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airbendertendou · 2 years

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safety [of a killer’s arms]

gender neutral reader. no killer in mind so they/them pronouns used. killer is bigger / taller than reader [bc they're a lil monstorous it makes sense in my mind]

synopsis : an unnamed survivor [he/him] makes you feel sour - for lack of better words. one trial, you find yourself running to the murderer instead of away.

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

he always made you uncomfortable. sliding up beside you at the campfire ; his hands lingering when he patched you up ; sly nicknames that made your skin crawl. with a gulp, you flinch as the generator you’re working on finished, lighting up the spot you were hiding at.

taking in a deep breath, you stand and slowly observe your surroundings. the lack of a heartbeat and chilling feeling of being watched was absent — you were safe for now. you tread along carefully, eyes peeled for any sudden movements.

“[name],” the hairs on your arms prickle just at the sound of his voice. you don’t turn — you only continue moving forward. “we’ll be safer together. come stand with me.”

you ignore him. lips parted, your breathing struggles to steady as panic starts to build up. you can hear his feet shuffle behind you ; he’s starting to speed up to catch you. “[name], come on! it’s only us now.”

it sounds like a threat. his tone is reassuring, words light and airy, but it still feels like threat. it’s only the two of you ; no one else around. you gulp again, speeding up just a little more. he lets out what sounds like a laugh, “are we playing a little cat and mouse game?”

“go find another gen,” you call out over your shoulder. you quicken your pace a bit more, “we can still win this.”

“i did win, [name].” he lets out another laugh — it sounds menacing ; dark. everything a survivor shouldn’t be. “i’ve got you, all to my self.”

your heartbeat picks up, pounding in your ears. on the edge of a sprint now, you can see the killer of this trial in the distance. you speed up more, ignoring the muffled curse behind you as you barrel straight into their arms.

a vice grip is around their torso. arms around their waist, you bury your head into their neck as your breath leaves in panicked pants. “jus’ kill me,” you whimper out. “please.”

their hands are raised above them, weapon still poised from when they prepared to swing it at you. curiously, their eyes fly to where you came from ; to where your fellow survivor had now made himself known.

“[name],” you whimper at the sound of his voice. his eyebrows furrow, playful smile falling from his face and growing stern. “let them go. now.”

“he won’t leave me alone.” you whisper it into their chest as you burrow further into them. “watching me. waiting for me. touching me. i— he won’t leave me alone.”

their hands had fallen to your hips now, peeling you away from their torso. you whimper again but relax when they pull you behind them. just what had this man done — what had he made you feel — that was so bad you looked to a murderer for comfort? for safety?

he lets out a huff, taking a step closer. you mold yourself into their back in retaliation. “[name], come on. we have to win this game. jus’ you an’ me now.”

you want to scream at him. want to cry and yell and hit him until he stops talking ; until he stops eyeing you so desperately and hungrily. phantom fingers dance on your thighs, reminding you of the hidden touches he’d take from you ; careful whispers echo in your ears of the things he’d do to you once you were alone.

you couldn’t go with him ; refused to.

the killer of the trial made a show of raising their weapon again before they flung it toward him, hitting him directly in the chest. with a small oof!, he falls to the floor before struggling to get back up. as he limps away, he glares at you and it feels more sinister than the heart beating in your ears.

“safe.” it’s a promise. your killer pats your shoulders as gently as they can, moving you so that you’re a little more hidden. they crouch so that your eyes look into theirs, “safe.”

stay here, and you’ll stay safe. i’ll take care of him while i’m gone.

the breath of relief you let out is immediate. and it’s so stupid — how secure you do feel with someone who’s life revolves around murder. but, compared to the creeping touches and lingering gazes of your fellow survivor, they are a safe haven.

they come back after a scream of terror hits the area you’re in, drenched in blood and almost skipping with joy. gently, your hand is looped into theirs as they tug you along the map.

