man stammered adorably in his requests. But he obeyed without giving trouble.
âI heard from Caddie that you took off your helmet for the wedding. Seems unfair that Iâm the only one who doesnât get to find out what you look like, ey?â His throat burned in protest, but some part of him longed to antagonise the man. It seemed only fair, after how heâd acted upon the shadowknightâs arrival. The larger man grunted in annoyance. âGood thing you werenât my intended audience then.â Laurance attempted to roll his eyes. Eye? He only seemed to be able to control one. Oh well, neither of them were functional anyway. âAnd who was?â He finally rasped, his voice cracking halfway through. âLady Aphmau?â He felt Garroth still, and heard him let out a breath of annoyance.
âNo.â The head guard answered gruffly. âMy intention was only to respect Donna with the presence of her friend, since I was told only to attend if I wore formal dress. It was the least I could do for her, after all sheâs done for the village.â Laurance nodded, sparing his throat a response. There was a silence between them, left and allowed to stretch. Garroth seemed unwilling to make smalltalk, and Laurance was close to incapable to keep it up for more than a handful of sentences.
âHow do you look?â He said eventually, speaking quietly. Laurance practically heard Garroth roll his eyes. âHow I look is of no consequence to you, and I fail to see how it is any of your concern, since you cannot see for yourself.â Laurance let out a snort of annoyance at the words. âMaybe I just like to be able to put a face to a voice, buddy. Geez.â At the same moment, He winced painfully as Garroth tugged a bandage slightly too tight. Garroth mumbled an apology, then cleared his throat. âHow did you know it was me earlier?â Laurance blinked in surprise at being asked. âYou have heavier footsteps than Aphmau or Zoey, and I can hear your armour clanking. But it was too slow to be⌠What was his name? The kid. And too even to be the one who always sounds drunk.â
Garroth nodded, seeming to understand the logic. âThe âkidâ is named Brian. And Dale sounds drunk because he is. Though Iâm somewhat puzzled they visited you.â Laurance shrugged. âGuess Iâm just that cool.â, he replied. Then after a momentâs pause, he asked the question that had been drifting through his mind unanswered. âSo whatâs Aph been up to?â Garroth seemed to hesitate before answering.
âShe is attempting to ascertain a solution to the calamity inflicted on our community by-â â¨âIn common, please.â
Garroth scoffed at the interruption. âShe is trying to find a solution to the curse put on our village by my brother, the high priest. Is that dumbed down enough for you?â Laurance grinned sarcastically. âSorry I didnât spend my life in school with the rich kids. Yeah, I know what you said now.â Garroth sighed. âI apologise for my embellished language. I suppose Iâm a bit worried about her.â Laurance nodded. âSâ good. She was taking it pretty hard.â
Garroth nodded. âI hope for her sake, that she is successful. As well as the sake of the town.â Garroth tied off the last bandage, then stepped back. âThere. That should do it for today. I trust you can re-dress yourself without my assistance?â Laurance nodded. âYeah, I can manage justâŚâ
Laurance trailed off, frozen in confusion as a light seemed to illuminate his vision, and an image swam into focus. His remaining eye widened in shock, and locked onto the man standing in front of him. His hair was illuminated by the window behind him, making it seem to glow as a saintâs halo did in the murals and mosaics Laurance had only been lucky enough to see at the guardâs academy. His features were sharp, and nearly so pale as snow. Laurance had never in his life seen anyone so lightly coloured outside the halls of that same school, and Garroth seemed to be the living image of the statues and stone murals which were carved and painted with such love.
Laurance nearly wanted to call him beautiful, but it somehow seemed to be the wrong word. He associated the word with tiny and delicate things, like butterflies, or flowers. There was nothing dainty or delicate about the man before him, but grace was applicable. He truly looked as if Esmund the protector himself had stepped out of the pages of legend. Garrothâs form blurred, and for a second Laurance feared his sight was once again failing before he realised he was crying. Garroth seemed to lurch forward, extending a hand toward him with unexpected concern. âEr, are you alright? Did something pull tight, or-â
âI see you.â
Both of them stood in shocked silence at the shadow knightâs words before Garroth finally broke the silence. ââŚyour eye isnât clouded anymore. Did Lady Aphmau-?â He cut off, the door slamming open behind them both. Zoey appeared, panting and grinning like a child on solstice. âGarroth, youâve got to come and see! Lady Aphmau banished the corruption, and now the market is- Oh my Irene, youâll have to see it to believe it!â Laurance pulled on his shirt much more quickly than he should have, the fabric catching on bandages and pulling them painfully. But he was determined to see this. To see it. Garroth looked back at him, and extended a hand to help him to his feet. Laurance took it, and the pair of them followed Zoey up to the surface, though with some difficulty. Laurance rubbed his face on his sleeve, clearing his teary eyes. And as the pair of them were beholden to the market square, now shining in the sun like diamond. The âcalamityâ and âcorruptionâ heâd heard spoken of were nowhere to be seen, and in the middle of it all was Lady Aphamau, standing at the feet of a statue heâd never heard of before.
The statue was a depiction of the goddess Irene, of a finer make than heâd seen since the academy. And in the goddessâs cupped hands, was a strange stone which pulsed and shone like something enchanted. He was distracted from the statue however, by Aphmau bounding up to them with a grin on her face. âGarroth! I did it, I fixed the rot! And-â She stopped, her gaze locking with Lauranceâs. âOh my Irene, Laurance! Itâs good to see you feeling better.â Laurance grinned, trying very hard not to acknowledge his shaking legs. âBetter than you know, my lady. Whatever magic youâve worked healed my sight!â Aphmau gasped, surprise and delight washing over her face. It was amazing to be able to see it again. Even with the left half his vision still gone thanks to the missing eye, it was more than enough.
And in the warm sun, and the gaze of his lady, and the shine of the stones under his feet⌠For just a moment, everything felt right in the world again.
#aphmau mcd#mcd laurance#mcd garroth#garrance#garroth ro'meave#laurance zvahl#short story#Garrance fanfic#mcd fanfic#mcd au#mcd rewrite#mcd fanart#aphblr#aphmau minecraft diaries#minecraft diaries#briefly mentioned Zoey Taltatheil#zoey taltatheil#zoey mcd
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So. Side Order, huh?
I've been chewing on my thoughts over this for a good few days now. Want to spit them out somewhere. Vague-ish spoilers ahead.
I want to preface this with saying that I love Splatoon, I've been playing it since 1, really dropped off near the end of 2. Nintendo made Octo Expansion for me, they released it on my birthday and I love it so fucking much.
Side Order is fun, but lacking criminally in content.
You can argue Roguelites are like this in general, its the core princible to replay them over and over again and as someone who enjoys Roguelites, I agree!
However, a key thing that good roguelites do is continously give you a reason to keep playing- whether that be addictive gameplay or, usually, good story and lacing that in with difficulty that becomes the players goal to lessen- It rewards the player for being curious, experimental and above all else persistant.
I am fully aware that difficulty, due to Splatoon's target audience, in something like a roguelite was never going to be an easy thing to balance let alone pull off but having the main plot resolve itself once you hit the top of the tower was, in my opinion, the first of its blunders.
I feel as if the Splatoon developers know how much the lore and worldbuilding of these games matter to players. Side Order was advertised in very similar veins to Octo Expansion. The trailers had mystery and intrigue with clear connections to the well recieved and loved Octo Expansion to the point of having the same protagonist among other simularities.
They were clearly teasing this to be a successor of SOME capacity to Octo Expansion. And even as I went into this expecting it to be nothing like OE in terms of it's personal weight, I wasn't expecting something so short.
Classically, in roguelites that focus on story, you would gain story beats the more you replay. And techincally you gain this with the keys gathered from each fully cleared palette. But usually your story rewards in roguelites come from clearing or attempting runs and rewards:
With Side Order's story being resolved the MOMENT you step onto floor 30 with no real context unless you've intentionally avoided the top or have genuinely been slowed by its difficult (which I assume is what the devs intended) makes it's climax feel fast paced and lackluster- undeserved, even.
And, yes, I am fully aware that when you climb the tower agani after the credits role, you begin gain more lore about whats going on. But with the actual, main threat neutralized in every possible way it feels as if this lore should've been offered to us much sooner and much more spread out for a better pay off.
It's story feels like its being told out of order and, in my personal opinion, the themes and actual telling methods of Side Order we're a largely missed opportunity to tell something a bit more indepth. Climbing a tower that gives you essentially nothing until you reach floor 30 (which in my experience takes about 35-40 minutes) only to recieve about two scentences of lore is incredibly tiring and feels dissastifying when the main plot is already over.
It's lack of variation in level design, tasks and chips doesn't help with the climb each time if you're looking for the lore or just to 100% either. And you can argue this is a roguelite problem, but Splatoon's scenario's for a tower climb are pitifully small and you will start to seem repeat almost immediatly on your second or third run.
I also feel like it relies far too heavily on the player knowing and caring about Octo Expansion. I'm not saying that I think it was a bad idea to have most of what's going on in Side Order happening because of Octo Expansion's events. Hell, I was happy when they were very blatently showing this early on.
But it does very little with its ties to Octo Expansion, making Side Order feel like its constantly struggling to be its own thing away from the original DLC.
I think I can almost see what they wanted to go for here, and its frustrating, it felt close to something at least telling a decent story.
Every single little beat I've gotten has helped me understand more and more what they were going for, but since the main conflict is already resolved I find it hard to be excited and more frustrated that I wasn't given these during my initial playthrough.
I feel as though the roguelite formula was an interesting idea that they polished the best of their ability and to make work both for casual and experience players- but I think thats where the problem comes in.
With Side Order being the same price as Octo Expansion and offering very little in terms of replayability and most especially for me, story, the whole thing ends up feeling like a muddled mess that would've worked better had the roguelite aspect perhaps been dropped in general for a general tower climb.
Missed opportunies feel like they decorate Side Order in a way that leaves me fairly disappointed.
I think, overall, Side Order is a fun time that can be enjoyed but the way it was implimented into the gameplay formula was largely a mistake, especially coupled with the marketing of this being something more indepth with its story when it's not, and I can absolutely understand why I'm seeing a lot of disappointment for it.
#splatoon#splatoon 3#splatoon side order#side order#splatoon spoilers#side order spoilers#i just wanted to spit my thoughts out somewhere#i could've gone more into my grievances with the plot but i wanted to generalize this and its already too long#but i definitely feel mismarketed too#i say this as someone whos enjoying it despite its lack of content#i am DEFINITELY let down in terms of what they seemed to be implying in trailers#and if you enjoy side order thats fine all the more power to you#salutes#scrolls.txt
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La Pluie: We Must Speak Our Love
La Pluie, my precious child, my perfect show, I could not love you more. You stayed true to your themes the entire way through, and you trusted the audience to use our brains to understand what you were trying to say. You stuck to your guns about focusing on the relationships and the choices the characters made as the driving forces of this narrative, not the mythology and not destiny. You knew exactly what story you wanted to tell and you told it with a clarity and completeness that is extremely rare in these drama streets. I salute you.
This show never intended to solve the questions around the workings of fate in this universe, and while the characters individually may or may not believe in soulmates, what matters is who they choose to love. Tai even said it a few times in this episode to make sure the point was extra clear:
As for the destiny and soulmate stuff, they are like a trap in our relationship.
Love is about two people. It doesnât need destiny to pave [the way]. I donât care whether you are my soulmate or not. The most important thing is our feelingsâŚI love you, Patts. I donât care if it rains or not. I do love you no matter what happens.
No one chooses to find an answer anymore [about hearing loss or soulmates]. Because whether or not we know, it doesnât have anything to do with the path that each person chooses. At least, we get to choose our own path, instead of destiny determining for us.
