#of me either killing all the goblins or none at all

[masatos-wig]

at a family gathering rn but all im thinkin abt it is how much i wanna just be home and spam bg3 for another 16hrs o(-(

[sebastianswallows]

Beautiful memories — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, just a lot of angst (eventually there will be fluff and smut, but in later chapters)

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— A/N: This fic is for a prompt by @pugsnotdrugs92, and I was also asked to write a similar fic by at least one anon.

Sadly, since she gave me that prompt, Pugs has deleted her blog. I have just learned this tonight and I am... pretty damn upset, I'll say that (not at her of course 💗, but at what caused it).

I will just say that if you get hate from anyone, block them, block indiscriminately until you have peace. I hope that Pugs (and anyone who deleted their blog as part of this mess) will make an account on this hellsite again one day <3

Anyway! On with the fic. Hope you enjoy it, my dears 🌺

Nobody had any idea who turned Sebastian in. It came so unexpectedly that they almost didn’t believe it when he happened. After all, it had been two years since Solomon’s death, and everyone in Feldcroft believed he died in his sleep.

“I know it isn’t me,” she said tearfully to Ominis one day, “and I know it isn’t you.”

“And it wasn’t Anne either,” said Ominis with a shake of his head.

“Are you sure? She still isn’t speaking to Sebastian.”

“She protected him this whole time, why would she report him to the ministry now? She might not forgive Sebastian, but she wouldn’t do this to him…”

Their suspicions fell on Leander, or the goblins, or any number of rivals Sebastian had made, but none of their suspects were likely to even know the truth about what happened that day in the catacomb. It therefore stood to reason that someone had overheard them speaking about it at some point, but that did little to narrow it down — for all they knew, one of the portraits had heard them and reported it to the Headmaster.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who told the Aurors about it. The trio rushed through their N.E.W.T.S. half-heartedly, with Sebastian unsurprisingly scoring lower than he ever had, and in their spare time they spoke of nothing but the upcoming trial.

They’d even arranged for a solicitor for Sebastian, and visited him via floo in London, but he only spoke to his client in private. And every time Sebastian walked out of the wizard’s office, he looked more discouraged than the last.

The trial took place during summer, right after their 7th year ended. Both she and Ominis attended it every day. Imelda came sometimes as well, and Poppy, and Lucan — even Garreth attended on two occasions. He’d never liked Sebastian much, but he seemed to put aside his feelings throughout all of this.

“They don’t mean to send him there, do they?” he whispered as they sat outside the courtroom one sweltering afternoon.

“Where else?” said Imelda. “They closed all the other wizarding prisons centuries ago.”

“But he’s supposed to have done it while he was still a student…”

“What d’you expect? That they’ll give him detention for murder?”

“No, but…”

“You don’t think he really did it, do you, Imelda?” asked Poppy, leaning over Garreth.

“He didn’t,” said Ominis without even glancing their way.

“That’s right,” she said from beside Ominis. “Sebastian’s done nothing wrong.”

The trial went badly almost from the start. The judge was a grey old wizard in a funny wig, and there was no jury to speak of. He seemed to treat the death of a former Auror, even one of such ill repute as Solomon, quite seriously. The Prosecution leaned into that every chance they got.

Anne was called to give testimony in the first week, and she confessed under oath what she had found when she reached the catacombs, which was enough to shock the court. Sebastian’s friends took courage from the fact that she had not actually seen what killed Solomon, but it was only a matter of the judge drawing a line between a quick succession of events.

Ominis was called to the stand as well, but lied shamelessly. Even the threat of Veritaserum from the Prosecution didn’t sway him. He knew none of them would dare submit a Gaunt to that — a rare occasion of his family name amounting to something. However, him being Sebastian’s oldest friend cast doubt upon his entire deposition…

And then, she was called to give testimony as well. Unlike Ominis, she was not sure she could afford to lie, but nothing could get her to betray Sebastian.

All that she could remember was that Solomon attacked the both of them, and both she and Sebastian felt quite threatened by him, and then somehow, between the flying curses and roving Inferi, Uncle Solomon fell dead. But that happened, after all, more than two years ago, Your Honour, and it was in a dark and gloomy cave — and oh, what were they doing there? Objection. Relevance?

Ominis and the others congratulated her on well she held her own, but deep down, she felt like she had let her best friend down — her statement didn’t put the blame on Sebastian, but neither did it exonerate him.

By the time the trial was approaching the end, their former classmates had stopped coming, and only she and Ominis were left.

“He looks so —”

“I know,” said Ominis, not wanting to hear her describe him. This was on the last day, and the judge would give the verdict.

Guilty. Six months in Azkaban.

The courtroom reverberated with murmurs from the crowd — some in approval, others in outrage.

It was a horrible sentence to hear, but it was not as bad as their worst fears — people were often given life imprisonment for the Unforgivables. Fortunately, in Sebastian’s case, there was not enough conclusive evidence either way. Still, if they were to appeal, it would take longer than six months to even have a new judge assigned to the case, so they were left with no choice but to accept it.

As the Aurors led Sebastian away, she and Ominis stood together and called out useless encouragements to their friend, telling him to have courage, to be strong, have faith that he would soon be free, but he went with the guards without looking back at them…

Most of their former classmates were shocked but seemed to think the six-month sentence would pass quickly. They knew Azkaban was pretty horrible and could remember a few things from their DADA class, but none of them was truly educated on the nature of Dementors. Ominis was. He’d been in their presence when he and his father went to visit an uncle of his who’d been sentenced for murdering a muggle. He claimed it was the worst experience he’d ever had in his life — worse than Crucio, in its own way. He still remembered how the despair lingered inside him for days.

And as time passed, she became aware of something lingering within herself as well…

By the fourth month, she had to use concealment charms around her waist when she went out in public. Ominis figured it out on his own — it was probably that echolocation spell he used to get around. He’d merely been suspicious at first, but by the fifth month…

“Can anyone else see?!”

“No, and they won’t if you just stop —”

“But this could ruin your reputation!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

“I can’t believe you! How c—”

“Ominis, shut up,” she hissed.

“But you —”

“It’s Sebastian’s!”

“… Oh. I suppose that makes it better, then.”

From then on, Ominis supported her and helped her in any way he could — which admittedly wasn’t much, as he was still getting used to living on his own after being freed from his family’s clutches. And either way, the first few months were gentle enough on her that she could cope well enough on her own. The only help she needed was preparing her small flat to host two people — and eventually three — which meant some creative furniture transfiguration to fit everything in too small a space.

Christmas arrived in the meanwhile, then the New Year. They had tried writing to him every month by then, but the authorities kept sending their letters back — none were allowed for fear of concealed enchantments, they said, and no visitations were allowed either for lower-class prisoners. It broke her heart to know him all alone throughout those rotten months and all through the holidays. Neither she nor Ominis found it in them to celebrate anything that year…

Sebastian was released in February. They wouldn’t be allowed on the island of Azkaban, but they could see him at the Ministry, where he would be transported before he was officially freed.

She and Ominis got there at sunrise, and waited for hours.

Sebastian’s assigned solicitor couldn’t be there, as he had another case, but he sent a house elf to sign the release form in his name. Anne hadn’t come either, but that was hardly a surprise…

The two of them sat alone in a busy hallway, watching witches and wizards pass through — some going in, some going out — until finally, late in the afternoon, the Auror at the front desk told them that inmate Sallow would be arriving within minutes.

“Here, here, they said this will be the exit,” she said, pulling on Ominis’ sleeve.

Two large wooden doors lay open out of which a long dark hallway extended like a neck, and on either side were doors being shut and open of ministry workers travelling through. There was constantly a small crowd of people darkening that space even further.

“I think that’s him,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes when she spotted a dark ruffled head of hair.

“Alright, stay calm,” said Ominis, taking her hand to settle her. Since he’d realised that she was pregnant, he was instinctively more protective.

“Oh, it is! It is him!” she said with tears in her happy voice.

Sebastian was led out of one of those side doors — dressed in a grey and black prisoner’s uniform, his hands and feet chained, terribly thin and tired and bent at the back, and looking as if he hadn’t slept for days…

“Sebastian!” she called out, waving to him with the hand that wasn’t in Ominis’ grasp. “Over here!”

He looked up slowly, as if doubting that he’d heard his name called. His eyes searched blearily through the crowd ahead, not really focusing anywhere, but then they fell on her. She grinned brightly when she caught his gaze.

“Y-you came?” he said, looking at the two of them like they were a dream come true.

“Of course,” she said.

“Surely you didn’t expect anything else,” grinned Ominis.

“I… I need to go somewhere, they’re taking me to… to…” He didn’t have time to explain before Aurors led him around the corner and to another room, for processing.

“We’ll be here,” she called out after him, “we’ll wait for you!”

“How does he look?” whispered Ominis. “He sounded quite weak.”

“He looks… the way he sounded,” she said, “but he’ll be alright… He has to be. We’ll make sure of it.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Sebastian stepped back outside. He was now dressed the way he was when they arrested him: a faded green sweater and black trousers with worn old leather shoes. The clothes hung on his lanky frame, his face was all angles and shadows, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a wash in the whole six months. He was, of course, without his wand as well — they’d broken that after his sentencing.

But there was a still little light still left in his eyes, and it shone when he saw his friends again. He called out her name and Ominis’, and walked toward them with feeble brisk steps.

“I can’t believe it,” he grinned weakly, his steps growing bolder the closer he got to his friends. “I never thought —”

But then he noticed their joined hands, and her swollen stomach, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He only caught the sight for a second before she let go of Ominis and rushed to embrace him.

“Seb,” she cried out as she jumped into his arms. She clung to his neck like a lifeline. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve… missed you too,” he said, his voice low and uncertain.

She buried her face in his neck while Sebastian’s eyes fell to Ominis — who embraced him too from the other side in an uncharacteristic display of affection, before he stood back timidly.

“How… erm, how are you?” he asked with a nervous smile, feeling more happy than he cared to admit, and relieved to have his friend back in one piece.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Sebastian. Gently, he dropped the girl from his arms and slowly pulled away.

“Of course,” she said, wiping her tears and stepping back, but keeping his hand clasped in hers. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to say anything. We just came to take you home. It’s alright now… You’re free, you’re finally back. We’ve missed you so much…”

“Home?” said Sebastian, looking between her and Ominis coolly. “Whose home is that?”

“Well… whichever one you want,” she said. “Yours or mine or…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to see Feldcroft again,” said Sebastian. “But I wouldn’t want to… impose on either of you.”

“What?” frowned Ominis. “Don’t be stup— I mean, don’t worry about that, Sebastian.”

“Oh, is there something to worry about?” he asked.

“Well —”

“We don’t need to discuss that —”

“— here.”

“— now.”

“… I see.”

“Don’t concern yourself with anything,” she smiled, stepping up to him again and embracing him loosely. “Let’s leave this horrible place first…”

They made their way out of the ministry building and through the cold London streets toward Diagon Alley, and his friends talked to him excitedly about the things that had happened: what their former classmates were doing, what they knew about Anne, even the latest Quidditch matches.

They probably felt less cheerful than they seemed, but their enthusiasm was overflowing as they prattled on about all the normal things people their age should care about, almost as if nothing bad had happened at all. They laughed, and smiled, and rubbed his back, and all the while there was in Sebastian’s gait much of the same imprisoned and defeated look as there had been when he was led out of the courtroom at his sentencing.

“We wrote to you while you were there,” she said as they approached the Leaky Cauldron.

“But the damned guards never delivered them,” said Ominis.

Sebastian listened in silence, and they tacitly agreed it was because of what he had been through. He would open up to both of them in time, they were certain…

They decided to have lunch at the Cauldron since neither of them had eaten anything since morning — and they didn’t even wish to think of the food in Azkaban. They ordered sausages and eggs and mashed potatoes and a great big serving of pickled pumpkin.