“home,” they say. “take you home.”

and so you’re lead to the hatch, lowered into it because your legs are too shaky to handle your own weight. before you fall, your fingers grip onto the edge of it and you peer up at the killer once more. your lower lip trembles, “thank you. i can’t say it enough — thank you.”

every trial with them after that feels gooey — warm — as you’re always saved for last and treated less harshly than the others. he never looks at you again ; instead he shakes in fear at the thought of you and the giant bodyguard you’d acquired.

lingering gazes come from outside of the campfire now — but they make you feel protected and watched over ; safe. they always manage to make you feel safe.

idk where this came from so don't even ask hehe <<33 tagging it w killers i thinlk would act like this but you can always add your fave <3 airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

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bonzos-number-1-fan · 5 months

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TMAGP 12 Thoughts: Nostalgia Bait

I have no real preamble on this one. I think it was a fun, straight forward, episode without too too much to really sink out not-soft teeth into here. Also please laugh at that subtitle, I'm very proud of it.

Spoilers for episode 12 below the cut.

A lot of office stuff here it feels like. Not a huge amount to really say on it as like with the rest of this episode it's more building on stuff we've already seen than it is adding new things to the show. Which is obviously not a bad thing but it's fairly straightforward. Celia and Sam are going on a date, which is cute, and Alice is very obviously jealous, which is also cute.

"You wouldn't be tempted?" "No" [bzzt]. Uh huh.

So first things first for the incident, this episode took places on 09/03/2024. 09/03/2024 is the date the incident in episode 10, Saturday Night, was filed. So everything that went down here was the same night that Gwen gave Bonzo the instructions and presumably he just killed whoever had their name in their. We don't really know who that was as of yet. Of the known characters I said it'd likely be Klaus but this was someone new. They're only identified as "Baz" in the episode, assuming the first victim was the main target, and we don't know any Bazs, Basils, or Barrys AFAIK. But if that's someone Gwen would know I think that only leaves two or three people it could be. I think most people will think Baz is a Bouchard or some other family member. I think it's possible that it's either someone on the corporate ladder that Lena eliminates as a show of "this is what it takes to move up in this company". There has been a lot of focus on Gwen's naivety in that area after all. The last main option I see is that it could just be someone fairly "random". Not someone Gwen is necessarily connected to but just some form of threat. Gwen "knows" them more in a general sense of "you know what I'm sending him to do, eliminate a threat". Hard to say just from the incident alone. The lunchbox and theme tune are "real" too, which is fun.

Outside of that not a load to say but it was a fun episode and it's nice to see Bonzo doing Bonzo things. It's really interesting that he appears to have either two "forms" or that he's got some sort of mental manipulation abilities. When Gwen saw Bonzo, despite being aware of him from TV, she reacted with abject horror. The party guests didn't. So either Bonzo didn't look like his current self or he's able to manipulate people's perception of him. Both would account for the reactions he got. Just a guy in a Bonzo suit. Not a sweaty meaty monster.

After that we just see Gwen horrified by the case. Which is an understandable reaction but I don't think its an elucidating one. I wouldn't say how she reacts shows anything beyond terrifying realisation about what the OIAR is. Her brief conversation with Alice also leans in that direction. So if it's a family member it doesn't look like one who's loss is felt as an immediate gut punch.

The only other comment I have on this is how refreshingly different Bonzo is being treated as a primary monster in this show. Unlike in TMA which did a lot of slow build up, small appearances, and things like that we've gotten two episodes very close together where he shows up and is a large focal point of the episode.

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Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet

DPHW Theory: 4728 all seems pretty reasonably for what we saw. Death and Helplessness were not major thematic factors but Pain and Weird very much were.

CAT# Theory: 1.

R# Theory: B is totally in line with my ideas on this.

Header talk: Mascot (Kids) -/- Frenzy is what I have been waiting for. Sweet repetition. Sweet, sweet repetition. Episode 10, Saturday Night, was CAT1RB2275 - Mascot (Kids) -/- Murder. An identical Section (Subsection) with a different Crosslink.

This largely confirms that Crosslinks impact DPHW gradings. It doesn't say much about how these things are calculated but I'd wager it's something like Section (Subsection) gets a rating that is then modified by a Crosslink. Rather than all those combinations being in the book. It's not exactly useful information but does give more clarity on the role of the Crosslinks. With both cases having the same CAT#R# it's impossible to say at the moment whether that can be changed by the Crosslink.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp theory #tmagp speculation #klaus = kl4-u5

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got-into-worm-by-mistake · 2 months

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Interlude 11h, Live Reactions

Okay.

So.

This is the one I've been really waiting for. So I'm going to go all out for this, because it's, you know, the Interlude. The only one from Arc 11 really worth reading. A key reason I'm even reading Worm in the first place, since if Amy hadn't done this and all that flows from it, Worm probably wouldn't have caught my interest enough back when I made that errant comment.