With that theme (which has been present through the entire show) coming through loud and clear, in the finale La Pluie was able to turn to another very important theme and hammer it home: the importance of speaking our love out loud, and communicating clearly with the people we care about. The fantasy of romance novelsâthat your lover will just intrinsically understand you without need for you to speakâwas fully dismantled. This show said it is selfish to hold back your true thoughts and feelings from those you love, and we can only really connect with each other when we are willing to use our words. Below, I break down the many places this theme showed up in the finaleâs excellent resolutions for our characters.Â
Dream and Nara
First of all, let me just scream again because AHHHHHHHHHHH. I did not dare to dream that we would actually get this pairing, not as subtext, but as actual text in this show. We got to see Dream ask Nara out! And importantly, we got to see Nara nudge her into doing so by asking her to be clear. When Dream started hinting about whether Nara was open to a new relationship, Nara said straight out:
Can I ask why you want to know that?
Dream then got shy, but Nara kept talking to make it very clear exactly what they were discussing. She didnât want any uncertainty between them, so she told Dream directly that she was welcome to hit on her. We love a confident and direct communicator! And we see in the epilogue montage that this clear communication paid off for them, and they are now happily dating.
Lomfon and Tien
I have to start this section by giving mad props to Lomfon, because that boy: understood exactly what he did wrong, reached out to Tien to try to make amends many times despite being rebuffed, put his effort into a film project that would get Tienâs attention, and then when the crucial moment came, used his words and used them well.
Lomfon was determined to show Tien how he felt, which was an important part of their resolution. His persistence mattered because it proved to Tien that he was serious. But his actions alone were not enough. When Tien asked why he made that film, Lomfon said:
I have already told you. I would show you with my actions.
And Tien walks away. It is only when Lomfon opens his mouth and begins to speak, in no uncertain terms, about what he did wrong, why he is sorry, and what he wants with Tien going forward, that Tien accepts his sincerity (and lays one on him).Â
The words mattered. Tien needed to hear them to know that he could trust Lomfon with his heart. And now that he has heard him, he will.
Taiâs Journey
When we first see Tai in this episode, he is still stubbornly clinging to the idea that Patts is going to reach out to him first, passively waiting for that to happen, and resigning himself to giving up if it doesnât. Tien shares our frustration with this knucklehead, and tries one more time to get through to his brother:
For the past two years, you havenât talked to him. He had tried to reach you so many times.
Tien said brother, I love you, but it is your turn to try. And heâs right! Patts has been doing all the heavy lifting in this relationship, and Tai is the one who was in the wrong. He needs to be the one to reach out to Patts this time.Â
This inspires some further reflection for Tai, and he finally makes an important connection: he has been doing to Patts what his mother did to him.
Youâre really not going to say a thing?! I canât understand [if you] say nothing.
Yadfahâs silence hurt Tai deeply, and as he remembers his painful conversations with her in the aftermath of the divorce, he realizes he stonewalled Patts the same way his mother stonewalled him. He finally seems to grasp how unfair that was, and he immediately springs into action.Â
Taiâs first stop is Dream, who he is hoping can tell him where Patts is. In his conversation with her, we hear him reflect again on how his silence harmed their relationship.
If Iâd understood him and talked to him earlier, it wouldnât have turned out like this.
He also learns about Patts seeing him with Lomfon, which clarifies for him why Patts hasnât reached out and why he has cut off contact from everyone. His determination grows, and with only the knowledge that Patts is helping to open a veterinarian clinic somewhere in Chiang Mai, he hits the road.Â
But weâre not quite done with Taiâs lessons yet! As Tai wanders aimlessly around Chiang Mai, checking every clinic he can find, he makes some new friends when he runs out of gas and a shockingly kind couple invites him to eat dinner with them and stay overnight in their home. Art and Phueng are lovely people who have been together for years, sticking it out through Phueng becoming permanently disabled. Tai asks them for their secret to being happy together, and Phueng tells him:
We listen to and understand each other. We listen more, and speak lessâŚif we speak more but listen less, we donât hear [each otherâs voices]. Then we donât understand each other.
Do we got it yet, friends? Communication is the key to a happy relationship.Â
Tai and PattsÂ
After days of searching, Tai finally finds Patts by chance, looking like a dead man walking in the street outside his clinic. And Tai wastes no time, calling out for him, running to him immediately, and launching into his verbalization of everything heâs realized. Crucially, he starts here:
You donât have to say anything. This time, please let me say it.
And yâall. Yâall! Those words meant so much to me, let alone how it must have felt for Patts. We see Patts draw in a surprised breath after Tai promises he will say it this time, and as Tai goes on his eyes get increasingly misty and he struggles to keep his face neutralâyou can see how much it all means to him. To finally have Tai acknowledge that Patts has been the one doing all the communicating, that he understands where he messed up now, that he was wrong, that he is sorry, that he absolutely does love Patts and he should have been able to say it.Â
I didnât talk to you well. I let it slide until [it got] bad like now.
Tai finally understands that his refusal to speak was the core problem, and he is saying it all now.
And that is all Patts needs to forgive him. Just the words that Tai has been holding back. Taiâs silence was always the thing that caused him the most pain, and now that he is speaking his love out loud, they can move forward. They can choose each other with no further doubts and a commitment to keep talking.
(Thank you thank you to @wen-kexing-apologist for grabbing screenshots for this post for me, and an extra special shout-out to @bengiyo for grabbing me after episode 1 of this show and telling me in no uncertain terms that I needed to start paying attention immediately. It has been an honor to clown with you and work to bring so many along with us for this wonderful show.)
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once again i feel like digging into elder scrolls lore is like playing historian
so. im writing a fanfic that takes place in the first era in resdayn. nerevar is from house mora. the ra'athim clan is part of/the leaders ??? of house mora (listen house mora was a minor house that got absorbed into other houses im working with what i got) and a notable figure from the ra'athim clan is moraelyn
moraelyn is first brought up in the games in daggerfall. he's an important character in the fictional, but based on actual historical figures and likely written about based on retellings and folklore, novel king edward. this was before a lot of the lore was solidifed, but in the novel it describes moraelyn as a 'witch-king'
see, daggerfall came out irl in 1996. i can tell what they meant. when they wrote the novel for the game, they fully intended to just evoke lotr with witch-king of angmar. thats all that was, was to invoke a certain kind of image in the mind of the average fantasy fan who would be playing the games.
but in universe, the term 'witch' is not widely used. its primarily only used in a specific region of tamriel--breton/reachfolk occupied areas, or places where there would be a lotta cultural mixing. we see it a bit in nordic culture, primarily around the reach, high rock, and bits of the summerset isles. it's seemingly used to describe women who are out practicing daedric magic and herbalism in the woods. a couple of covens are mentioned, but you get the picture. they dont seem to be a common phenomenon and most daedric worshipers are called just that--daedric worshipers.
which means i gotta think through an in universe explanation. i mean technically i dont have to, but its fucking bothering me, so yes i have to.
what i came up with is this: the novel 'king edward' where we see the term the most (hes not described as a witch-king by the warrior-poet vivec in the culture moraelyn is actually from so) is from high rock. this is, of course, breton territory, which means bretons would be the primary audience for the novel. so picture this, you're from the following eras after the chimer have turned into the dunmer, and have gone from worshiping daedra to instead worshiping the tribunal. you're passing these stories down primarily orally until someone writes them down. you need to think of a way that communicates to your breton audience in as few words as possible "moraelyn was king in resdayn--what we now know as modern day morrowind and populated by dunmer. this is also back when they worshiped the daedra, not the living gods of the tribunal. he was skilled in magic that was likely daedric in nature and was a devout following of the three". so you call him "the dark elf witch-king" because from that description alone the average breton will go "ohhhhh he does daedric magic and is a dunmer historical figure"
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@lightcreators asked: â  do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different between us? â (from kokichi ouma, friendship-wise of course, since ouma have an reason to remove his mask for one second)
Pining/Yearning Sentence Starters
"Hm?" Sonia asked. She'd been in the process of reaching for a salmon-filled onigiri when Kokichi had interjected with his question. And at their small table in the cafeteria, there weren't many others it could be directed towards.
The Main Course classes often kept to themselves, as it were, but Class 79's Kokichi Ouma was another category in and of himself. As far as Sonia knew, the common terms that were used when referring to him were 'gremlin' or 'menace,' for all the times her cohorts were caught at the receiving end of his pranks, jokes, and schemes. Even Hiyoko, who was also commonly referred to as a gremlin herself by her peers, clashed with Kokichi's methods of befriending others. More trouble than he was worth, that was how most of her fellow students seemed to view him.
An opinion that Sonia herself did not share. Admittedly and embarrassingly, she could admit that the initial reason she reached out to him was due entirely to his talent: as Ultimate Supreme Leader, she'd never actually met the leader of a cult before. For all of her interest in them, her first-person exposure was nil. Still, she'd tried to be polite when inquiring after his talent and the duties associated with it: how did he attract members? Did they have secret rituals? What about death pacts or prophecies for the future?
Instead, her friend seemed more keen on practical jokes than giving her firm answers to her questions. Just as well, a bit of mystery kept things intriguing. But to that end, Sonia was one of the few from her class who was willing to have lunch with him, or at least be present as a captive audience for any amount of time. And she fully expected him to tease her about some sort of Japanese culture she'd managed to mess up, something she took in stride until she couldn't anymore, when her eyes narrowed and tone switched and the line she'd drawn had been crossed between good humor and ill-intended jabs.
This, however, was surprisingly philosophical for him. "If things were different between us?" She repeated. "Like talents? If we had different talents? Ooh, like if I was the Ultimate Supreme Leader! Though I wonder if my followers would simply be members of a coven at that point. Or otherwise devoted to the supernatural!"
She chuckled at the thought: it would be a far more exciting life than what her reality amounted to: endless meetings, ribbon cuttings, tea parties, memorials, and balls. Even the annual Masquerade each October only had subtle hints of the macabre, eagerly borrowed from her own personal collection of occult artifacts.
"What do you wonder then, if things were different between us?" She asked, setting her onigiri down on its plate. "Maybe I am a bit off in what you had in mind."
#more-than-a-princess answered#lightcreators#Non-Despair AU: Hope's Peak Academy verse#(Pining/Yearning sentence starters)#(I had an HC where Sonia was one of the few Class 77-B students to befriend Kokichi)#(Mostly due to being fascinated by his talent)#(And went with it!)#(Sonia should be allowed to be a cult leader As A Treat)
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This blog is dedicated to helping individual headmates in plural systems live their best, most authentic lives. Feel free to send an ask looking for advice or validation.
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edit: personal boundaries and introduction below the cut
About Us
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@cynicalundead <- main
(We will tag our posts as "Mod Cyn [Emoji]" from this point forward)
⢠Currently the only mod until further notice.
⢠We use he/they/it pronouns, and we/us/I/me interchangeably.
⢠We are mixed origins, and identify with traumagenic, neurogenic, and adaptive as personal labels. We experienced early childhood trauma and dissociate alongside our plurality, so we identify with osdd1 to describe our experiences.
⢠Please use the terms plural, system, alters, pseudomemories, and you/you guys/y'all for us. Please do NOT use the terms parts, exomemories, or you& for us, when possible.
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Shadows of the Past
Chapter 13: Imprisonment
Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse FaerĂťn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.
Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.
The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.
With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?
Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.
Word Count: 6.2K
Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.
Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]
Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.