Sebastian ate the least out of the three of them — and what he didn’t finish, she devoured. Ominis hid his chuckle behind a cough, while Sebastian could barely look at her. If she noticed it, she didn’t say. She just kept smiling and laughing along with Ominis…

More than ever in Azkaban, he wished he could dig a hole for himself through which to disappear. The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and crowded, the smell of food made his stomach turn, and every scrape of a chair was like a scratch across his brain. Even sitting down was uncomfortable, his muscles too thin and his back too weak to hold him. He moved uncomfortably from one position to another, and let his friends prattle on to fill the emptiness between them.

After almost an hour, they decided to leave, and Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“I’m seeing someone at the ministry next Wednesday about a position,” said Ominis as they walked toward the fireplace. “But I can stop by afterwards if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Do you have enough chocolate at home? I can bring some more.”

“Shelves full of it,” she laughed. “But more is always a good idea. I suspect we’ll need it.”

“Well, I’ll bid you two goodbye for now, then,” said Ominis as he waved them off, blissfully oblivious to what was going through Sebastian’s mind.

“Goodbye,” she said with a tearful smile, letting go of Sebastian for a brief while to hug their friend once more.

“I’ll let you know before I arrive on Wednesday.”

“Not to worry, Ominis. We’ll be alright… Everything will be alright now.”

“I hope so…”

“And good luck with your interview!”

“Thank you… Although I’m not sure I want it.”

“Thank you, Ominis,” said Sebastian tiredly. “For… everything.”

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled. “I’m glad to have you back. We both are. Just focus on getting well again…”

Sebastian nodded, not feeling that any of their kind words were true. He disappeared in the green flames with her, wishing for once to not appear on the other end.

[umbrify]

hello i saw u tagged jimmy solidarity on that "free my man he did none of that. he did a bunch of other shit though" post and i am incredibly compelled by the implications here. please may i have an essay on the subject

YOU MAY.

Okay so we’re gonna be specifically talking about Empires SMP Season 2 Jimmy (henceforth, Jimmy,) and the way he conducts himself, how those actions reflect on him, versus how he sees himself (and how the fandom sees him in turn). Welcome to my Ted Talk.

The most important thing to understand about Jimmy is that he lies. He lies about everything, and convinces himself that his lie is true to the point where he really thinks it is. Take, for example, a moment in Sausage’s episode 41 [full exchange from 9:10 - 19:37] where Jimmy kills Sausage, and then when Sausage, followed by fWhip, return to Tumble Town to discuss the murder, Jimmy blatantly lies about the altercation to fWhip, claiming “[Sausage] came over, and he assaulted me, fWhip!” Jimmy insists that it was Sausage who physically started it, despite that being completely untrue. Jimmy then goes on to deny having killed Sausage Sausage at all, sounding affronted at the idea and demanding to see the player head that drops on death. fWhip asks how many levels Sausage has, which is none, and Jimmy claims that Sausage must have used all his experience. Jimmy denies and lies, and when fWhip goes looking for Sausage’s things, finding them in Jimmy’s storage, Jimmy acts shocked, saying “I think I’m being set up! […] I’m gonna leave this conversation, you do what you gotta do, but I don’t think I’m the bad guy here.” As if Jimmy didn’t explicitly kill Sausage moments ago!! As if it isn’t his fault!!!

And the problem here, the core problem, is that so many people just… believe him. They take Jimmy’s words at face value and assume that he’s always a reliable narrator in his own stories, despite the fact that it couldn’t be further from the case. The issue is less that people assign New and Different problems to Jimmy, more that they strip him of any wrongdoing at all, making him out to be some sad little pathetic wet cat who didn’t deserve it. And— don’t get me wrong, he is extremely sad, but he also did it to himself.

I think one of the more interesting ways to illustrate this, is to talk about the way Jimmy perceives himself. From the start of the season, he always insists on being called “The Sheriff.” He’s not Jimmy, he’s The Sheriff, and throughout the season, he can be seen constantly insisting upon and chasing after that title. He wants respect— or, his version of respect. What he really wants is a yes man. This difference can very clearly be seen in the way he treats the two deputies he had throughout the season.

When fWhip was the deputy, it’s because he wanted to be. He sought Jimmy out because he wanted to be Jimmy’s right hand man, and Jimmy let him. fWhip consistently referred to Jimmy as The Sheriff, upholding Jimmy’s version of the laws as best he could. And, there really is something to be said about the fact that fWhip, as a goblin, inherently didn’t understand the concept of arbitrary laws, or that sort of morality at all, and was only one, upholding it because he cared about Jimmy, but two, treating the laws as Jimmy treated them— i.e, making a shrine for that which Jimmy made a church for, but that’s a whole separate essay that I want to write at some point. Either way, he was good to Jimmy, though their time together was short. He made Jimmy a home away from home in Gobland [fWhip episode 8 timestamp 20:28] and helped Jimmy win the court trial by serving as his lawyer in the case against Joel [Trial best seen in Jimmy’s episode 10 starts at 3:03]. After fWhip was fired, he went around Tumble Town noting down a bunch of “laws” that Jimmy was breaking. I wrote a whole post about this set of interactions already [here] but the short version is this: In fWhip’s episode 12 [5:54], he goes around and marks down all the laws that he’s saying Jimmy is breaking around Tumble Town. […] Of the seven instances that fWhip writes down, SIX of them almost directly relate to Jimmy not taking good care of himself or his empire. To me, it almost reads more like he cares about Jimmy, and is worried about him.

All this to say, that fWhip didn’t Respect The Sheriff as much as he Cared About Jimmy. And that’s an important distinction— he cared about Jimmy, the person. He had this whole veneer of respecting the laws— laws that he didn’t really understand— because he cared about Jimmy. And Jimmy fired him for a prank— one that wasn’t specifically targeted or malicious— because he saw that as Disrespecting The Sheriff. He didn’t want someone who Cared About Jimmy, he wanted someone who Respected The Sheriff. And fWhip wasn’t that.

Enter Scar.

During the Hermitcraft crossover, Scar started gunning for the position as deputy because he wanted the shiny deputy badge. That was it, that was the reason, and Scar acted accordingly. Everything was about acting like he Respected The Sheriff, even when he was blatantly breaking one of the core laws, wearing another player’s hat— both the sheriff hat [Jimmy episode 19 4:07] as well as trading away a sheriff hat, and being seen wearing one of Scott’s Chromia hats [Jimmy episode 22 14:27]. In this episode, Scar backhandedly compliments Jimmy, “oh, you’re just a… cute big guy, aren’t you?” to which Jimmy seems uncertain, asking “I’m real big, right?” to which Scar says he is. Jimmy then asks him about the Chromia hat Scar wears, and Scar tells him that he traded one of the sheriff hats to Scott. Jimmy gets upset at Scar, but before he can get properly mad, Scar distracts him by showing off a new section of Tumble Town that he made. Scar wears the mask of respect for just long enough to get the badge. When Jimmy gives him the badge, he says he has something else that he wants to give Scar as well. “I have found something real special for you, real special.” Scar says “I already got something special, this badge.” Jimmy says “you mean our friendship?” Which Scar dubiously agrees to. This is the last time Jimmy sees Scar before the hermits leave— Scar got what he wanted, and that was all. And yet, Jimmy hired him, because Scar put on the show. Scar was his yes man, Scar Respected The Sheriff, even if he didn’t Care About Jimmy.

He does it to himself, Jimmy does. He pushes away anyone that tries to care about him as a person, and surrounds himself with people that will be his yes men, his little sidekicks, anyone that holds the sheriff title in high regard. It’s why he takes so well to the Old Sheriff, who treats the sheriff title with the same reverence that he does, respecting the title of sheriff without actually respecting Jimmy much at all.

The thing about Jimmy is that he causes his own problems, and they’re all his fault. Yes he is crushingly lonely, and filled with self hatred, but he actively surrounds himself with it. It’s not that people are just inherently mean to him, he is almost asking them to be, by pushing away anyone that seems to care about him as a person.

I think, as my final note here, I wanna bring up a moment from Jimmy’s finale, episode 38. He and the Old sheriff, as they’re making their way to the Nether portal, discuss how fWhip only ever referred to himself as goblin fWhip, never as king. Jimmy says “I don’t think he ever held himself to the regard of being a king, and that— d’you know what? That sucks. He was my deputy for a while, he didn’t really think much of himself, I’m not gonna lie” [9:19]. I just find it interesting, that Jimmy says that it sucks how fWhip never called himself king— a title ostensibly higher than sheriff— and that fWhip was only a deputy. As if he thinks that fWhip could’ve been king, perhaps was worthy of the title, and just never took it— that he sees the taking of a title such as that to be so important, when for fWhip, it never was. I dunno, I just think there’s something to that. I think it says something about Jimmy and about the importance he places on titles that don’t really matter.

Jimmy ran away, in the end. He and the Old Sheriff ran far away from everything they ever knew. fWhip stayed, choosing to live out his days happily in the empire he helped to found. fWhip never took the title of king. Jimmy thinks he should’ve.

Isn’t that something?

[themadlu]

Do Not Open That Door

Astarion is sure his leader's unflinching morals will lead him to another unwanted grave. He is also sure she is putting on an act because people like her do not exist, clearly. He decides to test his assumptions.

TW: None I think

WC: ~3000 words

Tagging: @spacebarbarianweird for the encouragement!

Astarion is livid. Well, maybe livid was an overstatement—he is annoyed. Annoyed and confused. Such feelings are still a vast improvement over the fear and shame he's been accustomed to, but they make him restless nonetheless. 

Especially because their cause is walking steadily next to him without a care in the world for his inner turmoil. 

Zélie, their oh so great leader, has managed to spoil what could have been a perfectly enjoyable afternoon on multiple fronts. First, she decides to talk to the goblins ambushing them instead of treating them like the savages they are.

(“We don’t know how many of them are in this village Astarion. What if there’s a little army and we’re outnumbered?”)

After confirmation that there were, in fact, quite a few goblins (and a couple orcs to boot), she managed to get free passage through the village by leveraging their wriggly alien parasite. He isn’t happy about it. Not at all. 

He has to begrudgingly admit hers was a wise call after witnessing just how large and hungry those orcs were. And of course they even agree to help a fellow true soul in need. Just what he needs to undermine what little influence he has on her.

(Her blood is in his body after all.)

In the last tendays she had made it her mission to remind him how despicable murder is, under most circumstances, aside from self-defence. This beautifully idiotic mindset of hers almost got her killed twice in front of his very eyes.

(She doesn’t know he has taken to finish off the enemies she leaves unconscious while she isn’t watching.)

When he had pointed out the suicidal flaw in her morals, she had given him her signature scolding look, crossed her arms, and started breathing in that funny way of hers. 

In, hold, out. 

(She says she is not trained as a monk, but he’ll be even more damned than he already is if that is true. The way she fights and holds herself—and those sickening ideals she has—tell a different story.) 

“Honestly, darling,” he hisses at her as they walk through the village, squinty eyes trained on their every move. “I thought we agreed that benevolence and honour,” he spits the words out like a curse, “get you nowhere but to an early grave.”

“Astarion,” she always says his name when she speaks to him—even in annoyance— and he hates his constant surprise at hearing it. His elven name had been replaced with other titles over time, more befitting of his status—boy, spawn, whore, slut, beautiful, toy, love…

Truly, it’s a small miracle he managed to hold on to his name. It’s one of the few things left that are truly his, yet hearing it spoken from that solemn woman's lips makes something in his chest preen. 

“I thought we agreed to disagree on that front. No, don’t give me that look. Killing someone is never justifiable. No matter what we tell ourselves, we are taking away something that wasn’t ours to begin with. Something irreplaceable. Even—” she held up her hand as he started to complain, “in self-defence, even then, I will make sure to exhaust all alternatives, and even then, it will be a failure on my part.”

You moron. 

“Too bad the rest of the world doesn’t think like you, darling,” he snapped. Hers was an act. There was no way in the hells anyone could survive to their…whatever age she was, he was never good with human lifespans, with that mindset. It was ridiculous, because if she actually was like that—if two–hundred years of shit didn’t teach him better—she should either be dead in a ditch or have ascended to godhood on her saintly behaviour alone. The only explanation he has for her standing close to him is that the mask she wears is as fake as his own. That, or she is a child of Ilmater. He bets on the former, given her complete ignorance of any deity on Toril.