All the attendant 'this is a live reaction' stuff applies.

Amy sat on her bed, staring at the piece of paper in her hands. The header at the top was stylized, a silhouette of a superhero with a cape flowing, with a script reading ‘The Guild’ extending to the right.

Given how Amy is going to be reasonably important for the next few arcs, and then show up significantly more in the back half of the work than she did Arcs 1-11, I kind of feel like...

This is too late to be getting our first Amy POV?

I mean, Amy's been sort of lurking at the end of the narrative for a while, and blind readers have presumably guessed all the teases about Amy are building up to something, and they are, but like...

A lot has to be fit into this Interlude, all at once, and maybe some of it could have, and indeed should have, been shown earlier, I'm gonna guess?

Like, any hypothetical worm TV show is absolutely going to have to show some of Amy's life much sooner than this. It's just not going to work if this is suddenly the first glimpse we get of Amy's perspective.

But also, BABYGIRL! AMY! MY LITTLE MEOW MEOW!

Mrs. Carol Dallon. Brandish, Let me open by stating my condolences for the loss of your brother-in-law, nephew, and your husband’s injury. I have heard New Wave is currently considering disbanding, and you have my best wishes, whatever route you end up taking. We have too few heroes and heroines to lose them, and even fewer of the truly good heroes and heroines who set the standard for everyone else, parahuman and human alike. If finances ever become a concern, know that all you need to do is ask, and we will find you employment among the Guild’s uncostumed staff. Knowing what you have been through as of late, it is with a heavy heart that I send you this message with further bad news. Marquis, interred in the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, confided to another inmate that he fears for his daughter’s life. I have checked the facts to the best of my ability, and the details I have been able to dig up match with his story. I must warn you that Allfather may have arranged for Amy Dallon to be murdered at some future date, in revenge for his own daughter’s death at Marquis’ hands.

Dragon.

Really.

Bitch.

WHY? Allfather is dead. Kaisar is dead. What made you think that this threat is at all likely to be borne out?!

She had to stop reading there. The paper had been on Carol’s bedside table, and Amy had found it while collecting a change of clothes for Mark a week ago. Carol had probably been reading it to him late the previous night, and maybe forgot to put it away due to a mixture of exhaustion and the distractions that came with waking up each morning to a disabled husband and a ten-year career in jeopardy.

This is Carol. Fuck her. She left it out on purpose.

(Okay, probably not, but remember This Is A Carol Dallon Hate Blog)

Marquis had been an aspiring crime lord in the bad old days of Brockton Bay. It had been a time when the villains had been flocking to the city to profit off the booming tech and banking sectors, to recruit mooks and henchmen from the city’s unemployed dockworkers. It had been an era when the heroes hadn’t been properly established, and the villains had been confident enough that some didn’t give a second thought to murdering any heroes who got in their way. Marquis included. The bad old days were how Carol and Mark referred to that time. There were more heroes now, and there was more balance between the good guys and the bad, but things were arguably worse now. Everything was in shambles. Marquis had been an osteokinetic. A manipulator of both his own bone and, provided some was exposed, the bones of his enemies. He’d been notorious enough that she’d heard about him despite the fact that he’d been arrested more than a decade ago, that the city and the public had remembered him. He’d lived in the outskirts of the city, residing in a large house in the woods, just beneath the mountains.

If Amy wasn't quite so neurotic, and hadn't been gifted by so many fucking issues by Carol, Marquis being her dad shouldn't have bothered her this much.

Because yes, villain. Yes, evil. But also - less evil than the Teeth. Less evil than E88. Less evil than Galvante. He was notorious. He did do a lot of bad things. But of all the options that were likely, he's... the best one? Unironically, any of the alternatives of that era would have been worse.

It's kind of hilarious, in an infuriating way, she melts down so much over the news that the best behaved of Brockton Bay's old class of villains is her dad. And it's because Carol gave her this stark, black and white 'Criminal is a state of being, not defined by choice' mindset.

So convinced that she's a monster already, between her power, her feelings for Vicky and Mommy dearest, this just feels like proof.