The guards arenât gentle as they march you through the streets, soaked in the mid-morning sun. You were not even extended the courtesy of putting on shoes, and your feet are chilled by the stone-paved roads that have yet to amass any warmth from the sun as they are gouged by pebbles and glass squishing in revolting puddles of fluids you dare not give much thought. The guards push and prod with unyielding pointed tips of their gauntleted fingers, chewing your skin and causing pinprick points of blood to plume on your pale blue shirt.
Mr. Blackwell trails the procession, spitting lies and causing a stir. Waterdhavians whisper in hushed tones, snickering and gawking. Parents holler and cheer as their unruly children throw rocks with their trilling laughter as you progress through the crowds toward the Waterdeep County Jail, which lies just beyond the city walls. Itâs a mercy when you reach the large, square-shaped complex.
You instinctively scan the building and surrounding area, counting guards and inventorying potential escape routes and exits. The corridors and halls are a maze as youâre ushered through them into a small, cramped cell. Rubbing the raw skin of your wrists, you realize you donât occupy this cell alone. Dirty faces with sunken eyes barely reflecting the low light are huddled along the walls, peering at you through the murk. Some are sullen and morose, barely lifting their heads at your arrival, while otherâs lips are twisted in repellent smirks.
The air is damp and chilled without the sun to warm it, and you shiver harshly, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and muzzle the nip that feels like itâs penetrating your bones. The Weave doesnât heed your call when you reach for it, and thereâs an uncomfortable hollow pang where your magic usually resides in a burning reservoir.
You limp to the back of the cell and eye a corner that might give you an advantage if one of these ruffians decides to try and see what youâre made of. This is not the first time youâve been in prison, and just as in the animal kingdom, the weak are conquered.
âI wouldnât sit there if I were you,â an amiable voice from your left warns. âTempting as it is, thatâs the⌠lavatory corner.â
âThanks for the warning,â you mutter with a cringe, peering around to scout out a place to sit and think about how in the Hells to get yourself out of this mess.
âHere,â you hear shuffling, and the womanâs voice growls, telling off whoever was beside her. âYou can sit with me.â
You squint to make out details in the dim illumination. The woman is as dirt-streaked as the rest of the prisoners. The Tieflingâs white hair is tied back, and her flaming orange eyes starkly contrast the drabness. She pats the floor beside her with a sincere and kind smile that gives her an appearance of harmlessness. Then again, all the best and worst scoundrels appear innocuous at first glance.
The options are limited, and she looks less malicious than the rest of the brutes huddled around you, so you sit with a feigned affable smile.
âIâm Hecat,â she holds out a deep purple hand. âA pleasure.â
âNice to meet you, Hecat,â you shake her hand but do not offer your name in return.
You glare at your upturned palms, trying to claw at the Weave, but it doesnât matter how deep you dig; you cannot even get the faintest of sparks or magic to emit. Having your magic suppressed like this feels akin to having a limb amputated, and you let your head rest on the wall, staring up at the ceiling.
âA sorcerer?â Hecat chimes pleasantly while she throws and catches a small rock for amusement, âRight?â
âHow do you know?â You hiss more harshly than you should, narrowing your eyes at the Tiefling.
âOh! Easy now,â she chuckles and puts up her clawed hands innocently. Hecat points to your face. âYour scales. Draconic sorceress, right? Not many of your kind around. You blend in with those as much as I do with horns.â
âOh,â your fingers idly dawdle over the glassy-smooth, iridescent scales engraved into your skin. âIâm sorry. Iâ Iâm a little on edge.â
âNot a problem,â Hecat nods curtly with a toothy grin. âWe are all a little on edge given the environment we find ourselves in. Iâve been in more pleasant sewer canals.â
âMe too,â you canât help but let out a small laugh, remembering Astarionâs expression when you told him you had to go trudging around the sewers under the Lower City.
âCome now,â Astarion cringes with an exasperated huff, âDo you really expect me to go down there? In these boots?! With this hair and these nails?! Youâve got to be kidding me.â
âYou donât have to join us, Astarion. You are free to lounge around camp while we do all the hard work,â you giggle, rolling your eyes at his theatrics as he glowers at you with crossed arms. âIâm sure Karlach or Halsin wonât mind getting out for a bit.â
âAbsolutely not! No, no. Nope! Donât you dare think about asking me to stay behind.â Astarion clicks his tongue disapprovingly, jutting out a hip and cocking his head defiantly. âThere is no way in all nine Hells I will let you go without me. I canât trust those fools to protect you sufficiently. Where you go, I go, my love. Always. Even if that means I have to go gallivanting through the bloody sewers. Gods above. Well, come on then - lead on. Letâs get this over with.â
âIâm definitely going to splash you when weâre down there,â you laugh mirthfully, jogging away from him, trying to retreat quickly.
âThat had better be a joke, Kamena!â He growls. In a couple of soundless, long steps, Astarion picks you up by your waist, crushing your back against his muscular chest, kisses your neck and grumbles low near your ear. âDonât jest, darling. I bite.â
Astarion whined every minute you spent down there. He annoyed everyone except for you, of course. You could happily listen to that voice nonstop, even when itâs complaining, scoffing at your not-so-funny jokes, or calling you âidiotâ or âpig-headed.â Gods. You wish you could hear his voice now. You swallow the urge to cry and scold yourself for being weak. This is not the place for another pathetic breakdown. Inhaling a deep breath, you contract and relax every muscle, from your shoulders to your toes, to centre yourself. Youâre not a maiden that needs saving from the jaws of a dragon; you are the dragon, and you will pour oceans of fire and eat the shadows whole.
âYour magic will do you no good down here, Iâm afraid. They have an anti-magic field wrapped around this place.â
âLovely,â you sigh while inspecting your bloodied feet, trying to pick slivers of glass out of the soles.
âDid they drag you straight out of bed or something? Hecat queries.
âYou could say that,â you mutter, cool and dry.
Gods. I should have stayed in bed this morning.
âAnimals,â Hecat scoffs. She shuffles around and offers you her soiled coat. You glare at her with questions in your eyes. She shrugs nonchalantly, âYou look cold. We can share while weâre stuck here.â
The days in prison drag by slowly. Itâs hard to know how much time passes in places like this where the sun does not rise or fall, but youâve been paying attention to the stoneâs temperature to figure it out. During the day, the walls and floor are still cold but generally dry. During the night, the bricks are bitterly icy and damp. Itâs the best you can do in your situation. Your best guess is that youâve been here nearly a week. Youâve been watching the guards, their routines, counting how many are on duty at once.
The prison corridors and halls are always well-lit by several wall torches placed at specific increments to leave no corner or cell door obscured by shadow. Sneaking out of this place is unlikely to be feasible. Magic is also out of the question, and thereâs no knowing how far the barrier extends. From what you can gather without looking too suspicious, there are always ten to fifteen guards on duty. Pairs of them walk in perfected circuits.
Youâve been taken from the cell a dozen times for interrogations that youâre not sure usually happen. The guards query you about attacking Mr. Blackwell and why you would do such a thing to such a nice man. Then, they move on to his son and ask you where Aldous is. When you donât answer the guardâs questions, they try to beat the answers out of you.
Youâre tired, battered and bruised from head to toe. The last time was particularly rough, and youâre sure that one or more of your ribs have been broken, as indicated by the large hematoma that now extends up your side and the need to take shallow breaths lest the pain make you nearly faint.
Despite the dire situation you find yourself in, youâve become increasingly close to the Tiefling, Hecat, coming to rely on her much more than you want to. The first night, you accidentally fell into your trance. The other prisoners thought that might be an excellent time to see if you had anything valuable to offer them. Hecat had stepped in and scared them off. She was a formidable Fighter that much is clear to you. Now, you take watch while she sleeps, and she watches when you trance. She also assists you with your wounds in any way she can, which is admittedly not much, but she tries. You continue to share the grimy coat, although she tends to let you have it more often.
If Astarion were here, he would say itâs because youâre âgrumpy when youâre cold.â You can practically hear his voice tutting you, and it makes you want to laugh and cry concurrently.
The other captives in your cell have started to dwindle, and the room isnât so crowded now. You and Hecat have taken a corner to yourself, far away from the dreaded lavatory corner.
âHow are those bones of yours today? Hecat asks when she sees you yawn upon waking, wince and strangle back a whine.
âNever better,â you smile, but your voice sounds breathy.
âWhen they come for you next time.â Hecat snarls with her fists balled at her sides, âIâm going to take them out.â
âDonât bother,â you sigh, shaking your head. They didnât seem to take any other prisoners, but you havenât yet figured out why. You assume Mr. Blackwell has paid them off, âI wouldnât doubt if they were being paid to torture me personally. Itâs fine.â
âYou must have pissed off someone with deep pockets.â
Neither of you speaks to the reason youâre in prison. For all you know, Hecat murdered her entire family, or perhaps even worse. But, right now, you need each other, and the alliance has turned out to be rather helpful.
âThe guards deviated from their routine last night,â Hecat whispers low, leaning in by your tapered ear. âThere was some commotion, but I couldnât make it out, and they all left their posts.â
This commotion she speaks of, you pray, is not Astarion. Hopefully, Gale has been able to talk some sense into that marvellously beautiful bastard. Youâre relieved he hasnât come in here, blade swinging. It would just cause a further scene that there is likely no coming back from. You believe, on some level, Astarion knows this. You can and will get yourself out of here. Itâs just going to take a little time.
But Good Gods, you miss him. His voice, his fragrance, the way he feels like home, safety and happiness. You miss his lips on yours, his hands on your body, and his cock stretching you.
Not the time for these thoughts. Hells, Kamena. Get a hold of yourself.
âWould it have given us a chance?â
âNo, I donât think so.â Hecat shakes her head, âThey were all summoned to the gate for something, and if what youâve said is correct, that gate is the only way in and out of this godsforsaken place.â
Truthfully, you donât know if thatâs even the way out. At most, you know itâs the way out of this wing or sector, but what lies beyond the door is a mystery.
âWe just have to bide our time.â You smile half-heartedly at the memory, âA smart friend once told me that âwith patience, anything can be done.â
âSounds like a smart friend indeed,â Hecat winks. There must have been a little too much fondness in your voice when you said that. Damn. âPatience has never been a virtue of mine.â
âNor mine,â you laugh, but itâs low and almost sullen. You want out of this place before you get taken for another talking to. âBut I donât think we have much choice in the matter right now.â
âWill this friend of yours be coming to perform a heroic rescue anytime soon?â The Tiefling teases with a toothy grin. Sheâs obviously caught on to the fact that this friend of yours is a little more than a friend. Youâre going to have to be more careful, âThrowing rocks is getting very boring.â
âI am hopeful heâs smarter than to come barging into a place he doesnât know, but thereâs still time for him to do something stupid, so whoâs to say?"
Hecat laughs, âSo, is this friend smart or stupid?â
âIâd wager a little bit of both,â you sigh. Missing Astarion hurts in a way thatâs hard to describe. Youâre undecided if talking about him is making it harder or easier, âHeâs the most cunning man I know, but he can be reckless and a little murder happy.â
âOh. Murder happy? I like him already,â Hecat says, and although itâs silly, your jealousy flares wildly. It takes considerable effort to remain poised, âWhat if those brutes come again and take you?"
Youâre not sure if her concern is really for your safety or because she thinks youâre the best chance she has of escaping this place.
I assume itâs the latter.
âDonât worry about it. Really.â You assure her, hiding your fear behind confidence. The beatings have only been progressively getting worse. Youâre not sure how much more your body can take.
You are, of course, a little worried that if you do take Hecat with you when you escape, youâre releasing a murderer back into the city, but youâre going to need her fighting skills to get through the guards. You suppose if she is some heinous criminal, you can deal with her after. Astarion would likely be happy to have someone to murder.