“But you lied,” he counters, snapping his fingers. “You said we are here on Absolute business. Doesn’t that go against your precious code of honour?” he singsongs in her ear. 

“I didn’t lie. My tadpole reacted to theirs, and they drew their own conclusions. Technically, we are going to their camp on Absolute business too, if you count removing these,” she tapped her index to her temple. 

He smirks, victorious. “Circumstantial. One day, the tadpole won’t do the work for us and you’ll break your own code or doom us to death. For one, I’d rather not repeat the experience,” he says in a quiet voice, pointing at his chest. 

Their companions are still unaware of his condition—another occasion his holy leader conveniently withheld information. 

(“It’s your secret, it’s your decision.” Hypocrite.)

“Astarion, I know you take me for a fool, and I would normally pay more respect to a man—elf—my senior by centuries, but really. I can be practical and have a moral compass, and that means that when the choice is between lying and killing, I will pick lying any day, even if I don’t like it.” 

Enough. 

Her words incense him, annoyance suddenly turns into rage and something else—what’s that, envy?—he pivots on his left heel and closes the distance between them so fast she has no time to react. Zélie is left pinned to the wall, their bodies a breath away from touching, and he internally celebrates the surprised look on her face. 

He stares at her down his nose, ducking his head and planting a slender hand on the wall beside her head. 

Astarion has to make her stop before he tears her self-righteousness out of her throat. Before she realises how useless it all is—how useless and tainted he is—and either stakes him or banishes him. Because even her sickly, do-gooding self, fake or real it be, must have limits. If he pushes hard enough, they’ll crumble, and then he’ll be proven right. She is not what she says she is because creatures like that aren’t real.  

“Let’s make one thing clear, darling,” he growls, nostrils flaring, “you may be our great leader, but you should get off your high horse before someone shoots you off it. I don’t know what perfect little corner of the universe you grew up in, but you know nothing of this world and its dangers.” 

He flashes his fangs at her to drive his point across. The others are out of sight, looking for supplies in some ruin or cellar. Gods, he misses the city. 

Zélie is staring back at him, bristling, but lets him continue. She never interrupts any of them, not even him.

“I thought humans were all about developing and living fast, but you, my dear, are as ignorant as a babe. I am trying to make sure we keep our collective hides safe and do not get sidetracked by other pitiful creatures on our path.” 

He realises just how close he is to her when she straightens up again and their noses almost touch. 

Pale eyes go darker with a flash of anger. 

There. Come at me. Prove me right. 

“Spoken like a true man of the law, lord magistrate.” 

Why the hells is her tone so collected when she has a literal vampire at her throat?!

“You seem forgetful, so I’ll remind you that it was my ignorance that stopped Shadowheart from connecting her mace with your head. And it was my stupidity that convinced her you could join us, and that we should give you a chance at trust.” 

She makes no move to get closer, but he recoils as if scorched by fire. 

“And it is the same trust I placed in you yesterday when I let you bite me, even though it’s not how I envisioned a night of rest to go. I trusted you to stop, I trusted you to keep your word and not leave me a corpse.”

There it is. Reminding him of what he owes her. Of his debts. They say the quiet ones are the most depraved, and she is the strong and silent type. But he is nothing if not an expert in the art of subservience at this point, and if it gets her to keep giving him blood and protection—

“I trust you.” 

Then you’re doomed.

She says it as if it were a challenge. Her gaze is unwavering and he is left speechless yet again. Cazador would admire this quality of hers.

“I hope you can trust me in return.”

Impossible woman. 

“Well, I suppose you’re not wholly incompetent,” he manages to croak out. His nonchalant mask is harder to slip on this time. 

She huffs a breath of a laugh, a tiny thing, but it’s enough to transform her whole face. The weight she carries on her deceivingly flimsy shoulders seems to lift, leaving behind a young woman smiling softly at a…well, a monster. Talk about inexperience. 

Happiness suits you, little leader. 

The fact it’s his prattling that caused this marvel of a transformation stokes something in chest and in the pit of his stomach that he promptly pushes down. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Zélie says. She moves away and he is left staring at the crusty wall. Her body never touched his own during their exchange. 

Wait. That’s wrong. He was meant to make her see the reason in his ways, not the other way around. So why is he at her heels like a lost puppy the minute she walks away? 

(“You are nothing by yourself boy. You owe everything to me.”)

He is weak. So weak he has leashed himself to a human who can barely read common, fuck's sake. 

His temper rises again once he catches up with Zélie. He doesn’t need her condescension, nor her chiding (she doesn’t even know his full story yet, nor she ever will unless absolutely necessary, so pity isn’t there yet). He’ll show the wretched woman how wrong she is. 

Karlach and Lae’zel jog behind them as they reach a barn with a door locked shut. Zélie thinks nothing of it at first, but Astarion can smell what’s inside.

(His senses born anew from her blood.)

He smells the ogre and bugbear and their horrid affair before the rest of his companions hear the grunts and noises.

“Oh God, someone’s fighting!” exclaims Zélie.

Fighting, you say?

An idea strikes him. 

See what your misplaced goodness gets you when you try to help an ogre.

“I don’t know soldier, they don’t sound like fight noises to me,” says Karlach leaning towards the barn, but even she seems unsure. Astarion’s talents may be limited to a specific area, but in this case it works in his favour. He is very familiar with what those sounds mean. The half-ogres that fucked him into the bed so hard he bled were not so different.

(He still remembers how much it hurt, how he was left in a puddle of mixed releases, sweat, and what little blood he had).

“Well, even if they are fighting, it is clearly not our problem. I say we leave them to it and focus on what’s really important,” he says, using his annoyance as a hook. Zélie may be the most restrained person he’s come across, but he knows how to read people, and he knows she will do the opposite of whatever he says when it concerns morals. 

She falls for it. His smile is harder to suppress.

“Astarion! We’ve just talked about this!” 

Her voice raises a bit, but it’s almost eclipsed by another loud grunt from inside the barn. 

“So long as my blade can be sharpened on my enemies’ bones, I am ready.” Lae’zel is almost as ignorant as Zélie when it comes to their world, which is usually a hindrance, but now it’s the push their little leader needs to run to the rescue. 

Zélie tries to open the barn door (after cutting another withering look at the vampire lazily strolling at her back), finding it jammed.

The crescendo of grunts and bangs coming from inside is extremely loud now. 

Gods, they must be disgusting. 

“Hello?! Help is on the way, hang on!” the little human shouts as she frantically tries to get the door unstuck. 

“Oh hells, let me do it, darling, before we turn into tentacled freaks,” Astarion says in mock-annoyance. She eyes him suspiciously and he shoots her a winning smile. His nimble hands make quick work of the lock, and he pushes the door open. 

He needs just a peek to know his assumption about what was happening in the barn is correct, and turns to face his now horror-stricken companion. 

“Gods, they are disgusting,” he comments with his lips crooked in a satisfied smile. 

Zélie scrambles to compose herself and turns her back from the scene (the prudish) as she fails to find words to explain herself. “I—I am, I apologise, we thought—”

Oh, she’s in a state. Her cheeks flush redder than rubies (he can practically hear her delicious blood pooling there), whilst the rest of her is paler than after Astarion’s feeding. She opens and shuts her eyes as if trying to physically erase what she just witnessed.

The bugbear slides his now soft cock out of the ogre, and looks at them in rage.

“W–what the hells are you doing?!”

Oh, Astarion is thrilled. He doesn’t remember when last had such fun. He hears Lae’zel’s tsk’ and Karlach’s gags behind him, and he closely watches Zélie fumbling as he didn’t think was possible. 

“Apologies! I, you—you were making a lot of noise and I, we, thought you needed help,” she holds her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “I apologise for the intrusion! We’ll leave now—”

“Ruined! SMASH. I’ll smash you!” 

Oh. Astarion didn’t expect that. He just wanted to show Zélie how ungrateful the world is to idiots like her, not have her turn into orc food. 

Before he can think, he is tackling the woman to the ground, the orc’s club crashing a few spaces to his left. Karlach and Lae’zel’s throw themselves at the aggressor, and the fight starts in earnest. Astarion is more a stalker than a fighter, but he had his first fill of human blood only hours before, and his senses have never been that sharp, so he doesn’t miss the bugbear rushing towards their prone form. 

Daggers at hand, he braces to parry the onslaught (this may hurt) when his worldview shifts, his back in on the ground, and chilly afternoon air replaces the heat of his leader on his chest. 

What just happened?

He turns his head to see the bugbear crashing to the ground, Zélie crouched on one leg and tripping him with her other. “Go help the others! I’ve got this!” she shouts, as she wraps her limbs around the assailant in a tight bind. “Wait! It was an honest mistake—”

He doesn’t want to hear her voice now. Doesn’t want to think how the little moron literally threw him away from danger. Even worse, he will refute the idea he protected her from an angry orc till his last breath. He only got his body back recently. That’s it. He still is unsure of how to use it. 

And she's dinner.

He doesn’t want to dwell on what happened, so he nods and throws himself at the female orc while she is distracted by his companions. 

The fight doesn’t last too long after that, and something takes a hold of his insides when he looks at Zélie. She is silent, staring at the large corpse on the ground, bugbear knocked out at her feet. 

“Darling?” He moves towards her and the sadness in her eyes almost makes him apologise. Gods, what has he done? He didn’t think this was going to happen. And why does he care?! This was his intent, this and seeing the real her behind the strong, polite facade. 

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know, darling. I—”

See now, how impossible it is to keep your ideals in this world?

“You knew,” she says, and while he words his excuses (the only real one being he didn’t think they were going to be attacked) her shoulders drop and a defeated huff leaves her mouth. A far cry from her happy smile earlier. 

Astarion can’t wrap his head around how he caused both reactions in such a short span of time. But this look on her, this, he knows. He has seen far worse in the eyes and screams of those fools he lured back to his master, once they had his way with him and realised a bit too late they were as trapped as he was. 

He expects her to shout, to berate him, kick him, punch him, stab him, banish him—but none of that comes. Zélie studies him intently, and something in her demeanour lights up, an internal judgement made.

“I still trust you.” 

No. No no no, he’s not going to let her fool him into believing this—no!

Her face is suddenly level with Astarion’s knees, the now-awake bugbear readying a strike. 

Astarion doesn’t need to think—he falls forward and sinks his dagger into the wretch’s neck. Blood spurts out, but after tasting Zélie’s Astarion has no interest in it; mud compared to a clear sky.

“Soldier!” shouts Karlach, ever the helpful friend. Zélie pants as the dead attacker slides off of her, eye to eye with Astarion again. He can feel her light breath on his face. Karlach pulls her up; he is cleaning his dagger on the bugbear’s clothes when an outstretched hand enters his vision. Hers.

“Come on,” she says, tired but steady again. “Let’s get back to camp.”

Astarion flinches from the hand as if it were a trap (it is always a trap), but Zélie is new territory for him, that much he begrudgingly accepts. She is apparently above the rules of their miserable world because she chooses to trust him, a vampire, a lying one, again. 

He takes her hand, bracing for what may come his way, but she just helps him up. 

“Thank you, by the way. For saving my life before.”

It’s a trick. It’s a trick. Don’t fall for—

She wraps her hand around his so delicately he thinks he may break, and shakes it. His thoughts and words are silenced yet again. 

“Thank you.” 

Fuck. 

[lulublack90]

Prompt 4 - Hair

@jegulus-microfic March 4 Word count 983

Previous part First part

It took them a week to figure out where the chamber was, and that was only because Pandora came floating in while they were arguing back and forth about where the entrance could be. 

“It has to be in the dungeons. That’s where the Common room is.” Evan had argued. 

“Yeah, but where could it be? It’s all classrooms down there.” Barty was getting frustrated at their lack of progress. Pandora had peered over at all the notes they had spread over the floor and said. 

“Oh, the entrance is in the second-floor girl’s bathroom.”

“Yeah, sure, it is Pandora.” Evan rolled his eyes at his sister. Pandora flicked around, her hair billowing behind her with the sharp movement. 