To all reports, the man had been heartless, callous. Wasn’t she? She couldn’t bring herself to care anymore when she went to the hospitals to heal the injured and sick. It was a chore, something she made herself do because people wouldn’t understand if she stopped. There were only so many people she could heal before she became desensitized to it.

Because you became inured to it, Amy! You did care once! Don't do this to yourself!

*shakes Amy by the shoulders* PLEASE!

Not hard to pull the pieces together. She could remember how quickly Neil had dropped the subject when he realized she was listening. He hadn’t outright said that they’d caught Marquis, but she could imagine that the weaknesses that Neil had been outlining had been what they’d used. Send Lady Photon, Brandish and Fleur against the man. Add the fact that Amy had been there, a toddler, and Marquis had been too concerned about collateral damage to go all out.

Toddler? Wait, I thought Amy was six?

Oh, right, #Wildbowsucksattime

But yeah. Let's attack the supervillain in his own home and let his daughter get caught in the crossfire! Oh, you didn't know about her? And if you'd killed her, that would have mattered not at all.

The slight hurt more than she’d expected. It wasn’t like it was something new. It had been going on for weeks. And it was fully deserved.

No. It really isn't. Fuck you Victoria. Amy has very good, if probably misguided, reasons for not doing brains. Leaving aside the fact of her fears of her power and stuff, messing with brains is no simple prospect. Even if she could heal him, there's no guarantee it's Mark again. And if she did heal him and he came out not Mark, not the Mark they knew, who the fuck do you think gets the blame for that from Carol?

Sure as shit not you, Vicky!

Like, yes, Back in Interlude 2, we get a bit of foreshadowing, Vicky's belief that Amy does need to learn to do brains, needs to accept she may need to do them. And Vicky was right then. But she has no right to get angry at Amy, to act like what Amy is doing by refusing to break her rule, is doing something wrong. Yes, I wish Amy would do this. I wish Amy would be willing to break her rule, just a little, to help Mark.

But pressuring Amy like this, getting upset with her, guilting her - fuck you, Vicky. Fuck you.

Again, I feel like this is the sort of thing we needed to see sooner.

It was all falling apart. This family had never fully accepted her. Being in the midst of a family that all worked together, it was hard to preserve secrets. Amy had learned a few years ago, overhearing a conversation between Carol and Aunt Sarah, that Carol had initially refused to take her in. Her adoptive mother had only accepted in the end because she’d had a job and Aunt Sarah didn’t. One kid to Aunt Sarah’s two. When she’d taken Amy in, it hadn’t been out of love or caring, but grudging obligation and a sense of duty.

Hm. And maybe, just maybe, that's why Amy feels so obligated to burn herself out by constantly healing. Maybe, just maybe.

Jesus christ, I will be forever amazed that Wildbow created a character that is the fucking PLATONIC IDEAL of a Woobifiable character and then had the gall to be surprised people were woobifying her.

Man just never has understood how fandom works.

Victoria was appalled, seething with anger, brimming with resentment, because Amy couldn’t, wouldn’t, heal their father. They’d fought, and Amy hadn’t been able to defend her position,

I find that very hard to believe. it's not hard to defend 'doing brains is a very bad idea'.

Then again, Amy is under insane stress and pressure and people aren't very good at reasoning through shit under pressure.

Again, I really feel like this needed to be spaced out better. Maybe 11h being the first Amy POV is fair, I can see why he'd do that, but these details about Mark, at least? That needed to come out sooner. It's just -

Too much is being packed in here. Too much.

The letter. Carol wasn’t angry in the same way Victoria was. What Amy felt from her ‘mother’ was a chill. She knew that she was only justifying the darker suspicions Carol had harbored towards her since she was first brought into the family. It was doubly crushing now, because Amy knew about Marquis. Amy knew that Carol was thinking the same thing she was. Marquis was one of the organized killers. He had his rules, he had his code, and so did Amy. Amy wouldn’t use her power to affect people’s minds. Like father, like daughter.

I mean, a lot of this is just Amy's own neuroses working against her, but seriously, people who act like Carol isn't the source of virtually every one of Amy's problems baffle me. People don't think like this without a reason. Carol's behavior gave her reasons to think like this.

A girl stood in the living room, five or so years younger than Amy. Her blond hair had been curled into ringlets with painstaking care, but the rest of her was unkempt, filthy. She stared at Mark, who was struggling and failing to stand from the couch.

Fucking Bonesaw.