Hecat puts a hand on your shoulder to get your attention, âShould we go over the plan some more?â
âSure,â you nod and start reviewing all your possible escape routes and options.
Currently, you both think the best course of action is to rush the guards when they try to come and drag you away, but that will need to be done at night when fewer guards are on duty. Unfortunately, the guards do not appear for you at night often. Thereâs a concerning abundance of details that remain unknown. Like the prison layout, for example. Youâve only been in this corridor and one other where the small room of your torment exists. You donât remember much of what you saw on the way in. There were too many twists and turns, and they made you walk briskly so you couldnât get a good look at them. Hecat mentioned her arrival was much the same.
Youâve only seen the outside of this place once when you were being brought in. You remember very high stone walls, guard towers and gates. None of these would be any trouble if you had your magic, but you donât, and you canât imagine they would stop the anti-magic barrier until youâre at least outside of the complex, which means you will need to figure out how to get over the fucking walls or through the gates while being chased by guards.
No wonder Astarion always says that murder is efficient.
âNot exactly much of a plan,â Hecat snorts, but she already knew this.
âI never was much of a planner,â you shrug and comb your fingers through your increasingly filthy hair, trying to brush the knots and snag out, but to no avail. âChaos was always more my thing.â
âI like you,â Hecat laughs. âIâll take the first watch tonight. Get some rest.â
Your cottage amid a heavily forested area is hidden away on the outskirts of Rivington, close enough to the city to enjoy the comforts, shops and taverns and easy access to the forest so Astarion can hunt freely. Youâd offered to be his primary food source, and heâd giggled at your enthusiasm to be a vampireâs juice box.
The wildflowers grow in patches, filling the air with a honey-sweet aroma. The tall trees filter the dappled sunlight as they sway slightly in the afternoon breeze. You tap on the door before opening it a crack to warn Astarion to get away from it if he happens to be nearby upon your return home. You only open the door a crack, enough to fit your body through, close and lock it promptly.
âDarling,â Astarion chuckles as he strides toward you with a bemused grin. It doesnât matter how long you live with this man. Youâre always awe-struck by his beauty, especially when heâs smiling at you like he is now - broad, happy, and unashamed to show his fangs. âYou know you donât have to knock when you get home. How many times must I tell you? I can hear your trampling approach long before you arrive.â
âIâm aware. You keep chastising me,â you roll your eyes with a snort. âWhat if you were tranced or otherwise occupied? Maybe I am extra quiet one day, and you donât hear me? Itâs just safer this way. It hardly takes any effort to knock on the damn door.â
âYou, my sweet, fiery love, could never hope to be quiet enough to be successful in such an endeavour,â he taunts with a hand on his hip and boyishly handsome lop-sided grin. âYou do realize that even if the sun touches me, I will be fine. Itâs not an immediate death sentence. You have seen it for yourself.â
You cringe at the memory of the docks as it warps your heart, making your chest burn with a mixture of rage and despair. You still have nightmares of watching Astarionâs hopeful expression contort into one of mourning as his milk-white skin starts to smoke and turn matte grey. It was just not fucking fair, life rarely is, but this was an injustice that youâre having a hard time reconciling with. Astarion had accepted it with little fuss, but to you, it was unacceptable. You curse every single God in your head for their abandonment of the hero before you.
"I know,â you mutter. Your body suddenly feels heavy, laden under the weight of memories of watching the sunrise together, basking in the sun with him in meadows and fields, the way he was so captivated by colour, and you slam your palms onto the table to stabilize yourself. âI will find a way for you to walk in the sun again, Astarion.â
Astarionâs demeanour changes instantly. He knows this is a sore subject for you, even more so than himself.
âKamena.â The timbre of his voice lowers into an auditory caramel, soothing, buttery and rich, âIt doesnât bother me any longer. I missed it briefly, but the shadows are part of me. I am at home in them. You are all the light I need in my life. You are my sun, Solicallor.â
The guilt makes tears start to prick your eyes. Astarion should not have to be comforting you over this; you should be comforting him. Your stomach sinks nauseatingly like an anchor has been tied to it and cast into a bottomless ocean. The feeling is so physical that your head spins and throbs.
âI will find a way,â you say, quieter than a whisper through a clenched jaw, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself.
âSweetheart?â You totter on your feet, and Astarion wraps a solid arm around you. He places his hand, which feels colder than usual, against your forehead and cheeks, âYouâre hot.â
âWhy, thank you,â you try to giggle through this rather odd stupor you find yourself in and sag into him, allowing him to hold your body weight up.
âNot exactly what I meant.â His warm voice is steeped in cottony concern with a hint of alarm, âYouâre a vision, but I mean, your skin feels hot - too hot. I think you have a fever.â
âOh,â Astarion guides you to a chair to sit on, helping you into it. âI suppose that makes sense. Iâm not feeling great.â
âYouâre sick?â The tenor of his voice increases into a high treble, showcasing his worry.
âMaybe,â Astarionâs eyes are streaking around the room. No doubt, for some potion, scroll or other supplies that could help. He looks terrified, and you guide his eyes to you. âItâs okay, Astarion. Mortals get sick sometimes. It will pass. Itâs nothing to be troubled over.â
âBut Iââ he swallows thickly, making his Adamâs apple bob, âI do not know what to do. I havenât had to worry about being sick in two centuries, and I hardly have practice taking care of someone ill. Tell me what to do. Please. Tell me how I can help you.â
âYou donât have to take care of me.â You walk his bouncing eyes back to you. You would find this a little humorous if Astarion werenât so clearly distressed. He must understand that not every sickness is terminal, right? In another situation, you might taunt him playfully, but you decide reassurance is the best route. âEverything is okay, my love.â
Astarion places his hands on your forehead, which starts to sheen with sweat and then to your neck and chest. He looks utterly disorientated and afraid, believing a fever might kill you.
âIâll help you get undressed and into bed,â he finally instructs, but his voice shakes.
Astarionâs fingers have less finesse than usual as he undoes the claps and ties, keeping your robe on, and removes it. Scooping you into his arms, he takes you to the bedroom and gently places you on the bed. Astarion busies himself with removing your underclothes until your bare, even while you protest that youâre okay. He glowers at you, and youâre sure heâs going to call you an idiot, but he keeps his mouth closed, deciding he probably called you an idiot enough with his eyes.
He has.
He pulls his shirt over his head, folds it neatly just as he did for your clothing, and starts unlacing the ties of his breeches. Astarion catches you staring and winks with a roguishly handsome grin, and you think this, right here with him, is bliss. Fever be damned.
âWhat are you doing, Astarion?â You chuckle but watch in rapture, taking in how magnificent he is; all toned muscle, perfect skin, perfect hair you long to tangle your fingers into and those damn breathtaking red eyes, âI mean... I wouldnât say no.â
You would, in fact, scream a resounding âyes,â or probably several.
âBloody Hells. Get your head out of the gutter,â he teases, head falling back and laughing, deep and gravelly. âYou have a fever, and I am deathly cold. I donât know much about mortal sickness, but Iâm pretty sure we need to try to break your fever, yes? What better way than to curl up with your cold, vampiric lover.â
âI will take any chance I can get to cuddle naked with my vampiric lover,â you giggle, patting the bed with a theatrical pout, âWhat are you waiting for? Get in bed, AerasumĂŠ. Come cool me down. I am ever so warm.â
âAlways so eager.â Astarion chuckles, climbing into bed and pressing your back to his chest, making sure to get every contour of his body to align with yours. He places a gentle kiss on the back of your neck. âIf youâre not feeling better come nightfall, I will fetch Jaheira. Sheâs still in the city being an absolutely fantastic mother, I assume?â
âYes, sheâs still in the city. Sheâs helping with rebuilding efforts. I spoke to her the other day, but you donât need to trouble her.â You shiver against him, and he rubs your arm with his nose in your hair, gripping you tighter to him. âThis will pass.â
âI could steal some Potions of Healing or whatever else you need.â His words come a little too quickly, not in his usual balmy, drawling baritone. âTell me what you need, and I will get it, or I will be fetching the Druid come nightfall. I will drag that wizened elder here if I must.â
âI only need you.â You roll over to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your forehead on his. Astarion hugs you tight as if heâs afraid you might drift away. âTell me why youâre so scared, Astarion. Surely, youâve seen sick people before. Itâs normal.â
âOf course, I have seen the infirm before,â he says, hands roaming your body in gentle, soothing caresses. You know Astarion is trying to use himself as a vampiric thermometer, but his touch always feels good - so you wonât complain. âThe difference is I have never cared about anyone before. Whether they lived or died was of no consequence to me. You are the first person I truly care for. I love you. I canât lose you. I could not bear it.â
âI love you too. You will not lose me to a fever. Youâre stuck with me for hundreds of centuries yet.â He smiles widely at that and kisses you intimately, slow and savouring, with his fingers combed into your hair, massaging your scalp. You suppose one of the perks of having a vampire for a partner is you canât exactly get him ill.
âStuck with you for hundreds of centuries, am I?â He pulls you in so that your head is resting on his shoulder and his on yours, âI think I can live with that.â
âYou think?â You purse your lips, jutting out your chin in a way that mimics how he does it. It takes a monumental amount of effort to keep your giggling suppressed. âIâm offended.â
Astarion knows you too well and simply chuckles at your display, âYou know an eternity with you still wouldnât be enough, silly thing. Now. If youâre quite done being dramatic, what would you like to do with our day lazing around in the boudoir?â
âWill you read to me?â
âOf course, love,â Astarion points at a pile of books beside the bed. He chooses which book to read on any given day depending on his mood, so heâs always in the middle of several at once, "What would you like me to read today?â
âYou pick.â You giggle, making sure itâs the sweetest, chiming giggle heâs ever heard. âBut will you do the voices?â
âI donât know,â he glowers at you playfully while you wrap yourself around him, slinging a leg over him. Youâre sure heâs softer than any silk you could ever import, âItâs terribly unbecoming of a hero.â
âPlease, Astarion.â You pout, batt your lashes, and give him your best puppy-dog eyes. âI am sick.â
âUgh,â he rolls his eyes, trying to look irritated, but it fails as the corners of his perfect lips twitch up, âYouâre too fucking adorable. Itâs inconceivably irritating. Fine, but only because you are not feeling well! If you ever tell anyone about this, Iâll fucking kill you.â
âWhat fun!â you snicker.
âGet up, dragon girl!â Hecat is furiously shaking you from your trance.
It takes you a minute to become fully aware of the clash of steel swords vibrating like a swarm of angry bees bounding off the cold stone walls. Metal boots thud, sprinting down the corridors with the angry wails and roars of battle.
âWhat in the Hells is going on?â You ask, looking to Hecat for answers. Your heart is pounding in your chest, requesting more breath than you can give it without feeling the shooting agony of your fractured ribs.
âI donât know,â Hecat shrugs. âI tried to get a look, but the bloody cells are designed so you canât see much of anything going on beyond a couple of feet.â
Please. Please. Donât be Astarion.
Shoving and pushing the other prisoners away from the cell door, you try to get a good look, craning your neck to see if you can view anything over the stone lip, but as Hecat had said, visuals are limited. These cells are built depressed into a thick block arch to block prying eyes. You can see, at best, about halfway up the corridor, give or take a little. The melodies of battle are only increasing, but where there were bellowing battle cries and roars. Now, there are screams and pained yelps for help, but whether the screaming is from the attackers or the guards â you're unsure.
You and Hecat slink to the back of the cell together, giving yourself distance from the other prisoners so you can talk in private. Thankfully, everyone else is too focused on whatâs happening outside the cell to pay you any heed.