“There is a snake carved into the tap of the sink, and moaning Myrtle was killed the last time it was opened when Tom Riddle was at school.” They all stared at her. Regulus pulled out his mirror and flipped it open. 

“James, we think we’ve found it.”

So now that’s where they stood. Regulus, James, Sirius, Barty, Evan, Pandora and Lily. Seven people who had left Hogwarts years ago and who shouldn’t have had any reason to be in that bathroom. 

They all had some sort of blade made of goblin silver. Luckily, there were enough old families in the group that they managed to scrounge enough pieces. 

Sirius also had a small bag strapped to his hip. It had one of his expansion charms on it. They’d been down to Hagrid’s chicken coop and stolen two roosters. And put them in it. 

The trouble they were having now was that none of them spoke parseltongue, so they were having trouble getting the chamber to open. That’s when moaning Myrtle appeared. 

“Ooo, it’s the Black brothers.” She cooed. “What are they doing here with all their friends?” 

“Hi, Myrtle.” Sirius grinned at her with his best smile. It was one he’d used many times to get what he wanted. “We’re trying to get into the secret chamber but can’t seem to open it. Do you know how?” He twirled a lock of his hair around his finger as he batted his eyelashes at her. 

Regulus hadn’t known that ghosts could blush, but apparently, they could. Myrtle’s ghostly pallor brightened under Sirius’s gaze. 

“There was a boy right before I died. I think he opened it. He said something in another language.” She floated closer to Sirius. 

“Can you remember what he said? It’s very important, Myrtle.” Sirius asked, keeping his voice soft and husky. Myrtle glowed even brighter. She opened her mouth, and she let out a strange hiss. Immediately, the sink behind them started moving, and a sliding passageway was revealed. 

Sirius looked at the ghost with wide eyes. “Myrtle, you’re amazing.” He grinned a real grin this time and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. 

Apparently, ghosts could also swoon. They left Myrtle floating horizontally along the floor as they clambered down the chute, one by one. 

“I’m so telling Remus about that,” Regulus whispered to his brother once they safely made it to the ground. Sirius shrugged. 

“It’s for the good of the cause. He’ll understand. Beside’s, he’d have to see me to be mad at me anyway.” Regulus had touched on a sore spot, and he knew it. Fenrir had been very possessive of Remus, only letting him leave when Voldemort requested the Wolves at a meeting. 

Remus hadn’t looked great the last time Regulus saw him. He was skinny, and his clothes were tattered. He hadn’t said much about it when he’d come and stood with him, Barty and Evan. The other wolves were keeping a close eye on him.

Regulus, had a plan to get Remus away from the pack for a bit, but it would have to wait until after they fought the Basilisk.

“You okay, love?” James had come up behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist. Regulus let himself relax into James’s touch just for a second before he untangled them. 

“We need to get moving.” He said as he squeezed James’s hand. “Don't forget to either keep your eyes closed or make sure you don’t look into its eyes. If you do, you’ll be dead.” He raised his voice so the others could hear him. 

“Wow, great pep talk there, Reg. Really feeling confident after that.” Barty groaned at him. Sirius slapped him on the back before Regulus could say anything to him. 

“Come on, Crouch. If everything goes right down here, we’re going to be legends.” Barty turned to grin wickedly at Sirius. 

“Let’s go kill this bloody snake.” 

The group walked cautiously down the stone passageway. It was littered with bones, and there was no way of moving without the sound of cracking bones echoing off the walls. 

The passageway went on forever. Turning this way and that, before they came to a wall blocking their way emblazoned with two entwining serpents.

“How do we get through that then?” Lily asked, running her hand over the stone. 

“Probably the same as the sink,” Pandora moved to stand beside her and hissed the same way Myrtle had. The snakes began to move, and the wall split in two. It moved out of sight, leaving the way before them clear. 

The chamber finally opened up. They all paused on the edge, looking at the pillars, each with a snake carved into it. 

“This is it,” Regulus said, his voice barely a whisper. He looked into James’s eyes. “I love you.” James smiled down at him and ducked his head, kissing Regulus softly. 

The other couples followed suit. 

“Alright enough, or I’m going to feed myself to the Basilisk!” Sirius complained. The others pulled away from each other, looking sheepish. 

They walked forward into the middle of the chamber and watched as a statue of Salazar Slytherin slowly opened its mouth.        

Next part

[wellthebardsdead]

*The emerald grove devil Au, where Lûnes life started off filled with love*

———

Keldran: *travelled all the way from baldurs gate, holding a basket in his hand with a tiny baby nestled within, unable to bring himself to kill him, but unable to obey Selûnes demands to keep him imprisoned, never mind so close to where so many cultists of the lord of the 8th could easily find him. Now walking through the empty streets of moonhaven, no signs of life beyond borded up windows of a village that never fully recovered from a century of assault, and heart heavy knowing he only has one option left before him and hoping natures chosen will find mercy even his own goddess feels unwilling to give* shhh… *sits down on a rock and lifts the baby from his basket, giving him his bottle and rocking him in the night air. His mind clouded and unable to see him as his own son despite having his eyes, unable to forgive the fact he’d been tricked by the spawn of Mephistopheles into siring him, but in this life deciding not to blame him for it* shhh… this is for the best child… *looks over at the wall barely hidden behind the rocks* …May silvanus have a kinder heart than our lady of silver… *looks down at him as he finishes the bottle and settles back to sleep* May you be given the love that I cannot give… *places him back in his basket and walks to the gate of the old oak grove, setting him down with a note pinned to his blanket, before casting blessing over him and praying Selûne will have mercy on him* good luck, Falûne… *walks off into the night leaving him there*

Falûne: *blinks awake slowly no longer sensing the swaying of his basket or the soft hum Keldran sang to keep him calm* h-heh- Heeeh!! *starts to cry and scream his little lungs out, trembling in the darkness of the dim moonlight, his shrieks so loud they cover the noise of the gate opening, only silencing as he’s lifted into two large hands* h-hweh! *looks up to see two warm eyes and a scarred but gentle face*

Halsin: oak father preserve me… where did you come from little one? *looks down at his blanket and sees the note, a long warning written on one side of who he is and who made him, of the ruin he will bring if not raised with care, and on the front, his name* Moon flower… Falûne. *smiles* hello little one… You can call me papa… *picks up his basket too and carries him into the grove*

*20 plus years later*

Falûne: *hanging upside down by a tree branch* you mean none of you smelt them? Only me? A bunch of funky smelling rats turn up at the grove and nobody bats an eye?

Rath: none of us expected them to be shadow Druids! *sighs* no matter. Khagas facing her punishment. I can only thank silvanus your nose picked up something off before they could do harm.

Falûne: hmph. Papa should’ve never let her reach the position of arch druid to begin with, she treats anyone different to her like salted earth…

Rath: she’s just-

Falûne: a racist. *jumps down* and I’m tired of everyone pretending she isn’t. *trots off across the bridge leading to the gate and the hollow, only to freeze as he sees Halsin guiding several wagons and other Tieflings into the grove, all of them exhausted, battered and weary* papa? *walks over and looks up at him* who are these people?

Halsin: refugees, from Elturel son, I found them while out scouting, they were attacked by gnolls and goblins.

Falûne: more attacks, I can hel-

Halsin: No. I won’t be having this conversation with you again either son. For the time being you stay within the grove unless you leave with me.

Falûne: but I can fight! You taught me-

Halsin: … *folds his arms*

Falûne: *bristling to argue but holds his tongue and pouts, hugging his staff* yes dad…

Halsin: good lad… *pats his hair* why don’t you help the refugees settle in? I saw a few around your age who could do with a friendly welcome.

Falûne: huh? *looks at him then at the caravans, catching the eyes of a certain blacksmith and a sulking wizard* I- *visibly blushing dark blue before hiding behind halsin*

[authorgirl0131]

What is your Hogwarts house?

Why would you ask me this?

I'm going to assume ignorance, that you just don't know why it's a terrible idea to ask a trans person on the internet questions like this, so allow me to tell you why you shouldn't- the woman who authored that series hates me for existing. She wrote an entire essary about how people like me (transmascs) are just "poor confused autistic lesbians being brainwashed" (and like okay, yeah, I am autistic, but I like dick so I don't think I'm a lesbian.) If she had her way, everyone like me would be forced to live as a girl, either by refusing to allow us to transition or by forcibly detransitioning my brothers, and I get the feeling she'd be perfectly happy with the amount of people who would kill themselves in her perfect future.

I don't even know what her future for transfems would look like, but I've no doubt it would be worse. Transmascs can be redeemed in her horrible radfem mind because we're born female and therefore more "innocent" in her mind than our transfem sisters are. I legitimately worry that in her perfect world, every transfem would not only be forcibly detransitioned and forced to live as what she isn't, but that JKR would go one step further and have them all locked up. Or worse. Gods only know what her future would plan for genderqueer people.

JKR hates me for who I am as a person even though she has never met me. She would rather see me six feet under in a dress than living a happy life as who I truly am. She hates me and people like me so much that she sparked an international hate campaign against an innocent Olympic athlete that had the entire would speculating on what this poor woman's genitals looked like (horrifically violating, I feel so sorry for her) and she legitimately put her life in danger because the country she is from isn't accepting of transgender people. And there was zero evidence to accuse Imane of being a transfem (or intersex, and even if there was it's none of our business, that's between her, her doctor, and maybe a life partner if she has one,) she just though Imane, a woman of colour (WOC being famously dogpiled for not fitting into Eurocentric stereotypes of femininity,) looked too "manish" to be female and so she sent her mob after this poor woman.

And I could go on. I could get into the antisemitism of the goblins in her books and games (down to fucking Holocaust denial,) the advocating for slavery, the ableism, the sexism, the misandry, the homophobia, the racism, the islamophobia, the sinophobia, and five hundred billion other issues (without even getting into the poor writing,) and talk for a solid month and I would still have more horrible things she's said and done. JKR is a bigot of the worst kind, and there's no separating her work from her in a "death of the author" because her bigotry is so deeply ingrained in her books, and she says that she believes most of the people continuing to support her support all of her disgusting bigotry, and the money she gets is still going to making life for the trans people in her country even worse. So I'm not going to answer this.

Don't ask trans people to engage with Harry Potter. She wants us exterminated.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Evie (Ace!Tav) Playthrough Day 4

(I love Evie in this fit)

Day 1… Day 3- Day 5

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

For the uninitiated, I wrote a Tav well before I ever had a chance to play the game. Now, I finally can and thought it might be fun for my first play through to be as that Tav. Or, at least as much as the game play will allow me.

These are just some of my notes and scattered highlights that I thought would be fun to share.

Let me know if you think if I should continue this and any suggestions you might have.

So much happened you guys holy shit!!!

Technically this is a combination of two days, since I didn't have time last night and figured I'd wait until after I played some more today (there is just so much of this game I feel like two hour sessions barely scratch the surface)

First off, it took me way too long to figure out how to deactivate the traps in the back cavern in the Emerald Grove

Legitimately nearly died twice; if it weren't for my saves I would have

Not ashamed to admit, I needed to google it; I have never claimed to be a "gamer"

Still got it sorted (and if anybody knows how to get to that center bit in the middle of the cavern, please let me know)

After that decided to go after best girl Karlach

Ran into the Owl Bear cave first and I am upset

I *really* didn't want to kill the Owl Bear mama, but even with non-lethal damage the cub still eats it's mother; seems like it all is the same in the end

I'm now thinking more and more that Evie and Shadowheart get to be good friends; Evie takes a more benefit of the doubt approach to people, and I don't think she knows enough about the Gods and Shar specifically to have many thoughts on the subject

I've been purposefully handing all the books and other info to whoever else is there so Evie doesn't get the info from reading

Lae'zel and Shadowheart are also majorly at each other's throats in the first act

Lae'zel also would not be a fan of Evie; Evie comparatively talks way too much for Lae'zel's taste (+11 to Persuasion will do that to a person) (did I mention I love bards)

Did eventually get to Karlach and she's so great guys! I knew I was going to love her, but I *love* her

She deserves to wreck the Paladins of Tyr hide out, as a treat

(That one bitch was giving me so much trouble, thank God for Wyll's Eldritch Blast or we would have been spending all our actions just trying to keep up)

I am once again faced with not being able to punch a ginger bitch because of *consequences*

Also, I hate all the options they give you when talking to Wyll after he's transformed into a devil

None of this is what Evie would say to him!