âThis wouldnât happen to be your daring friend trying to rescue you,â Hecat waggles her brows with a saucy grin. âWould it?â
You shake your head at her, âNo, I doubt it. My friend would not create this much havoc.â Something doesnât feel quite right, and itâs nagging at you. You rub your arms to try and dispel some of your rising anxiety, âNo. This wouldnât be a rescue for me. Something else is going on here.â
Hecat gives you a once over, âYouâre not wearing any shoes, and your ribs are still broken. Youâre in no shape to be running, even if we manage to get out of here. Much less battling with guards and who knows what.â
âYou let me worry about myself,â you scoff, crossing your arms with a scowl. Hecat has no idea who you are, and youâve kept it that way on purpose. Although, you are sure that you donât look very battle-proficient right now. âIf I fall behind, you can leave me and get yourself out. You donât owe me anything.â
âYou think I would leave you behind?â Now itâs Hecatâs turn to scoff and glower at you. You like her, but you only trust her as far as you can throw her, and that isnât far at all.
âLook,â you try to put your silver tongue to work. The last thing you need right now is to fight with the one person who has helped since you got here. âI didnât mean it like that. If I become a burden, you need to watch out for yourself. I might not seem like much, but I have been in countless battles. I can hold my own with or without shoes and intact ribs.â
Hopefully.
âCan you use a sword?â Hecatâs pacing, tapping her lips in the usual way she does when trying to think, âIf we could procure some from the guards, we might have a better chance.â
âNo,â you admit, almost sheepishly. âBut if we can get our hands on a dagger, I am slightly better with those. I am death incarnate when I have my magic, though. If we can get out from under the suppression, thatâs where I will really shine. Admittedly, I wonât be much help here.â
âThatâs okay,â Hecat smiles, patting your arm. âWe planned to run, and I think thatâs exactly what we should do as soon as we get the chance.â
âI agree. Running is our best bet. There are too many guards for only the two of us.â
Hecat nods and keeps talking strategies, but youâre drawn away from the conversation as you listen to the screaming getting quieter and the clash of blades reducing. Thereâs an odd aroma in the air. Youâve smelt it before, but itâs not quite strong enough to connect any specific memory to; it smells organic, earthy, wet, and cold. Whatever that smell is, even if your brain cannot comprehend it, it seems your body does. Youâre shaking, surging with adrenaline, but you cannot place the unease youâre feeling.
Thereâs commotion in the hallway by the cells near the front where you canât see. All the prisoners seem to gasp at once and start screaming, skittering and flailing. You can hear the sound of boots grating on the ground as they press themselves up against the walls of their cells. The high-pitched screeching of iron bars being wrenched on and doors being forced open increases the utter cacophony. People shout, but you cannot make the word out when itâs buried under so much noise.
You and Hecat push your way to the front of the horde, everyone trying to stick their heads through the bars so they can see whatâs going on. They step on your bare toes with boots, and elbows smash into your already smashed ribs, making you let out a whimpering breath.
Hecat is right. Youâre in no shape to fight or run.
Suddenly, it hits you like a gust of icy wind of a summerâs day, freezing you to your core and sending shivers down your spine. Your maltreatment wasnât done as some pointless abuse at the hands of petty guards - no. They werenât truly interrogating you for information or because they were paid to make your stay here extra special.
Someone wants you to be weakened, hurt, and your magic stripped away.
Someone needs you to be weak and helpless.
But that still begs the question - who and why?
You catch rapid glimpses of a pale arm here and an ashen leg there. They are sickly looking, slim and emaciated. Your heart palpates in your chest as you remember where you last smelled that raw organic scent.
The Szarr Palace.
You drift to the back of your cell, taking Hecat with you until your backs are pressed against the stone. Hecat quirks a brow at you, obviously confused with the dread youâre sure is framed in the features of your face. Sticking your hands behind your back, you hope she didnât notice them trembling.
You swallow and whisper, âHave you ever fought vampire spawn before?â
Questions march through your head like a restless army, but you try to focus on the most important ones. How many spawn will you need to outrun? You shudder at the thought. You know firsthand how quick vampire spawn are, and your fingers hover over your broken ribs.
Hecat gawks at you with brows raised so high they look like they might be trying to mount her scalp. âIâm sorry. What?â
âVampires,â you repeat hoarsely, obliviously trying to fight back tears. âHave you ever fought them before?â
You just got Astarion back, and now you might fucking die here in this prison after being arrested for a crime you didnât even commit. What kind of cruel joke is this? Why canât life give you a damn break? Why canât you have a happily ever after with the man you love?
Fear suddenly relents and bursts into anger, and you stoke those flames to kindle it because anger is far more productive than fear.
Hecat is looking at you with a slack jaw and round eyes, âHow do you know whatâs out there is vampire spawn?â
âI have had a lot of experience with vampires.â You try to keep your intonation as unwavering as possible. âYou donât have to take my word for it. You will see them soon enough.â
âYes,â Hecat confirms. Her forehead creases in worry, âI have some experience with them, but not much. I tend not to enter into battles Iâm not sure I can win.â
Smart woman. Maybe I need to take a page from her book.
âThe plan is still the same,â you instruct. âRun and only fight when you have to.â
âThey are fast!â Hecat is pacing now, hands in her hair. âThereâs no way we can outrun them, especially with you injured and magicless.â
âWith this much blood, they will be frenzied. Their bloodlust will make them distracted. It works in our favour.â
âAnd the others?â Hecat points to the horde of prisoners still trying to figure out whatâs happening, craning their necks at the gates.
In another life, you might have tried to save them, but youâve learned that not everyone can be saved.
âFodder.â
Hecat eyes widen at your detached answer, but she doesnât have time to argue with you as the first spawn start coming into view from your cell. Everyone jumps back from the bars as their bloodied fangs snap, claws clench, and they hiss like snakes. Their eyes bore into you, black and glowing crimson like Astarionâs siblings when they were under Cazadorâs compulsion.
âOh, fuck,â you hear Hecat stutter as several more come to stand before the cell.
âGet ready,â you slide your feet across the stone floor, curling your toes into it, testing your purchase.
The spawn lunge at the cell door. Their teeth snap around the iron bars with loud, metallic pinging. They wrap their hands around the bars and pull with ferocious growls. The metal whines under the force, the stone where the door is moored cracks and crumbles, and the door gives way.
The spawn flood the cell like an ashen wave, cresting with bared frothing fangs over a restless, screaming sea.
Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments :) Keep them coming (if you feel like it - of course đ
)
Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past
AO3: Crossposted
If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts
Small Notes:
Expect us to stay in Kamena's POV 75% of the time, but we will be returning to Astarion's eventually. I want Astarion's POV to remain interesting and special, so there will be less of it. We're still going to explore more of what he got up to when he left though.
Vampire attacking the prison? Why? Is it Mr. Blackwell's doing or something more sinister?
I just want to express that I hate, loathe, detest, Mr. Blackwell.
#astarion x you#astarion x tav#bg3 astarion#astarion#astarion x reader#astarion romance#astarion x mc#astarion ancunin#astarion smut#baldurs gate astarion#shadows of the past#astarion baldurs gate#astarion spawn#spawn astarion#astarion x oc
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Shadow and Veil-Chapter Seventeen
Summary: Eva Mooreâs life was a carefully constructed fiction.  Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his  best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty  well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run  her over. Now, sheâs faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life  from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings  for her husbandâs new business partner at bay.
A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed.  You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there  are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen  eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence,  and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O  dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should  not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to  other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr. Â
Word Count: ~4000
Start from the beginning   Previous Chapter  Next Chapter Â
Masterlist       Read on AO3
She waited the agreed upon few days before making a trip to the library. Holding her Intro to Spanish book against her chest, Eva strode inside. They hadnât discussed how the messages would be passed back and forth. No time to work out the details with the threat of being found out so close.
Turning down an aisle, Eva tried to put herself in Horacioâs mindset. It wasnât exactly easy. Other than the barest details of where he was from and what he was doing in her life, Eva didnât know that much about him.
She couldnât help but to have doubts about whether or not sheâd put her life into the hands of the right person. History had proven that she wasnât the best judge of character and the stakes were too high for her to make this kind of error. She kept coming back to the conversation Horacio didnât know she overheard, to the way he cut off any plan to use her as a tool for the investigation.
Horacio was a man on a mission, a man determined to close this case with an arrest and justice served. There was simply no other option, no other acceptable outcome. Eva was a key resource that heâd refused to tap in pursuit of his goal. He could have pushed her into testifying, threatened or bribed her to bend to his will.
But, he hadnât.
Horacio gave her all the control, let her decide the terms of their relationship. He negotiated her wildly oscillating emotions and, at the same time, stubbornly held the line  when it came to her safety. His dedication, in hindsight, was nothing less than baffling.
Eva didnât know what to do with that kind of confusion. She supposed she would do exactly what she was doing nowâlooking for a message in the non-fiction section. Another ten minutes or so passed like this, Eva meandering through the stacks aimlessly while she looked for clues. Eventually, she had to resign herself to the knowledge that she would need a little help.
Swinging around the corner, Eva headed for the circular desk in the center of the library. Behind it sat a middle aged woman who was carefully checking a stack of books back into the system before setting them on a rolling cart to be returned to their proper shelf. Â Eva didnât recognize her, but she looked friendly enough.
Eva approached with a smile and held up her book, âHi, Iâd like to check this out again.â
The librarian returned the smile, âOf course. Any others catch your fancy?â
âUm, no,â Eva replied, âBut, I thought maybe you might have something for me. My name is Eva Moore.â
It was a reach, a shot in the dark. But, Eva was more anxious about leaving Horacio waiting for her than she was about asking stupid questions in a nearly empty library.
Leaning forward, the librarian said, âIâm Margaret. Unfortunately, I donât know anything about having something for you.â
Evaâs heart dropped a little in disappointment. It looked like she was going to have to keep trying. Nevertheless, sheâd been there for half an hour at least already and she didnât have much more time between meetings. She would have to come back tomorrow and see if she could figure out where the message was hidden.
âDo you like music, dear?â
Thrown by the odd change in topic, Eva shrugged, âA little.â
Margaret reached over and picked up an eight by three card from a small stack on the desk, âThereâs this new group playing our charity event next week. Maybe youâve heard of them. Stag Nation?â
Brows lifting, Eva almost smiled, âYes, Iâve heard of them.â
âA bit too rock and roll for my taste, but their singer is just lovely.â She handed Eva the card, âYou should stop by, maybe make a donation.â
Eva nodded, âIâll do that, thank you.â
âWonderful,â Margaret chirped, âHereâs your book. Youâve got it for another two weeks.â
Thanking Margaret, Eva took the book and tucked it against her chest again. It wasnât until she got to the parking lot that she realized the card in her hand was probably how Horacio sent the message. Eagerly, she dropped into the seat of her car and read it over.
She read it over again.
If there was a coded message in it, Eva was hopeless as she tried to decipher it. Frustrated, she sighed and tossed the card into the passengerâs seat. She picked up the book in her lap and went to do the same with it, pausing when she caught the edge of a bookmark peeking out from the pages.
Opening the book to the marked page, Eva checked the little piece of cardstock for writing or anything unusual in the type. Nothing. Just a standard bookmark with the libraryâs information on it. She threw it atop the Stag Nation invite.
And thatâs when she noted the post it note. Yellow. Standard size. On it was writing that was neat and orderly. A date. A time. An address. Eva smiled as she read it over. Then, she closed the book and started the engine.
The rest of her meetings for the day were a blur of note taking and pretending that being asked to make coffee didnât make her want to toss a cup of it into their face. She wouldnât allow herself to think about the post it, wouldnât even touch the book again, until she pulled into the driveway of the house.