Either way though, I am secure in the fact that Wyll would like Evie (even if he's not a fan of her trust in Astarion)

So, one long rest later and we're heading towards the Blighted Villiage; Astarion, Gale and Karlach in toe

Came across the boar and Astarion really is so suspicious

I also think at this point Astarion really doesn't know what to make of Evie; placing her in category bleeding heart no doubt and not certain of her abilities

She's a good talker, as she's able to convince the goblins to let them pass without a fight

On the other hand, she did assists Gale with his little problem, sacrificing a necklace of Dancing Lights

Also it doesn't help that she was nice to a gnome

I think what starts to change his mind though is when they meet Raphael on the road

I really do wish you could give Gur as a background, because even if Evie didn't grow up in the caravan, I do think just culturally she'd pick up on stuff

Not trusting devils I'm sure is top of the list

I wasn't expecting to have Evie so viscerally mistrusting of Raphael, but it felt right to play it that way

I'm not sure who he'd remind her of in her past, but I do think there is something beyond just him being a devil that rubs her the wrong way

Either way, her rejection of a devil's bargain that would not only enslave her, but likely them as well, even in exchange for a cure does re-color some things

Not sure where to insert this in the grand scheme of the narrative, but Evie did let Astarion open the door on the orger and hobgoblin

Evie's talking did not help in this situation

I know the narrative makes it clear what's happening, but I'm thinking Evie might have had a random ace blind spot moment

Like she's not totally naive about sex, but when it's usually the last thing on your mind (and you just talked with a devil), it's not the first thing you picture at the sound of banging

Not her smoothest moment; (honestly the sudden violence is a god send for everyone not to ask her more questions about it)

Either way, went back to the grove with some of the infernal iron and got Karlach stabilized at least

I love Karlach and Wyll's friendship, I support wholesome ships; low key starting to ship her with Dammon though

He's real cute, Karlach deserves a nice guy, and you know he'd roll with the punches

Another long rest later and we're here

The scene

I've been thinking about the build up to this scene

Obviously we know in origins it's after Astarion has a vision of Cazador and wanting to push the limits of his new found freedom by going against one of his rules

But I keep coming back to why Evie

Astarion can likely smell something being wrong with Gale's blood, Wyll just turned into a devil and would likely kill him, Karlach's blood is literal fire, and Lae'zel would also absolutely kill him

That leaves Shadowheart and Evie

Shadowheart is a big question mark to him; she follows Shar, maybe she might even like being bitten

But then there's Evie who has shown time and time again that she wants to help

This is about survival after all, and it would only be a taste

IDK, exploring it; add it to the list of possible future fics

But Evie obviously does wake up and does allow Astarion to bite her

As for Evie's motivations as to why, yes, Astarion is a prickly bastard, but he's in the same boat as the rest of them

If he wanted to hurt them, surely he would have done it by now

She recognizes the look in his eyes, Gods know she's worn it enough; the man is starving, the fact he hasn't done anything until now says a lot

This is definitely the shift in her and Astarion's relationship where they start to actually warm up to each other

So next morning gang wakes up, Evie stands up to Astarion saying she trusts him and heads out again towards the goblin camp; Shadowheart, Astarion and Lae'zel in toe

So Evie's current standing with the party;

Gale has disclosed his condition and gotten the first magical item; high rating with Evie, thinks of her as somebody who he can not only trust, but as someone who has shown bravery and true kindness (not to mention eloquence); maybe starting to form an...appreciation

Wyll has turned into a devil and certainly likes Evie, but maybe a little doubtful in her trust in Astarion and some dealings with the goblins

Shadowheart; genuinely trusts Evie as she's revealed her ambitions as a follower of Shar, and used the artifact in front of Evie in order to protect them from the influence of The Absolute (also might be starting to crush on her, but Evie has not been taking the opportunity to flirt)

Karlach: too soon to tell, but seems like a good person

Lae'zel: not a fan, too weak willed and doesn't know her place; talks too much

Astarion; unsure, certainly knows he can trust her now, to an extent; still too much of a bleeding heart, but then again, it's helped him; at the very least she knows to draw the line with devils and willing to kill to stay alive, over all a fair ally to have

Oh! I can't believe I forgot about my new best boy!

Scratch!

[baldurs-gape]

Untethered

The fight had been brutal but they made it out alive. Exhausted, running on fumes and in desperate need of a meal, more healing and rest, the four trudged back towards camp. Shadowheart and Wyll helped each other along at the back while Astarion was out front. Even though he tried to look his usual, nonchalant self, his movements were heavy and less than gracefull as he climbed over fallen tree. Karlach wasn't far behind him, equally tired but less caring about appearances.

She saw the moment Astarion tumbled and hunched over. An arrrow was sticking out of his shoulder. Any other day he would have probably spotted the assailant but, given their general state, he and all the others had been taken by complete surprise. The goblins were more intelligent than expected, keeping to the high ground and trying to pick them off rather than rush in. Karlach could only do so much by throwing things in their general direction, Wyll and Shadowheart were out of spells and Astarion wasn't having an easy time.

"For the Absolute!" One of the goblins yelled. At least that explained their higher than average intelligence in their attack. Another arrow loosened and Wyll went down. While Shadowheart tried to help him up, Astarion looked back at them and then Karlach. "Cover me!"

In a fight there was no time to think. Karlach had enough trust in Astarion to do as told, she shielded him as he crouched down, eyes scrunched up. Something stirred. It wasn't the air, that had gone deathly still. Still, it felt as though a sinister wind was blowing through their minds, whispering unintelligible words. Gradually, the voice cleared into two overlapping layers of someone familiar. The one that was stronger for the Karlach, Wyll and Shadowheart whispered "stay strong, close off" yet the other voice was a seductive rumble of "kill yourself, make the Absolute proud". It was Astarion's dulcet tones and Karlach felt herself torn between the two conflicting commands. Around them, the goblins seemed to be fighting a similar yet losing battle. One by one they went down by their own hand until it was just the four of them left on the road once more. As Wyll got up, Astarion keeled over, limp as he toppled from his crouch.

"Shit." Ever eloquent, Karlach tried to shake him awake to no effect. "He needs healing! Don't give up, soldier."

Frantic searching revealed that there wasn't even a stray drop of healing potion left between them. No healing spells or scrolls either. They needed to do something to get Astarion back on his feet though.

"Blood?" Wyll suggested tentatively. "A well-fed vampire heals faster, right?"

"Where do you propose we get him blood from? I don't exactly see vampiric health boutique." The jab was just another sign that Shadowheart was worried.

Rather than deign to reply, Wyll grabbed his dagger and swiftly sliced along the back of his arm. Blood welled and dripped in a rich flow. Thankfully, Karlach was more on the ball and she helped turn Astarion's head, lips falling naturally open. Droplet by droplet, blood began to stain his teeth, lips and tongue. Swallowing was a reflex and Wyll gave his arm a squeeze to get a bit more blood out.

None of the expected the low, pained moad from Astarion. Then again, maybe they should have. He thrashed and Karlach had to hold him still so Wyll could give him a little more blood. Even though pale eyelashes fluttered, Astarion's face contorted in pain as he tried to squirm away from the blood.

"It's hurting him." Statement of the century from Karlach as she fought against Astarion's increasingly frantic movements. "Fuck, is your blood like Gale's to him?"

It hadn't crossed Wyll's mind and he quickly withdrew. Astarion definitely looked better yet worse for wear. The wound from the arrow was closing but his pain levels seemed to be getting excessive.

"Maybe. Shawdowheart, maybe you could counteract it?"

Not shying away from what was essentially a blood offering, Shadowheart cut her palm. Her blood mingled with Wyll's on Astarion's lips. If anything, it made things worse. Astarion's back arched off the ground as he screamed, needing to be held down.

"Shar is bad for him?" Wyll asked as they tried to keep him safe.

"I don't think mine would be any good, would boil him before it did any good." Under them, Astarion writhed in seeming agony. There was nothing they could, couldn't even move him until the cries dwindled into small whimpers and gasps. It didn't look like Astarion was quite with it. Karlach scooped him up. "We need to get him to camp."

Fatigue slowed them somewhat but there was a new sense of urgency. Astarion wasn't fully conscious, whimpering with each jostle even though his body seemed mostly healed from the worst injuries. All but running into camp, they were all calling for help jsut as dawn threatened to break.

Gale was on his knees next to Astarion, turning him onto his back. Though he had no healing spells prepared or a potion to hand, he gently brushed the damp hair from Astarion's forehead.

"I wish I could offer my blood to help. But I'm afraid I'd only do more harm than good."

"Let me try." Lae'zel pushed him aside and slice her arm deep for a rich flow. After the first swallow, Astarion seized. Twisted and rigid to the point that his bones creaked, even the scream died in his throat.

That was the point Halsin appeared, potion bottles in hand. "I didn't think your blood would be too alien for him," he rumbled. "But maybe he's sensitive. Let me help him."

The gentle light of healing didn't achieve much. Nor did the potion Halsin poured down Astarion's throat with Gale's help. Through it all, Astarion whimpered and cried, delirious with pain.

"One more idea." Halsin drank a healing potion and cast a spell on himself before pushing his arm into Astarion's mouth, forcing his fangs to break the skin. In theory his blood should carry the healing properties of spell and potion over to Astarion. In practice Astarion twisted with renewed agony but Halsin followed him, brows furrowed in concentration.

Spasming body slipping from Gale's grip, he tried to think of a way, any way to ease the pain and stop the horrors.

"What if it's the blood?"

It made Halsin pull away. After a few more quivers, Astarion settled into soft trembles of exhaustion. Another minute and his eyes fluttered open. Another whimper of pain left him. As least he seemed to be more aware. Rather than fearsome, he looked pathetic with blood smeared over his face, eyse watery and tear tracks on his cheeks.

A huff was followed by a soft "ow".

"I'm so sorry," Halsin rumbled, "we were only trying to help."

Not looking at him, Astarion's eyes were fixed on something else. A little moreforceful "ow" left him and his outstretched arm wriggled.

"I know-"

"Halsin!" Gale's voice was tight with shock. "Cover him, he's burning!"

The camp once again exploded into disarray as Astarion was simulaneously bundled into a bedroll and also rushed to the safety of the nearest tent. It just so happened to be Wyll's.

"What the fuck is going on?" They all congregated in the small space. "Shouldn't the tadpole be on top of this?"

Shadowheart grabbed the astral prism and shook it. "Hey, Emperor. We need to talk."

While they waited, another healing potion was gently pressed against Astarion's lips. He gulped it down with a dazed sigh as his hand recovered from the lick of morning sun. Eyes slowly drifting from face to face like he was seeing them for the first time, he licked his lips and cleared his throat.

"I can't hear any of you." Which made no sense. But now that they tried, Astarion's usual presence through the tadpoles was absent. A watery laugh broke through Astarion's lips. It turned into a cough and a sob. "I'm free."

"The tadpole is still there, I'm afraid," Gale replied, eyes wild with concern as he looked to the others for help.

"No. No." Astarion curled onto his side hugging himself into a ball. "He's gone. I don't need to go back."

Exchanging glances, the others tried to figure out just what Astarion was on about. The disembodied voice of the Emperor echoed through their skulls.

"It seems he's overexerted his tadpole. Such a thing is unheard of." Again, it didn't explain much but nobody dared question it. "His effort to protect his friends while killing the goblins was an unexpected success but it nearly destroyed the tadpole in his brain. It is currently unable to offer any of the protection it previously had against his condition as a spawn."

Understanding dawned on Wyll's face. "The compulsions."

"Thou shalt not leave my side, or whatever that bastard drilled into him. You don't feel compelled to go back to him?"

Astarion's reply was a shake of his head and another soft sniffle.