After throwing it into her purse, Eva slung the bag over her shoulder and walked inside. At the door, she listened for an indication that there was someone else in the house. Josh hadnât paid her any attention since the night of the party and Alexei seemed to have disappeared, as well.
She didnât know what was discussed in The Lounge that night, or why Josh felt the need to call an emergency meeting. There was nothing on the books that indicated any shift within the companyâno large sum of money transferring to one of the off shore accounts, no unusual expenses. There werenât even any complaints from one of their employees.
It had to be the new project Josh was working on. Eva cringed as she thought about it and what the consequences of a success would mean for others like her. If Horacio already delivered the product, Josh would be running tests on it. One or more of those tests would be given to omegas under the guise of a federally funded clinical trial.
The only silver lining about the whole thing was that it would take months for Josh to synthesize a viable product. Eva hoped that Horacio would have his investigation wrapped up by that time.
There were no sounds, no footsteps, no voices. The house felt empty. Eva released a soft breath and she pulled off her shoes. The ache in her feet eased as she ascended the staircase. Â It was echoed by the bruising that was still healing along her side. Every day it got better, but Eva still made herself look at it in the mirror so that she didnât forget why she was doing what she was doing.
As Eva cleared the landing she heard the drag of something heavy against carpet. She froze, listening intently. Another soft scrapeâit was coming from Joshâs office. From this angle, Eva couldnât see the if the door was open or closed.
Setting her purse and shoes aside, Eva tip toed along the well-mapped path towards Joshâs office. Each step was deliberate. Silent. She turned the corner into the upstairs hallways just in time to see the door open to Myraâs surprised face.
âEva,â she yelped, âI thought you were at work.â
âI was,â Eva replied, âMy last meeting ended early.â Then, âWhat are you doing in Joshâs office?â
She stumbled over her words before settling on, âI was looking for a print out of the raffle winners so that I could send them a thank you note.â
Eyes narrow, Eva felt her disbelief crawl over her expression, âPeggy has that information. You know that.â
âShe said she gave it to Josh.â
âWhy would she do that?â When Myra went to lie again, she cut her off, âWhy are you really here?â
Myraâs mouth pursed in frustration, âJosh has been keeping secrets. Some new initiative that he wonât talk about.â
Eva shook her head, âHeâs allowed to have his hobbies.â
âNot when it affects the company,â Myra bit out.
âHeâs the CEO.â
âIâm the chair of the Board.â
âI donât see how that matters.â
Myra huffed, âBecause we are at risk for an auditâIRS, OIG, the whole alphabet soup of governmental agencies. Theyâre weeks away from a documents request.â
Eva stared at her, trying to discern if she was aware of the other investigation, âHow do you know that?â
Tossing her head, Myra answered, âYou think Josh is the only one with friends in high places?â
Fair enough.
âThose friends,â Eva hedged, âdid they tell you why they were investigating?â
Myra crossed her arms and leaned against the door jamb, âEmbezzlement, mostly.â
âMostly?â
âAmong some other minor issues.â
Eva took a calming breath, âAnd, you were in his officeâŚ?â
âTo find your financial files.â
She didnât know if Myra would be able to decipher the books well enough to spot where Eva moved their money, or how she protected it from being discovered. The IRS and OIG would have a significantly higher chance of figuring it out.
âWhat were you going to with them?â
Myra shrugged.
A little voice in Evaâs head whispered angrily. Out loud, she said, âYou were going to destroy them.â
A shocked ânoâ shot out from Myraâs lips, âI was hoping to head off the investigation. Give them something to chew on to that their superiors would back off.â
Eva almost believed her. Almost. It wouldnât be the financial documents she filed every month that would tip off whichever agency took lead on the case. They were pristineâsheâd seen to that. Which left a suspicion that Eva was not prepared to voice, nor make accusations about.
She stepped to the side, âYou need to talk to Josh about this. Iâll give you a few days to sit down with him. After that, Iâll tell him, myself.â
âEva,â Myra pleaded, âthis is serious.â
âI know,â she replied easily, âThatâs why Josh needs to be pulled in. Heâll never forgive you if heâs blindsided by this.â
Visibly swallowing, Myra nodded, âWeâll go out to dinner this week. Iâll tell him.â
âGood.â
Saying nothing, Eva went and got her purse and shoes from where sheâd left them and trudged to her room. Only when she was safely behind the closed door did she let out a hiss of anger through her teeth. Throwing the bag on the bed and the shoes on the floor, Evaâs mind whirred with a thousand angry thoughts.
She stopped.
Standing in the middle of her room with her hands on her hips, Eva just...stopped. Whatever Myra might be planning was immaterial when it came to her plans. She had a goal to meet and had to keep her eyes on that goal until it was achieved. Myra was a distraction she didnât have time to look into.
Intro to Spanish peeked out at her from the depths of her purse. Eva eyed it as she thought about the other distraction in her life. Really, she shouldnât be entertaining Horacio, either. Meeting him was a massive risk that she shouldnât undertake.
Eva was still going to meet him.
She tipped her head back and sighed towards the ceiling. Eva was such an idiot, but she was going to meet him. Not because she wanted his help with getting her out of her marriageâwhich she did. That wasnât all of it.
Eva was going to meet him because of the way he looked at her. Her mind drifted back to his face cast in the glow of moonlight. Open and vulnerable, he lost all the sharp edges that kept others at bay. She recalled the reverence of his hands as he touched her side and the wide honesty in his eyes.
Horacio might be playing the part of Diego, but only when he had to. As soon as they were alone, the disguise fell away and Eva was left with a man who confounded everything she knew. An alpha who hadnât once tried to assert himself as such. A law enforcement officer who was willing to let Eva, a criminal, slip away while he sought out a larger target. A person who hadânot onceâharmed her, threatened her, talked down to her.
She was going to see him because she needed to know that such a person existed outside of her little bubble of a life. Eva, for the first time in so long, had hope. This small, but growing, hope was more dangerous to Eva than her husband, than even Alexei.
Eva didnât care.
She was going to meet him.
And, thatâs what she did. On the assigned date, at the assigned time, Eva pulled into the small parking lot of a nearby wilderness reserve. She got out of the car and locked it, scanning the area for Horacio.
It was a lovely day. Fall hadnât yet set in, but the heat of Summer was abating. A cool wind blew through trees whose leaves were just starting to turn. All around her, people were enjoying the weather. There were mothers playing with their children, dogs fetching toys from the grass. Eva smiled as she took it in.
Leaning against the side of her car, she crossed her arms and waited. Horacio would find her eventually. In the meantime, Eva could think about what she might tell him when he did.
Eva wasnât surprised by the fact that there were concurrent investigations in to Ardent. She was being smart about moving their money around, but Joshâs insistence on this new project of his had forced her to make moves with the accounts that would definitely be noticed. The fact that Myra hadnât yet told Josh made Eva think that the investigators were further along than Myra let on.
Despite the fact that Eva agreed not to make any moves without Horacio, she was already picking up the small caches of money stashed around the city. There were two or three left, one of which she would have to be extremely careful in retrieving. After that, she would get her passport from Joshâs safe and drive like hell to the airport. And thatâs where her plan got a little fuzzy.
She didnât know where she would go once she actually walked up to the desk to buy her ticket. Alexei had resources, would go just about anywhere to track someone down. Leaving the country wasnât going to be enough to deter him. And, even if she flew to the ends of the earth, Evaâs passport could be tracked.
Having the cash would help. The bills stacked neatly in the duffle with the dress still carrying Horacioâs scent would be all she had. After it was gone, Eva would have to figure out how to keep herself alive with the skills sheâd developed working for Josh.
It was doubtful that anyone would let her be an accountant, or work at the level she was accustomed. But, Eva would definitely excel at secretarial work. She could take the condescension of an incompetent boss if it meant she got to live with a small modicum of freedom.
Footsteps drew her attention. Horacio sauntered up with a fond smile, stopping just short of her. Eva dropped her arms and straightened as she looked him over. He was wearing a button up that was less Horacio and more Diego. The fabric shimmered lightly as it molded around his shoulders and chest. It was tucked into a pair of slacks that were tailored to his frame. The hem perfectly draped over a pair of blue leather shoes that had been on display at a high end department store a few weeks back.
âYouâre not dressed for a hike,â Eva said.
Without missing a beat, Horacio replied, âNeither are you.â
She looked down at the sundress she was wearing. Eva debated putting on a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt that morning, but something about the delicately embroidered flowers called to her. And, of course, she had to wear the espadrilles to match.
âYou have a point.â
Horacio held out his hand, âTake a walk with me.â
His palm was warm against hers. Eva followed behind him as he led her to a paved path into the trees. As she walked, his scent curled into her nose. Eva took deep breaths of it, enjoying the way her body responded.
The hair on her arms the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart palpitated in her chest, sending heated blood into every extremity. Instincts that Eva didnât even believe she had not too long ago rose up and demanded that she slow him down so that she could pull him into her bodyâa body that was reminding her that she hadnât been able to kiss him for almost a week.
Horacio slowed as they approached a bench and motioned for her to sit, âHow are you?â
Eva blinked away the fantasy of scraping her teeth over the nape of his neck, âIâm fine.â
Easing down onto the bench, he fixed her with a disbelieving look.
âThe injuries werenât serious,â Eva explained, âIâm all healed up.â
He sighed as he rested his arm across the back of the bench, âIâm not talking about the bruises, although I am glad theyâre healing.â
The way his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her back was distracting, âWhat are you talking about?â
âI asked you not to make any moves.â
âI havenât.â
âThat means you were supposed to act as normal.â
âI have.â
âYou havenât been shopping.â
âWhat does that mean?â
Horacio looked out towards the lake in front of them, âIt means that youâre deviating from your routine. You need to go pick up some expensive pair of shoes or purse, do what youâve done all along. Otherwise, your husband and his friends are going to get suspicious.â
Evaâs mouth curled as she bit back the venom that wanted to spill forth.
He glanced sideways at her, âSay it.â
âSay what?â
âThe inside thought youâre holding back. Say it.â
Passing her hand over her brow, Eva did as he asked, âIâm balancing a lot of obligations right nowâto my husband, to myself...to you. I am facing the possibility of jail, if Josh doesnât kill me first. Youâre going to have to forgive me if Iâm not in the mood to shop.â
Horacio smiled, âIts good to see that there is still some fight left in you.â
âFuck off,â she bit out.
He laughed and her stomach flipped in her belly. Eva was irritated with him, but the sound of his amusement went a long way to soothe that irritation. She fought to hold onto it and failed. And that made her irritated all over again.
âIâm doing the best I can.â
Horacio touched her shoulder, âI know.â Then, âHonestly, youâre handling this a lot better than I thought you would.â
âGee, what a compliment.â
His touch lingered, âIt was a compliment.â
Embarrassed by the sincerity in his eyes, Eva looked towards the lake. There were ducks swimming peacefully in a rowâbabies following their mother. A few fishermen were casting their lines on the opposite shore. People and animals, alike, unaware of the untenable situation she and Horacio were facing.
âAre you aware of the IRS and OIG investigations?â
He nodded.
âThen, you know theyâre getting ready for a document review. Documents that I prepared.â
Another nod.
âMyra knows. Sheâs going to tell Josh in a few days.â
Horacio rolled a shoulder, âHe wonât take that well.â
âNo, he wonât. I have no idea what he will do with that information.â
âI do,â he replied.