"How?" Gale stroked through the mess of white hair, more to sooth himself than Astarion with the touch.

It was Halsin who drew a deep breath. "Our blood. One of the rules was 'thou shalt not drink the blood of a thinking creature' was it not?"

"To go against a compulsion is agony. Madness inducing pain that kills."

"Unless you've spent 200 years getting acquainted with torment," Lae'zel cut in. "Which his master had made sure he was intimately familiar with."

Struggling to sit up, Astarion scrubbed at his face. A little lost, he wasn't certain what to do now. Everything still hurt but he needed to test the theory beyond simply not returning to Cazador's side.

"We need to test this."

Without a word, Halsin offered up his arm. Everyone watched with bated breath as Astarion cradled it in two hands, obviously gearing up for failure. His lips opened, fangs settled over Halsin's arm and he bit down. Eyes fluttering closed, a small moan left him as blood rushed into his mouth. No agony of even attempting to break a compulsion. Only the bliss of thick, rich blood. It tasted even better than when the tadpole was shielding him. The difficulty was stopping but Astarion just about managed, licking a little of the smeared blood from warm skin. For the first time in two centuries, a real smile graced his lips.

[blackjackkent]

There are two major questions regarding taking Rakha through Rivington. The first is what order to do things; based on my previous banter posts, the group's immediate top priority is seeing what's going on with the refugees.

The second, more important question is how I convince her to visit the circus, which I don't have an answer for yet. :P I think it will probably have something to do with Wyll saying he liked Dribbles when he was a kid. But we'll worry about that later.

For now, we'll start off with the refugees, because Wyll and Minthara have both, for different reasons, expressed concern about them not being let into the city. (And Lae'zel approved of them helping Yenna, and realistically Jaheira must have expressed approval for all of this too even though the game didn't have her do so.) All of which is good reason for Rakha to consider it a priority, given how often she follows their examples.

Upon walking into Rivington proper, she's presented with an immediate first chance to get involved in the refugee crisis, as represented by a merchant in fine clothes arguing with a man who looks like he hasn't slept or had a bath in a week.

"The place was empty!" the man yelps defensively as Rakha approaches. "Keep those thugs away from my family!"

"Zenovia!" the merchant wails petulantly. "Get these squatters out of my house - now."

The woman at his side - Zenovia - is dressed in fairly well-kept armor and has a sword on her back; Rakha's attention immediately homes in on her, disregarding the two men in favor of this woman as the only threat in the immediate vicinity.

"Arfur, sweetheart," the woman says, with a slow, nasty smile, "you paid me and my boys to be caravan guards, not cattle wranglers. If you want us to get our hands dirty, it'd be our pleasure - but that'll be extra."

She has a casual unpleasantness about her that strikes Rakha as familiar but takes her a moment to place, until she remembers Aradin, the mercenary at the Grove who abandoned Halsin to the goblin camp. The one who called Rakha half-breed.

This woman is like him, then. Another merc, then. Rakha, as a result, dislikes her immediately.

"What's going on?"(*) she asks curtly.

"I just want to remove these unlawful interlopers from my property!" the merchant - Arfur - says stridently. He seems mildly unnerved by the strange shadow-touched half-orc staring him down, but not enough to undermine his concern for his material goods.

(A/N: Literally none of the available responses here are particularly Rakha-ish, but the Dark Urge-specific one is funny, so we'll go with that.)

Rakha looks at him with an air of mild perplexity and cocks her head slowly to one side like a dog solving a puzzle. "None of this would have happened," she says, serious as a funeral, "if you had a butler manning the house."

No one seems to know what to say to this - except Wyll, who (as the only one who heard Rakha's full, chaotic explanation of Sceleritas the night she almost lost control) is able to clock this as the rare instance of Rakha (deeply unsure of what to do) making a joke. He chuckles low in his throat, and sees her mouth tug up almost imperceptibly in satisfaction.

Arfur, meanwhile, just has no idea what she's talking about. He stares at her for a long moment, then presses on as if she hadn't said anything.

"Look - I have some very valuable components in there," he whines. "I need to get that lot out before they damage something."

Rakha doesn't deeply care about this man or his house. She doesn't really care instinctively about the refugees either, but she knows Wyll does. And she doesn't like his merc companion. By all this logic, she already was sided against Arfur. But she isn't sure of the correct way out of this situation.

Certainly not what the beast in her head wants, which is to kill the lot of them and take the house for herself.

"Mind if I take a look?" she asks tightly. Perhaps she can retrieve the "components" Arfur mentions and get him to go away.

If she expected a good response, she doesn't get it. Arfur straightens up indignantly and wails, "Who do you think you are?! Zenovia - people are lining up to break into my property! Do something about it!"

The mercenary's lips curl again in that nasty grin. "You paid us to protect you and your high-quality merchandise on the road," she drawls. "And we've since arrived at our destination. As I said, anything else is extra."

Arfur scowls, patting his pockets and pulling out a handful of gold. "Ugh," he mutters. "This is the last time I hire someone from the Guild. Fine. Here's the extra. Finish. The. Job." He turns and stares at Rakha balefully. "Now please show this meddler some of that famous Rivington hospitality."

Rakha is still in the process of determining what this means when an arrow goes whistling past her ear and lodges in the wood wall behind her. Immediately her vision goes white and fire flares around her hands as the urge into violence, thus pushed, takes over everything else.

It never ends, she manages to think bitterly. As before, so now. Even when I try to follow a better path. The beast still ends up with what it wants in the end.

-----

(*) Full line in game: "Calm down and tell me what's going on." Adjusted to be more Rakha-ish.

[arosesstorm]

sirius -> Sebastian Sallow

word count: 1.2k

gender neutral reader! x Sebastian Sallow

warning: angst angst angst, I'm sorry, forgive me

summary: of course you would show up to save him, after everything he had put you through, after all of Ominis' begging, that's how much you cared about him; how could have Ominis ever doubted you?

English is not my first language - just trying my best, enjoy :)

It was no surprise you ended up here. 

It was inevitable you would, since the first day you met the boy.

Since he had brushed your shoulder on your first duel. 

You didn’t know if it was the plan all along or if his friendship had been genuine since the start. 

You didn’t know how it all seemed to go south while it all felt so right. 

There had been signs, little small words or big gestures that screamed for someone to stop the curse of events. 

Ominis had tried, badly, to stop Sebastian obstinacy but when you came into the picture and the blind boy saw how you and Sebastian were quickly getting closer he had taken a sudden turn and started to hope you would have convinced his friend to stop. 

But Ominis didn’t catch how easily Sebastian had you wrapped around his fingers, how devoted you were to the dark boy. 

The night he had heard you two fighting in the undercroft over one of your goblin friends, he had believed it was over, that the harsh words of the brunette had hurt you deep enough to leave him behind, to discourage his friend from going on now that you were out of the picture.

But he was wrong. 

It was late at night when it happened: Ominis had heard from Anne that Sebastian claimed to have found something that could help her, hurrying her to meet him close to the castle. 

He had waited for them to arrive, meeting Sebastian right outside what looked like a cave, but his friend didn’t listen to none of his reasons and brutally dismissed his friend: "I said I’m going to save my sister and there’s nothing that can stop me now". 

It was final, Ominis heard his friend disappear into the cave, pulling his sister inside.

With the panic that travelled through his veins the first thing that came to his mind was to call you so Ominis hurriedly sent you an owl, almost certain it was in vain since haven’t spoken to Sebastian in weeks both too busy being hurt to give up on your pride yet. 

That’s why it surprised him, to hear you jog out of the woods, hair messy, breath unsteady, your wand drown out as you painted. 

That was the moment Ominis understood he had undervalued you, you really were ready to die for his friend. 

"Y/n? that’s you, isn’t it?" 

You didn’t bother to answer, "where is he?" 

"Inside, he took Anne with him, y/n I think-" 

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence, a sudden warm air caressed his left cheek, signaling him you had run inside. 

It was late when you arrived and it didn’t shock you to see Solomon there either. 

Circled by inferius’, the man’s cheeks were redder than you had ever seen them as he fought agains his own niece. 

Spells were floating in the air as you looked over to the ground; Anne was the only one who had noticed your presence and she was looking at you in a way that reminded you of when you had seen Sebastian cry for the first time in the darkness of the common room at night. 

They had the same deep eyes. 

The relic was in Solomon’s hands when it broke, a red glow lighting up the place, drowning everyone in thoughts. 

The inferius, no longer still, started to step forward, their eyes a hypnotizing red as they moved for the kill. 

It was then that you dared to look at him. 

His eyes were red, his lips purple, parted in desperation.

"what have you done?" He had yelled, his voice hoarse as he took a step forward. 

Sebastian, your Sebastian, the boy who laughed with you on lazy breakfast mornings, the boy who spent his nights sneaking along you around the castle. 

The first one you wanted to speak to when something happened, the last one you could bear to see suffer. 

It was not a secret you were fond of him, but you didn’t really know how much, not until you heard his voice:

"Avada Ke-"

"Expelliarmus!" Your spell had been quick, the spark of light leaving your wand to push Sebastian’s wand out of his grasp. 

The boy had seen you then, your eyes teary as he called out for you, his voice soft, broken "y/n-". 

He almost felt like collapsing to the ground when he saw your face. 

Your eyes were staring right back at him.

You were far from him, but he didn’t miss the way your lips parted, how your voice softly left your throat. 

You were crying now, as he heard you say:

"I love you".

Anne had cried out loud then, covering herself from the attack of an inferius as your wand moved.

Sebastian had seen you use Ancient Magic on many occasions already, but he had never witnessed something so powerful before. 

Some flashes as deadly as thunderbolts cut the ground, they seemed to have come from nowhere as your eyes opened up, pure light was coming out from them. 

The inferius’ had been slashed, falling to the ground, Solomon’s voice almost didn’t leave his throat. 

"What- what is that?" He felt himself ask, his own eyes wide in surprise. 

For a moment it looked like the light had come off, only a soft blue glow lingering in the air.

Sebastian heard the last inferius fall to the ground as you pointed your wand right at Anne. 

You were muttering something, some latin words as Anne looked your way, mesmerized. 

There had been a light then, a ray of lightning passed Anne’s chest, and everything was suddenly over. 

Sebastian looked around, they were still in the cave, his uncle still held the destroyed relic in his left hand but the ground was covered with inferius’ bones as he herd his name being called. 

Anne was standing from the ground, a new light making its way up her face as she smiled at his brother, her legs no longer trembling. 

Sebastian felt like crying then as he smiled his sister’s way. 

You, you, you had healed her, you had saved his Anne.

He didn’t have time to celebrate, as soon as his eyes fixed on you, he saw your body collapsing, your knees giving up as you fell to the ground. 

"Y/n!" He had yelled, his legs taking him closer to you, his own hands trembling, his breath cut as he arrived right above you, touching your shoulder gently. 

"You made it! Y/n, you made it." You heard him speak, his voice distant, his cries somehow far. 

You had looked up at him, his face blurry, but you saw concern travel up his features "Sebastian, I’m tired". 

The boy might have died that instant as he cried your name, blood wetting your nose as your eyes shut close. 

"Y/n! Please y/n wake up!" But it was no use, you were distant, you were distant and he loved you, Sebastian loved you in a way he had never loved someone before.

He didn’t want to live in a world you were not in, he couldn’t let you go. 

It took him this much to realize, but he loved you. 

He loved you, he loved you. 

© 2023 of Mia (arosesstorm). All Rights Reserved.

[omgkalyppso]

Tav Étoile as a Companion Part 3 of 4

Questions from here. You can press J to skip this post on desktop.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Story Specific

1.How does your Tav advise the player character when it comes to the Dream Visitor?

They advise against making hasty decisions. They don't trust the dream visitor because of their beauty and sincerity. Étoile believes the Dream Visitor is exactly the sort of temptation that a force of ill-intent would manifest for themself.

2. How do they advise the player character on Raphael?

In Act 1 they advise against selling their soul for anything. They believe Wyll is right and that Raphael is bound by his nature to overreach any deal you concoct and leave you empty.

In Act 3 they believe Raphael would be a strong ally and would be more grateful than Mystra. They're tired of being pulled around by the Emperor. If Raphael is promising being free of the tadpoles, he's the only one doing so, and we've seen what Mystra's favor has earned Gale. Additionally, they would make the deal with Raphael on Lae'zel's behalf if it was their decision; what do they care if the wars in the Hells shift in his favor?

3. How do they react to Astarion biting the Player Character?

Amused.

Astarion: I was worried people might show up with torches and pitchforks. Although there's still time.

Étoile: With full apologies — I thought your fangs were broken teeth. I've never met a vampire.

[Player Character and Astarion dialogue]

Étoile: No arguments from me. I think the same previously unspoken rule of 'no killing anyone' applies to everyone in the party?

4. How do they react to the Player Character letting Abdirak whip them?

Amused, incredulous.

Étoile: Does it feel like divinity? Or something else?

5. How do they react to the Player Character taking their first tadpole power?

Worried. What if this means the illithid parasite has replaced part of their brain? How will you ever recognize what you've lost if you're only focused on these abilities?

6. Will they stay with the Player Character regardless of siding with the goblins or the tieflings, or is it possible for them to leave the party permanently?

I feel bad since so many companions already leave if you side with the Goblins, but I think Étoile would also.

7. What can they be found doing at the tiefling/goblin party?

Extremely conditional. If Alfira is alive, then Étoile is playing their flute to accompany a performance of hers.

If Alfira is not alive, then Étoile is heavily flirting with [a character] who walks away if the player character approaches Étoile for conversation. If Astarion was not going to proposition the player character, then it's him. If Astarion was going to proposition the player character then it's one of the following in order depending on their survival: Zevlor, Halsin, Asharak, Komira & Locke, or Dammon.

If somehow they're all deceased, then Étoile is drinking sadly near Karlach.

8. Do they have comments on who the Player Character chooses to spend the night with? 

I think this question also refers to the night of the party? Where I think you can't spend the night with Wyll or Karlach? But I haven't tried romancing either of them yet, and especially not tried romancing Wyll without recruited Karlach? But we're going to Pretend.

Étoile, about Shadowheart: Shadowheart has an uncertainty about her ... If she's expressed an interest in you — well, that's very sweet.

Étoile, about Astarion: Astarion lacks for subtlety, doesn't he? But he's pretty and seems the type to — heh — play with his food. Good for you.

Étoile, about Gale: The wizard's spirits improved tenfold since you spoke with him. Be careful he doesn't finish in a deluge of fireworks.

Étoile, about Lae'zel: You've a lot of nerve — the pair of you. I'd be buzzing as I walked around if I had the attention of a woman with Lae'zel's temperament.

Étoile, about Wyll: For all the tales of the Blade of Frontiers, none referred to his lovers, and you know the bards love that shit. I'll distract Volo / act as a distraction when you sneak away.

Étoile, about Karlach: Karlach's excitement is going to act as a beacon out here. Luckily, I think everyone's reserved enough to shy away. You're gorgeous though, her enthusiasm's warranted — not mention part of her charm.

9. Do they have unique dialogue if the Player Character lets them die when they steal the Blood of Lathander?

This is so fun. Étoile would rub their forehead and then double face-palm.

1. You okay?

2. You're okay.

3. Walk away.

Étoile: That was my life you threw away. My life. I know we've done a lot of killing to get here, but— Did you never see anyone die before our adventure? Have you forgotten that there's meaning in life? In death? You owe me a funeral.

10. How do they react if the PC licks the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar?

Disappointed. Irritated.

Étoile: ... Have you been licking things this whole time and this is the first I've noticed? What compelled you to— Mm. No, I don't want to— No. I'm getting us something bracingly sterile to drink. Separate bottles.

11. What do they say if the PC tries to force them to go up on stage with Dribbles the Clown?

Étoile: You know, you could have directed him to a child. You're lucky I'm a good sport.

Their expression doesn't align with this, tainted with obvious disgust as they make their way to the stage.

12. Is it possible for your Tav to be kidnapped and replaced by Orin?  How is Orin’s deception revealed?  How do they react to the PC rescuing them in the Temple of Bhaal?

Disclaimer that I've only seen Halsin's kidnapping content so far, and only as Tav not a durge.

Yes, they can be kidnapped.

Maybe Orin's deception can be revealed during a long rest at camp, where "Étoile" is hovering over someone (the player character's love interest?) with a knife or their usual weapon and if you're a durge you can let "Étoile" strike your partner once and otherwise you have a few shout-out dialogue options so they roll away, and Orin transforms and complains that meditating is so bloody boring! Before she fucks off to wherever.

Rescuing?

Étoile: You? No. It's you. Say it's you.

Be calm. It's me.

We've slain Orin. Her shapeshifters will have gone into hiding.

Étoile, if 1: (holding back tears) Orin took many guises in my time with her. You. Our companions. My-my mother. But she was never so kind as to answer my pleas for kindness. It's— I shouldn't be surprised to see you, but I appreciate you coming for me all the same.

Étoile, if 2: Please, I've failed this test twice already. Just take the flesh.

[Dark Urge only] Put the elf out of their misery. [Étoile dies / permanently leaves the party]

[Dark Urge only] Snap out of it. Stab them out of their stupor. [knife in the shoulder, shorter races knife in the leg]

What's she done to you?

I might, if you don't smarten up. This is a rescue, Étoile.

13. How do they react to the PC either allowing Astarion to ascend or convincing him to spare the 7000 spawn?

When I first played through the scene of allowing Astarion to ascend, Wyll and Lae'zel each shouted objections. The second time I played through it, they both remained silent. I don't know what influenced either outcome. But Étoile would shout, "Can't you see how much influence the archdevil has over the ritual? You have to stop this!"

Étoile, after ascension: I ... I would've sacrificed Astarion's siblings, but ... All those poor souls. If it never weighs on either of you, it will weigh on me.

Étoile, after forgoing ascension: Astarion made the ultimate decision, but you helped him there. Thank you. There was no need for him to feel such fear, nor shame, in his nature. I truly think this portends good things, ultimately.

14. How does Tav react to the PC becoming a mind flayer?  Can they offer to become one themselves?  Does their reaction change if they’re romanced?

Poorly.

Sorry to have an obvious fave, but Étoile will only offer to become one themself if the player character is Astarion, romance isn't a requirement, they just feel comfortable suppressing the rest of their personal objections for the sake of letting him keep control of his body that he's fought so long for; and if he's ascended, then they know it's a lost cause but otherwise would hope that through this action that he would regain a little faith in "humanity." Like Orpheus, Étoile would ask for a warriors death when the deed is done.

Otherwise, Étoile does not want to lose their body, their soul (as per Withers), or risk losing their autonomy. They will not do this thing.

Depending on the circumstance, Étoile might think the player character is more honorable than they are by being able to sacrifice of themself to ensure the safety of the plane. Or else they are disgusted at the lack of consideration or lust for power that has led to this decision. Either way, if asked, they caution against it.

Their reaction isn't different if they're romanced.

They will kiss the cheek of an illithid-transformed partner.

I haven't played through if you tranform into an illithid. Can the player character ask for death after the journey? If so, a romanced Étoile needs a Charisma Persuasion check DC20 or a Wisdom Illithid Powers check DC5 (to indicate to the player character how they've changed / how weak people are) to convince them to hold the knife after they beg not to.

Endgame Étoile will indicate that they need to mourn who the player character was as part of being able to come to terms with the change.

15. How do they react when the Dark Urge first reveals their amnesia and murderous thoughts to them?

Étoile would indicate that perhaps the healer they're seeking for the illithid parasites might be able to determine whether their amnesia is magical or medical, and further steps can be taken from there. At least the player character remembers how to fight? That'll help for now.

As for murderous thoughts, Étoile would worry that with their amnesia that the player character has forgotten any techniques they may have been using to manage them. Like Lae'zel, they'd suggest keeping it to their enemies until a more optimal solution presents itself.

16. How do they react to the Dark Urge killing Alfira?

Étoile goes numb for a while. Offers to bury Alfira, asks if anyone knows to which deity the tieflings held a candle, prays to their own god in the end. They won't tolerate the durge being left alone on watch and if they're an elf, offers to meditate at their back in the future.

17. If romanced, how do they react to the Dark Urge trying to kill them in Act 2?

I haven't played a durge into Act 2 yet so I don't know what this looks like, but.

They would try to talk them down. They would try to hold them close enough to restrain them. Given the opportunity, they would lace their fingers with the durge's around a hilt of a knife and call on Frost until the durge's hand burned from the cold, while asking them if they wanted it to hurt, because if so then they will love them in kind, and if not then they will restrain the durge by whatever means until the violence passes, like a cloud over the moon. If it's a soft interaction, then Étoile would cradle their face and cast Lay on Hands; and if it's an angry one ... then they scuffle in the dirt.

[hawkogurl]

Thank you so much for getting the actual concept of Jekyll and Hyde as written in the original novella versus the modern pop culture version of good half vs evil half right! It's one of those things where I get where the misinterpretation comes from, but it's so frustrating when people misattribute what the story was about to bolster their arguments - and even if it was about good versus evil rather than (lack of) responsibility, it wouldn't apply to Raimi!Norman anyway bc he wasn't originally written like that.

I've seen people try to argue post-NWH that Norman's final scene in the first Raimi film is the true good Norman coming out to genuinely plead with Peter before the Goblin takes over, but that's very much not how the scene plays out? He's so clearly setting up Peter's murder while luring him into a false sense of security and drops the mask once Peter rejects him and Norman no longer needs to manipulate him, and either way, the scene and Norman's characterization is far more interesting, complex, and works better as a foil for Peter if everything Norman does is intentional bc he symbolizes great power and no responsibility.

Exactly! Man if nobody else got me I know tumblr user spider-xan got me can I get an amen. It’s also frustrating because a lot of the scenes where people can argue it’s good Norman shining through are scenes where… Norman is being manipulative? Like as you said, the final scene where Norman is just trying to gain sympathy long enough to kill Peter as well as the scene where Harry and Norman talk near the end. Norman only shows Harry that affection once Harry has done something for him and given him information he considers useful. I’ve talked about this at length before but none of that shit is actually redeeming. I guess it speaks to Norman as a character that he manipulates so well he successfully manipulated half the audience.

It was also fucking wild to live in the post NWH world in which people would make jokes about Harry’s negative traits making it valid for Norman to clearly dislike and neglect him even if you’re gonna deny he abuses Harry. (Which. He abuses Harry. I’m not ever gonna say he doesn’t.) as if very explicitly Norman is not the origin for all the traits people don’t like in Harry.

[radiation]

i really hated baldur’s gate 3 and it pains me to say this, bc i feel like a huge jerk for being the one guy hating the thing everyone likes.

i should start out by saying im biased against it by default- i find dnd to be an extremely racist game built on some pretty terrible foundations. despite this, i tried to go in with an open mind.

the first thing i noticed was that they tried to de-racist the setting- awesome! thats great! except… they only did it for *one* race. tieflings, in original dnd, are an "evil" race and cant ever be morally good. baldurs gate 3 has a *lot* tieflings, and theyre all their own person, and none of them are inherently evil! oh, but the tieflings' first threat are goblins, an inherently evil race who cant ever be morally good.

another thing is that everyone in the game is somehow racist- theyre all spouting nonsense fantasy slurs at each other, and its clear the writers dont understand racism at all. everyone making a dnd campaign seems to treat racism as a quirky inevitability, rather than something thats learned. you dont turn racist because an elf killed your dad or something, you turn racist because youre taught that a separate group of people is something to be feared, shunned, and hated.

but what REALLY sunk it for me is the fact that youre basically a serial killer. the second someone wrongs you in any way at all you fucking Murder them. Badly. and it very quickly became hard for me to empathize with these characters because all i could think about was how many lives theyve taken. think about other video games- usually the enemies are either some form of monster (like demons from devil may cry or doom!), and when theyre humans its usually either pro-military propaganda (call of duty) or anti-military propaganda (metal gear solid… kinda LMFAO). ive had my friends defend it by being like "well its just kinda like youre a murder hobo party in dnd!" and that… makes me hate it even more.

i obviously dont think video games cause violence or anything stupid like that, but i do think that all art is pushing a message, intentionally or unintentionally, and a big part of baldurs gate is the idea that people "beneath" you dont deserve to live.

and its really a shame, because there IS a lot of stuff i loved in there. the sheer amount of interactivity is absolutely mind blowing, the characters probably would be fun if they werent serial killers, and the combat is extremely well designed and engaging. theres a lot more i could say but it would be even longer and ive already said a LOT

.