Eva looked at him, âWhat?â
Horacio licked his lips and his hand flattened against her shoulder blade, âHeâs going to try to pin it on you.â
Her mouth opened in shock. Eva had her suspicions, especially after talking to Myra, but to hear it said out loud set her back on her heels. Horacio hummed a soothing noise as his hand ran up her shoulder to the back of her neck where he squeezed gently. Eva leaned into the pressure as she accepted what he said as fact.
âSo, I am going to jail.â
âNo,â Horacio contradicted, âNot if I can help it.â
She rolled her eyes, âYou wonât get a choice. Not if heâs done the job right. I handled all the books, bribed government officials.â
âAnd your husband,â he added, âused that money to fund illegal drug trials and run an opiate ring that will soon expand into a second state.â
Eva shook her head, âWeâre both culpable.â
âNo,â he said again as he slid closer to her, âI saw him hurting you on several occasions. Iâm willing to testify that he used physical violence to coerce you.â
Her jaw set as she prepared to be fully honest with him, âThatâs not truth. Not really. Iâm good at it, Horacio. Very good. I liked the puzzle of moving the money, of hiding everything we were doing behind layers of protection and deals brokered behind closed doors. And, thatâs the truth.â She paused to take a breath, âIt was the thing that kept me going.â
Until I met you, she didnât say. That would be too honest.
Horacio gave a very small smile, âIâve learned a lot working with your people. Their policies and procedures. The way they think about criminals and the way they go about their business.â He leaned close, âI also learned that they donât care about the truth. They care about finding someone to blame.â
He wasnât wrong. But, there would be something he needed from her to make it happen.
âOnly if I testify, right?â
The resignation in his expression told her all the answers she needed to know. Eva blew out a breath and stood from the bench. They had nothing to talk about and she needed to be getting home.
Horacio followed her onto the path that led to the parking lot, âEva, wait.â
Over her shoulder, she said, âIâm not testifying.â
He caught up to her, stopped her with a hand on her elbow, âIâm not asking you to.â
Eva swung around to face him, âThen, what are you asking me to do?���
They stood there, heavy breaths between them. Impatient, Eva made a kind of âwell?â gesture with one hand. It was a dare for him to tell her the truth of what he wanted. To be as honest with her as she had been with him.
Horacio shifted on his feet, but said nothing.
Disappointed, Eva stepped away, âThatâs what I thought.â
Chest aching with rejection, Eva strode away. She got into her car and started the engine. After pulling out of the parking lot, Eva drove the whole way back to the house in silence. Then, she walked inside and headed straight for her room.
In her closet, Eva reached to the very back and opened the duffle. Beneath the piles of money, she found her dress. Refusing to bring the fabric to her nose, Eva took it straight to the washing machine and threw it in. She added more soap than was strictly necessary and then shut the lid firmly.
Standing against the wall of the laundry room, Eva watched the machine move through its cycle. It was wrong to put so much hope into Horacio and it was wrong to expect him to bend to her will. He had rules to follow, laws that kept him walking the line. Laws that Eva had broken time and again.
If she was going to get out of this house, out of her marriage, Eva was going to have to rely on herself. That was all there was to it.
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While this is still sort of all over the place, a few people have requested I post the Official JuJo Timeline⢠so here it is (´・⢠⥠â˘ď˝Ą`) ⥠[Warning: Some canon spoilers mentioned ahead!]
For convenience, I will be separating the timeline into the general year events take place and which part they would most closely correspond with.
1999
⥠Jupiter travels to Morioh from the US to investigate possible alien life ⥠They meet Jotaro while interviewing locals ⥠Jotaro remains skeptical of their "investigations" despite his own status as a stand user ⥠As time progresses, Jupiter is somehow looped into assisting the Duwang Gang in the hunt for Kira, throughout which they work closely with Jotaro and slowly develop feelings for him ⥠Celebrating the defeat of Kira, over many drinks, bits of Jotaro's family life are brought to light; he confirms that he is recently divorced and has partial custody his 7 y/o daughter back in the states ⥠Jotaro tells Jupiter that he's due to head back to Florida by the end of the summer, however he intends to return to Morioh in a year's time to "check up on Josuke" definitely not for Jupiter, which further convinces Jupiter to take up residence in Morioh
2000
⥠Jotaro is caught up with his work as a marine biologist but continues to write Jupiter and keep in touch via email
2001
⥠Jotaro finally returns to Morioh with plans to send Koichi to Italy ⥠When the two finally reunite, Jupiter keeps Jotaro up to date on their life in Morioh, mentioning that they're on good terms with Mikitaka as they continue to learn about alien lifeforms ⥠Eventually, Jupiter finally confesses their feelings for Jotaro ⥠To Jupiter's surprise, Jotaro reciprocates said feelings, stating that he'd been hesitant to return to Morioh in the event that Jupiter had settled down with someone else ⥠The two officially agree to start dating
2004
⥠Jotaro refers Jupiter to secure a position with the Speedwagon Foundation, allowing them easier access to keep in touch as he continues to travel for work
2006
⥠Jotaro proposes to Jupiter with plans to marry shortly after Jolyne finishes out the school year
2007
⥠JuJo wedding wooooo!!! âĄâ¸(ËśË áľ ËËś)â¸âĄ
2008
⥠Jupiter and Jotaro decide to relocate to Florida full time ⥠Jotaro struggles to mend his relationship with Jolyne
2011
⥠Jolyne is imprisoned, Jotaro is on a mission to help her escape ⥠After Jotaro's discs are taken, Jupiter works around the clock with the Speedwagon Foundation to keep him stable ⥠Jupiter is then removed from the case, as other members of the foundation are concerned that the situation may be too personal for them to keep a level head ⥠During Jupiter's forced leave of absence, they reach out to the Duwang Gang, as well as other connections they've made around the world in efforts to organize a backup plan to save Jolyne ⥠Eventually, they land on Rohan, only managing to convince him to help if only to save Pink Dark Boy - stating if Pucci manages to succeed, there would likely be no audience to read his work ⥠Jupiter and Rohan join Jotaro and the others at the Kennedy Space Center ⥠In the final moments, the group utilizes Star Platinum, LBDT, and Heaven's Door to defeat Pucci (Happy Ending)
2012
⥠Jupiter and Jotaro officially adopt Emporio and enroll him in a private school for gifted youth
So there it is, the JuJo timeline in all its glory ( ËÍ áľ ËÍ âĄ) I may change bits of it later, but as of right now I'm happy with how it's turned out! Thanks for reading~
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toffee ramble, sorry
The whole Toffee thing in the show confuses me... because of the narrative and plot and the ending. I'm not against him being a villain who wasn't redeemed, but his role in the show feels like he was a very long-term plot device.
Just hear me out. The Magic High Commission turned out to be "bad" people who have lied and concealed truth to save themselves, causing many lives to be destroyed Because of their actions. I heard that some of them were even partially resposible for the tensions and war between Butterfly Queens and monsters. They basicallly commited big crimes against people, but their actions were addressed in the show and sort of talked about. And they still contributed to plans of the main characters despite everything they'd done.
The key if not Core part of the show is uh... monsters vs Butterfly Queendom, where monsters are the ones who deserve to get what was taken from them, that monsters arent evil, etc. And Toffee is A Monster. The show treating him like a hindrance that needed to be killed, felt off, Even if we take into account that Toffee is a cold murderer who takes his ideas too far. Even if Toffee was this way, he still needed some other treatment in the show, Beause of the Plot of the show (mewmans vs monsters thing) . Maybe Toffee could have worked as a foil or "reverse image" of Globgor, aka a monster who is also oppressed but who makes wrong decisions and turns to a dark path so he must be stopped. But the show didnt treat Toffee that way either: essentially what he was , was just "a random villain who did bad stuff and therefore our princess must kill him".
If the show had made Toffee not a monster but someone else it probably would have been better. But making him a monster and giving him the role of a hindrance or "a character who moves plot forward" feels v out of place.
The show making Toffee a mysterious smart monster who appears in the 1st season, it feels like the creators only intended for him to lure the audience and to keep them hooked for the Other characters to show up. It was as one of the crew members said "Toffee was just a pawn in Eclipsa's plan". Toffee feels like a very long introduction to Eclipsa and not like his own character, judging from the show's perspective. Me thinking about how he was not intended to have deeper character and how he was planned by the creator herself as "a pure evil", led to me thinking that the crew only intended for Toffee to be a plot device for the show's future seasons. I mean...If (hypothetically) I thought my character was just evil, and I had other characters who had a lot more to them, I'd use said evil character as a device for my other characters to proceed further in the story.
(explanation: I DOnt think Toffee is an empty character, I Dont think he is just a device, what i was saying is that he was Intended By The Crew to be one. Im trying to say that I feel kind of sad about that decision).
And I feel like, the problem with Toffee as a Svtfoe show character was probably that he was a Monster. If he was something else. and not a monster, his death would not have caused as much upsetness in fandom as it had. Toffee being a plot device villain while being a monster really undermined the message the show tried to convey.
Or, maybe Tofffe should have been introduced in later seasons. not in the first season. I feel like, had he been introduced in later seasons, he wouldnt have been given role of a plot device, bc there would not be much insentive for the team to do that to him (the plot reached its peak, must work on this character's flaws and motives and write dialogue between him and others, - is what i imagine they'd plan for him)
Also after watching reviews on High Commission I realized something..... characters being stubborn and not wanting to change their views, seemed to be a common trait for many characters in the show. People see Toffee as the type to never change his views and to never change as a person (or monster), but..isnt almost every character in svtfoe that way..? I mean, MHC hasnt changed their views and stayed biased against eclipsa and monsters until the end, even though they are supposedly the good guys. Moon hasnt changed either. Star hasnt changed either but she was never that much biased against monsters in the first place (she did beat them up but she always saw them as "fun rivals" and not as "evil evil must eradicate").
Toffee not getting redemption seems not like a culmination of what he is and what he's done, but more like the show's narrative trait. Because in the show many characters refuse to change their views , why would Toffee be developed as an exception to that rule.
I used to be one of those who didnt want him to get redemption but now that i think about it.. wouldnt it be more fun if many characters in the show changed? And including him too. Yes I know it would be soapy, yes I know it would be sappy, I know it would be annoying. But it would be fun to see how the crew would play around with their feelings and journey toward character development.