[fanartfic]

Two Left Feet.

Tavya tries to get Zevlor and Halsin to dance during the tiefling's celebration party, but is sadly disappointed.

TW: None, all fluff.

Tavya sat on a log and watched as the tieflings danced around the fire. She swirled the goblet of wine in her hand, a rather dry red that was a little too bitter for her tastes. 

The others seemed to be enjoying themselves, except for Lae’Zel, of course. That grumpy Gith didn't seem to enjoy much of anything but slaughter. The tieflings had insisted on throwing them a party after they had cleared out the goblins that had threatened them on the road. Wyll and Karlach, who had finally come to the decision to not kill each other, were dancing together, laughing as Karlach kept botching steps that Wyll was trying to teach her.

Tav let a smile cross her lips. Terryn would have loved this. 

The smile faded as she looked down at the bracelet on her wrist. She downed her wine and stood up desperate for a distraction at the sadness that gnawed at her heart. 

She spotted Zevlor across the way, quietly observing with his own goblet. 

Eh, why not. A little conversation wouldn't hurt. 

She made her way around the fire and stopped beside the elder tiefling. 

“You're missing out on the fun hiding over here,” said Tav, nudging him on the arm. 

“Oh, I can assure you, they don't want me out there,” Zevlor chuckled. “And why aren't you dancing? Tonight is for you and your group. You have saved us a lot of trouble heading to Baldur's Gate.”

“Eh, I need a dance partner, and nobody's asked.” Tav shrugged. 

“Why don't you do the asking?” Zevlor chuckled, taking a sip from his goblet. 

“Okay,” Tav smiled, and held out a hand.

Zevlor paused and observed the elven woman in front of him. “Oh no, you don't want to dance with an old man like me.” 

“And what makes you say that?” 

“You're young. You deserve someone who can keep up with your energy.” 

“I'm not that young, you know.” Tavya huffed and crossed her arms across her chest. “Definitely older than you.” 

“Oh really? 

“Yes, really.”

“How old are you then?” 

“317.” 

Zevlor nearly spat out his drink. Tavya laughed as he coughed and regained his composure. 

“If you don't want to dance, that's fine. Just come up with a better excuse than ‘I'm old’ alright?” She giggled as she walked away. Just then Alfira began to play a familiar tune from Tavya’s homeland. 

“Aaah! It's the Dragon’s Dance! I have to find a partner,” Tav cried out, looking around for anyone who was willing.  

It seemed everyone was either not wanting to dance, too drunk too, or already partnered up. 

Then she spotted Halsin across the way, he was looking right at her, observing her from where he leaned up against a rock a little ways from where Zevlor stood. 

Maybe he would like to dance?  

Tavya made her way back around the circle of dancers and stopped in front of Halsin, who stood up straight as she approached. 

“Want to dance?” She asked him, holding out her hand. 

Halsin chuckled and held up both of his hands. 

“Oh no, I’m not much of a dancer,” he chuckled. “You should go and have fun, and not waste it talking with an old druid like me.”

“Oh come on! You don't have to be a good dancer to enjoy this song,” Tavya pleaded. 

“No, I-uh, I think I'm fine right here,” Halsin crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back against the rock again, an amused smile across his face.

"Come on, don't make me beg."

"I have two left feet, I'm afraid."

Tavya sighed in resignation. "Oh come on, you're no fun!"

Halsin laughed. "Go on, go and enjoy yourself. There are plenty of others who desire your company." His eyes sparkled in the firelight. Even though he refused to dance, he was having a little fun at Tavya's expense.

"Come on, last chance," Tavya held out her hand to him.

"I'm afraid I'll must decline," Halsin said, trying to let her down as easy as possible.

Tavya could feel her shoulders slump a little in disappointment.

"Oh alright." she huffed, turning away.

“I'll take that dance!” 

Gale swooped in and grabbed Tav’s hand, whirling her into the group that circled the fire. The tune picked up it's pace at that moment, and Tav let out a hoot as she danced. Her hair fell out of its customary bun at the back of her head, and it's whole waist long length fell behind her shoulders, spinning in graceful waves with her. 

“How in the hell's do you know the steps!” She laughed as Gale spun her round again.

“I was a rather well traveled wizard in my time. I even went to Tethyr for a little while with my mother.” Gale explained as he kept perfect time with the music. 

“Well, you are a very good dancer,” Tavya smiled as she grabbed his hand and gave a little bow as part of the dance. 

Her smile was the most genuine Gale had seen since he had met her. A part came up where you switched partners with the nearest dancer, and Tav found herself bounding around the fire with Dammon, the blacksmith. He had no idea what the steps were, but danced nonetheless. She did her best to show him on the fly, and was pleasantly surprised when the smith picked up on the steps quickly. She danced with him until the end of the song and clapped for Alfira, who bowed graciously. 

“Thank you, my dear, for a taste of my homeland. It has been missed.” Tavya reclaimed her goblet from where she had set it and raised a toast to the tiefling bard. 

The others around her toasted to her as well, then dispersed to mingle. Gale came up smiling, his cheeks rosy from the exertion. 

“I knew you were a Tethyrian from that accent of yours. What are you doing all the way out here?” He asked. 

“Oh, I was on the wrong side of a civil war.” Tav took a sip of her wine. “My family was not welcome, so we left.” 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Gale. 

“Don't be,” Tav reassured him. “The best things that happened to me in my life happened after I left Tethyr. I have no reason to miss it.” She walked with Gale and joined him sitting back on the log. “Although, I do miss the food. I would love a good goulash right now.” 

“Well, would it surprise you to learn I have a recipe for Tethyrian Goulash I've been dying to try?” 

Tav raised an eyebrow. “An authentic one?”

Gale nodded. “Oh yes.”

“We’ll have to find the spices.” Tav rubbed her chin. 

“But once we do. . .” Gale grinned.

“Oh that's going to be good. I'll keep an eye out for a pot as well.” Tav pointed a finger at Gale. “Just make sure it isn't too spicy. I'm not sure how the others will handle it.” 

“Oh, we can dial down the spice, just not too much.” Gale took a swig of his drink. “Being able to make it with an actual Tethyrian is going to be a treat.” 

Tav patted Gale’s shoulder. “Gods it's been a while since I had a good goulash. I'm looking forward to it.” She smiled wide then downed the rest of her drink. As she expected, a pleasant warmth began creeping down her arms from her shoulders as the alcohol took effect. 

“I think I'm going to call it a night,” she yawned. “I always get sleepy when I drink.” 

“Sleep well, my friend,”

Gale watched her as she disappeared into her tent and collapsed onto her bedroll. 

He was startled when the druid came over and sat down beside him. 

“Halsin, glad you could join us. Did you get some wine?” 

“I have partaken a little, but I am more for a mug of honey mead than wine,” the big elf eased himself down onto the log. “Tell me, what do you know of Tavya? You have known her a fair bit longer than I.”

“Not that long, really. Barely a couple of ten-days.” Gale shrugged. “All I know is that she was a farmer before all of this, and a retired adventurer before that. She hasn't really gone into much detail about anything. To tell the truth, we’re all rather guarded about our pasts. We barely know each other.” 

“But from what you do know of her, what have you observed?” Halsin pressed, curiosity in his eyes. 

Gale took another sip of his drink. 

“I've never met anyone as kind and genuine as her. She busted Shadowheart out of an illithid pod on a doomed Nautoloid; she pulled me out of a malfunctioning travel rune; she talked Lae’Zel out of killing the tieflings that had captured her; got Wyll to see his error and reason him out of killing Karlach; she tempers that fiery tiefling’s temper, and somehow has the patience to put up with Astarion.” Gale shrugged. “Should I go on?” 

“You can include freeing me from the goblins dungeons,” Halsin added, “despite others and their misgivings.” 

“Well, there you are,” Gale finished his drink and set his goblet aside. “There isn't a malicious bone in that woman’s body.”

He paused for a moment. “Well, not entirely.”

Halsin raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Tav was quite hostile towards Kahga. . .tho I assume it's because she was threatening a child. . . Arabella. As soon as Kahga had mentioned death as a punishment for the poor girl, Tav was all over her, threatening a fate in kind should harm befall the child.” 

Halsin nodded his head. He had noticed Tav’s cold demeanor to his former first druid, and a tense interaction after he had dismissed her. By the look on Kahga’s face, what words passed between them had not been kind. 

Gale's story was as good a reason as any for the animosity shown between the two. 

He had remembered seeing Arabella running up to Tav and hugging her before the group had left for their camp. Tav had held her tightly, almost reluctant to let her go. Halsin smiled at the thought. The Oak Father had provided protection for the grove, even when he had foolishly gotten himself captured by overestimating the mercenary Aradin’s abilities. 

Gale answered another call for a dance and got up from the log. Halsin remained a while, staring into the fire. Other memories played in his mind.

Tavya’s demeanor at the mention of Moonrise was of particular interest. She knew more than she was letting on. 

He would wait for an explanation. He hadn't earned Tav’s trust yet. Halsin hoped that he could. She seemed like someone worth knowing. 

The party died down and dissipated late in the evening. The moon had risen above the tree line, casting a gentle glow throughout the camp. Goodbyes were said as the tieflings returned to the grove. Halsin, however, remained at the camp. Karlach had first watch, but the poor barbarian was exhausted and drunk. 

“I'll watch over the camp, Karlach, get some rest,” said Halsin, approaching her.

Karlach let out a loud yawn and stood up.

“No argument from me, soldier.” She shuffled over to her bedroll and collapsed face first into it, snoring in mere seconds. 

Halsin chuckled. This was certainly an interesting group.

He was going to like traveling with them.

[thewadapan]

Started playing the very first Final Fantasy and turned it off after literally five minutes. It's dogshit, yo. Absolute waste of time.

You start out on an overworld, with a choice between a village or a castle. You go to the village. Then the first guy you talk to teleports you to the castle, so oh, I guess you were supposed to go to the castle.

Inside, the King checks to see your crystals to confirm that you are the warrior of prophecy (I'm sorry, who are we? Where did we come from? Why do we have these crystals? Why are we mute, a single entity with four faces like some kind of hydra?). He tells you to go rescue a princess. You walk out of the castle. Every single person you talk to in the castle says a different variation of "Oh please, save our princess!". So does every single person in the village.

You return to the overworld. Five steps later, a battle commences. It's three identical goblins. Your menu gives you the choice between Attack, Magic, Item, etc. You check Magic. None of your characters have any Magic. You don't have any items either. You order Attack on all the goblins and kill then. You take another few steps and another battle starts. It's five goblins.

On an intellectual level I gather that this was revolutionary at the time, but I don't know, when I play, fucking, Pong, I have a blast. Pong is as good today as the day it was invented. Lots of classic games still hold up. But Final Fantasy really forces me to reckon with a different era where there was fuck all to do, and kids would just kind of make there own fun with whatever, because all of this stuff was just ways of killing time. Like, you ever have a set of jacks? I never knew what to do with jacks. All the games you could play with them seemed boring. I'd read about how kids in the olden days only had jacks to play with, and I'd think, god, they had such terrible taste back then. The thing with jacks is that all the moves are things you have to devote hours and hours to practising, these pointless little dexterity tests. Land the ball in the cup. The word "toy" feels disassociated from these things, so too "hobby"; the word that hews closest is "pastime", because that's all these things are: ways of passing time, from times past.

Games are better now than they've ever been; many things are. I think of the toys and stories that entertained me for so much of my childhood, and try to imagine what a kid today would even think of it, if you put it in their hands.