#toffee#I am sorry for my english. If turns out i worded myself incorrectly again ill implode#ramble#toffee of septarsis
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a collection of some thoughts and anxieties around creating witcher books content in the same space of the games and netflix adaptations đ¤
its difficult to be a fan of the witcher books that deliberately creates and share books-only content (meaning content thatâs not interexchangable with or cannot be mistaken for games and netflix content, or content that cannot be understood by with games-only and netflix-only fans) because the books fandom is much smaller, and for that reason it feels like youâre doing something âwrongâ if you make books-only content, because the amount of interaction will also be much smaller than if you created or shared games and netflix content.
itâs difficult to see the amount of interaction youâre receiving in a proportional manner, since the term âwitcherâ is now applied to many different mediums with fanbases that widely vary in size. netflix-witcher or game-witcher posts can reach over 100,000 or 10,000 notes, and books-witcher posts just do not have that kind of audience â if you reach 1,000 on a books-witcher post, thatâs an amazing, âviralâ amount, and 100 is already an âiâd like to thank the academyâ type of honor. but if you go from making games content to books content and the number of people interacting with your post drops, itâs not due to the quality of your work degrading â itâs due to the number of âpeople who are familiar with what your work is aboutâ dropping.
another difficult part is that creating content about the books is that it almost has a different timespan to it, on both sides, first of the fan creating the content â the âbiggerâ projects at least â requires careful thought, planning, mulling over, fact-checking, detail-checking⌠even the smallest doodles can get really deep into the canon content, and book fans tend to enjoy that.
this is of course not always the case, as we have memes, funny textposts, and fun little 5-minute âi was bored at workâ type doodles which get passed around. but the books have a lot of material to check with, and for fans working on something âbigger,â this takes more time â for instance, there are no canonical visual designs generated for the characters and settings of the books, so a books-only fan who is interested in drawing characters in a scene from the books cannot reference a visual to create their designs (unless taking from official art or other fansâ designs). they will instead typically (hopefully?) reread the passages in which these characters and settings are described. same goes for fanfictions, doubly so if you value being canon-compliant, in-character, and using canonical places, descriptions, and names. and also for âmetaâ type posts or analysis.
and this is really because a lot of the fans of the books do care about canon, want to dive into and deconstruct and discuss what is canon, the parts of the books we love. a majority of fans of the books are likely not willing to fudge the details and make it all up, they want to do something by the books that they love. thatâs why weâre here in the first place.
due to the long time it tends to take to create a books fanwork, that also leads to another anxiety about not producing enough fancontent for the books, when really the work you put in is just leading up to a âbiggerâ project, so itâs unfeasible to post a completed work every day. (iâm not saying this is the problem of only fans of the witcher books, iâm aware of the hellish way in which the internet treats creators and artists, but for me personally, i feel like this anxiety is tied to being a fan of the books as opposed to being a fan of the games or netflix).
and on the other side of things, of the fans appreciating the fanmade content. a majority of books-witcher fancontent lives for years in fans of the books minds, since there is not this constant churning of new content. my visual memory remembers artwork from five+ years ago because it means so much to me. these works are NOT intended to disappear forever once you post them. moreso, they become part of an archive of fanworks (indeed, scattered across various websites, butâŚ)
this all, of course, varies widely by personal inclinations and the internet sites you tend to engage with the fandom on, but the major trend which i have seen is that the fans of the books experience time in the fandom in longer spans â in âfan lifespansâ: how long youâre engaged with (or obsessed with) the media at hand, in âcontent lifespansâ: how long content is valued, remembered, shared, in âcontent timeâ: how long content runs for (relevant to time-based mediums like, a tiktok vs a long video essay), and moreâŚ
and because of all of the above, perhaps the most difficult thing to see is that sincere joy and passion of the fans of the books who are just so obsessed with whatever youâve just created or shared.
with all of this being said, i think we have to stop comparing ourselves to the games-witcher fandom and the netflix-witcher fandom. the books are not the same thing and the fans do not have the same fanculture.
so to all fans of the witcher books who create books-only content:
youâre doing just fine.
know that the other fans have your back and understand the âresearch,â âbig project,â âlong-formâ method of creating fanwork. novigrad wasnât built in a day, and good things take time.
the work that goes âunseenâ is part of your own personal journey as a fan and can be a really valuable experience of getting closer to the books, so donât feel the need to rush it for the sake of getting new things to the other fans. just have fun and enjoy taking your time :)
#posts written standing in the frame my bedroom doorway just in the spur of the moment#txt#the witcher books
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Memoria, sketch pages 81-96
(Radiant Arc 10, 3.35)
(Page 85 has a unique page format with two dialogues. For clarity of reading each separate dialogue will be done in turns and labelled as such)
Page 81
Honey- ???
Comban- Hi there! Itâs nice to meet you!
Honey- !
Vespa- Vessel, the Beespeak charm now in your possession allows you to understand us of Hive Blood. It suits you well, no?
Fear not. I know well the limitations of your emptiness. Although from what Iâve seen so far, perhaps you are not as âhollowâ as old Wyrm intended. Nevertheless, Vessel, I do not know why you are here. Comban trusts you, it seems. Enough so to request an audience with me on your behalf.
-
Page 82
Vespa- He wants you safe. If you had entered my kingdom under any other terms, if you were any other Vessel⌠I would have you killed.
Vessel, I have a proposition. Join us. Become a part of my Hive. Defend us at any cost, against any threat. I know what I ask of you is difficult, Vessel. It may cost you your life, ask you to betray your kin, or abandon your purpose. But I feel this opportunity may benefit us all. Our situation is worsening. The plague. Itâs spreading.
We declined the Pale Oneâs offer to aid in Hallownestâs perpetuation. It is wrong to go against nature itself. But I have since come to realise the Infection is not an act of nature. It is an act of revenge.
And whilst her intentions are⌠understandable⌠I cannot let it continue here. Vessels have hurt us in the past but in times like these we need to move forwards from our histories. If Comban here has learned to trust you then I am willing to give you, Vessel, a chance.
-
Page 83
Vespa- Bridge the gap between honey and void. Become Bee Vessel. Become The Honey Knight.
As Queen Vespa I officially grant you the title, Bee Vessel.
((Ch1.3))
((Ch1.4))
((Ch1.5))
Comban- Honey Knight⌠Hey,
-
Page 84
Comban- Can I just call you Honey?
--But besides that. If youâd let me⌠Iâd like to be your friend. Friend.
Argent- Friend!
Radiance- Friend.
((Ch1.6))
Radiance- You cling to false emptiness, Vessel. Light will always overcome the Void. It is the way of our history.
-
Page 85 (Comban/Mato)
Comban- Honey? Youâre⌠Stop this! Please?
Mato- Iâm here! (!) Little oneâŚ?
-
Page 85 (Honey/Radiance)
Radiance- The seals of Dream and Wyrm may not be broken but I may still reach those who harbour thought and mind.
Your mind is thinking. Your will is breaking. You have no voice yet you cry out in suffering. Vessel, I have you. Now Dream. No.
As much as I would love to annihilate each pawn of Wyrm placed before me, neither of us have such powers to strike physically. Of now I can only make you a pawn of my own. The limitations of our time together are drawing to a close. Just like you, the one holding me prisoner is failing and soon I will be free.
I will be remembered.
-
Page 86
Radiance- I grow tired of our talk. As I return your mind to body see how grandly I have taken advantage of the abilities you have acquired under my control. Wait⌠What is this? Vespa? NO.
Comban- Honey!
Radiance- Vessel. (Destroy Hive Knight)
Comban- Honey?
Radiance- Vessel, (Attack)(Kill The Nailmaster)
Comban- Honey! Honey! Honey! Youâre okay!
-
Page 87
Comban- Honey, this is Nailmaster Mato. Without his help Iâm not sure what wouldâve happened.
Honey- !
Mato- Do you remember me, little one?
Honey- ?
Mato- Comban, be sure to tell Honey Knight what happened. They deserve to know the truth, no matter how harsh.
Comban- You, uh, werenât you. If Mato hadnât thought of the honey, I donât know⌠I just donât know.
Honey- (???)(Tap Tap)
Comban- The honey? Oh, why it drove out the Infection? Thatâs Vespaâs Blessing!
((Ch1.7))
-
Page 88
((Ch1.8))
(Argent- This is as far as I go, my friend.)
Honey- (!) (A familiar faceâŚ)
Tembur- Secret agent-
((Ch1.10))
Vespa- Bee Vessel, I do not underestimate you. I see the fearsome strength you have the potential to attain. However, that's the very reason I need to be wary of these events. A Vessel turned against the Hove could mean the end of us- the Hive and those it serves.
I have a charm- Hiveblood by name- which effectively nullifies the draw of the Infection when equipped. Your shell will coat itself in a thin, healing layer of honey, giving you access to the Blessing at all times. For as long as I live, you are immune.
But. Say I give you this charm and you turn traitor. Say you selfishly desire power higher than Vespaâs Blessing can ward. Say you invite the Infection in⌠Hiveblood is a trust you must gain.
-
Page 89
Vespa- Bee Vessel. I need you to prove to me that I can trust in your protection- that you will defend us / at any cost.
((Ch1.13))
Hornet- Come no closer. Yours is a motive I cannot trust. Why are you here, Vessel?
I can tell youâve been beyond this kingdom⌠and I know what brought you back. What remains of those memories? Does one like you remember your cursed purpose? And what of that? If you came back to fulfil such a role⌠then why are you still here in the Hive? Whatâs keeping you here?
Thereâs more to you than I realised, Bee Vessel. I noted that little ghost as unusual⌠but then thereâs youâŚ
-
Page 90
Hornet- I have finished my preparations, Vessel. I present two options for you.
You can run back to Vespa, keep things as they are and remain her Honey Knight. Or. Or you can leave and do something greater for this kingdom with the void in your bearing.
You may not be the one to face the plague of this kingdom but I see the potential you have to project what remains. But know this. No matter which path you choose, if your shields block the way of Hallownestâs recovery I will not hold back. Choose with your life.
((Ch1.14))
-
Page 91
Comban- Bzzzzz⌠BzzzzzâŚ
((Ch2.1))
Comban- Actually, this reminds me of something⌠Paladin is the one and only bee that can tap into their soul for power. Queen Vespa taught them personally, I think. The hive has seen a few Vessels⌠pass through⌠in itâs fine.
-
Page 92
Comban- All of them had this ability.. The focus to wield the power of a soul. Are you able to use soul too?
((Ch2.2))
(Argent- Focus)
Honey- !
((Ch2.3))
Ophilia- âŚ
((Ch2.4))
Ophilia- !
((Ch2.5))
Comban- Have⌠you met them before? Before the Hive?
Mato- âŚ
Honey- !
Mato- Yes yes. Honey and another Vessel. The second was a strange one- an oddity to which I cannot place. I had not expected to see either of them again. The Wastelands are a journey Iâd expect to only be taken once.
-
Page 93
Mato- As things are, itâs unlikely we will ever know Honey to a full extent. That doesnât deter from trying, and please do, but it is likely you will find out about Honey things you will not like or expect. Honey is a bug unlike the norm. Be wary of them like everyone else.
However, I think all Honey needs now / is a friend.
((Ch2.9))
Vespa- Bee Vessel, when I was younger I wished to become a chronicler. To record history, to recite what happened so that others may learn from it, to keep an order of the past. To such purposes it was important to me. When this is all over and a new Hive Queen has taken my place I would like to pursue this aspiration.
Do you have any dreams, Bee Vessel? I wish that when this is all over you can go beyond the intent of your creation-
-
Page 94
((Ch2.10))
((Ch2.16))
Dailon- !
((Ch2.17))
Mato- I can tell you are powerful, little one, but also that you have strength in your kindness. My old master said the same of myself too. I felt empowered by that⌠I still do. Little one, if I were to teach you one thing as Nailmaster it would be to never leave behind the love inside you.
((Ch2.20))
Paladin- This Vessel is more dangerous than those Iâve faced before. More soul? More⌠void? Their siblings all fell by my determination to protect the Hive. I will make sure this Vessel shares their fate.
-
Page 95
Hornet- Cease this.
((Ch2.22))
Hornet- You need a plan. One of your own. Your Shade is peculiar, Vessel. It doesnât match your shell. I have not seen that beforeâŚ
((Ch2.23))
Honey- (Tip Tap)
((Ch2.25))
Honey- (-I donât recognise)
((Ch2.26))
Argent- You are you? This is wrong!
-
Page 96
Argent- These are your memories. The past. In honey you dream forgotten memories. But this isnât a memory. You look like the Luma⌠out there⌠in the present. Are you evenâŚ? Who are you?
And if this isnât a memory⌠why am I here? I belong in your memories, but where is this? Iâm alive⌠arenât I? I shouldnâ beâŚ
What happened to me, Honey? Luma? Where am I? No⌠I remember now⌠Itâs⌠IâmâŚ
Listen, Honey. Thereâs no time. This connection- this dream- itâs because of her. I wonât get a second chance. You will. Sheâs breaking through to us. Honey, you have to remember. You have to remember what happened between us at Hallownestâs Crown.
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