Normally I like to call people by their names, rather than dignify them with their stupid cape names, though it depends, but no. Bonesaw doesn't get a name. Fuck her. I hate Bonesaw. Unfair? A little, yeah. She's a victim, a worse victim than nearly anyone else in Worm, arguably.

I just don't care.

Amy, kill her. Kill her right here. Right now.

“Yes! I can’t even begin to tell you how hard it was. I mean, I had to conduct the operation from a remote location, using robots, because I would lose my Tinker powers if I got too close to the big lug. And I had to fit their bodies and nervous systems together so that they could use their powers without messing up the other.”

Oh, my heart bleeds for you, Bonebitch. Tell us all about how hard it was to make a monstrous freak of nature! As if you and your little brain parasite (shard) didn't love every psychopathic second of it.

Bonesaw smiled. “I thought you’d appreciate this more than anyone.” “Appreciate this.” “You’re the only other person who works with meat. I mean, we’re different in some ways, but we’re also really similar, aren’t we? You manipulate people’s biology, and I tinker with it. The human body’s only a really intricate, wet machine, isn’t it?”

I can honestly only laugh at the level of delusion this horrible little girl possesses. Not funny laugh, just... what the fuck else is there to do laugh.

“That’s good!” Bonesaw smiled at Amy, “I knew we’d make a good team!” “Team?” What could she say or do to escape? Failing that, was there anything she could use to kill herself, so Bonesaw couldn’t get her hands on them, turn them into something like those things? In the worst case scenario, she could use her power on Mark before finishing herself off.

Alternate universe where Bonesaw never gets it into her head that Amy should be her buddy.

Alternate universe where Bonesaw gets killed in a freak accident involving a frozen turkey falling from a great height at high velocities and squashing her.

Alternate universe where Bonesaw dies messily and bloodily and her body burns in a fucking nuclear fire.

“Language!” Bonesaw admonished, with surprising fierceness.

I...I can't take this seriously.

I hate Bonesaw, for what she does to Amy, for how her fucking delusions lead to Amy's life being destroyed, but again, she's not actually that compelling. She's just...

Sick and twisted and...

Fucking annoying.

'Language'. Right. She really cares that much about it. Because Jack Slash really cares that much.

“Jack’s taken me on as his protegé. Teaching me the finer points of being an artist.

Artist? Artist? Artist? Artist? ARTIST?

My GOD is Jack Slash pretentious.

Actually, dare I say it?

Jack Slash is Edgy.

youtube

(What. I need to find something to laugh at as I read this or I'll combust with how much I hate Bonesaw right now)

(I genuinely don't understand fics that want to imagine some Amy & Bonesaw friendship, or Amy and 'Riley' or whatever, in some universe where Bonesaw does what she does to Amy and then survives to be redeemed or something. Even if Amy went evil and joined S9, I can't imagine her gleefully embracing Bonesaw's delusions. an S9 Amy probably murders Bonesaw at the first opportunity.)

and they’re kind of family. I want you in my family, Amy Dallon.”

And I want to enter this work of fiction, grab you, and string you up by your entrails.

But we can't always get what we want, Bonebitch.

Amy looked at her hand. She’d just taken a life. A mercy, most probably, but she’d killed. Something she had promised herself she would never do. She shivered. It had been so easy. Was this what it was like for her father? Had she just taken one more step toward being like him?

See, and now this is where the problem with rigid moral codes hits. When they don't have any flexibility, for situations like this, when you build this hard, solid edifice and expect it to hold up against everything...

It's strong, sure, but it's brittle. And when you, like Amy, pin your entire sense of yourself, your entire sense of being a good person, on a few rigid codes, you absolutely will shatter.

Amy absolutely shouldn't have built herself such an inflexible moral edifice. If the girl had had any sort of actual therapy, she might not have. If she'd had a mother that wasn't Carol, she might not have.

But she did.

And it shattered.

Again... I just don't understand Wildbow, and Ward. Slaughterhouse Nine, and the role they played in destroying Amy's psyche and sense of herself and sense of morality barely shows up in the text, because god forbid we allow context to get in the way of his weird attempt at a rape culture metaphor or whatever the fuck he was on.

“Ready to join?” Bonesaw asked, looking for all the world like a puppy when her master had the leash out, ready for a walk. Eager, brimming with excitement.

And the funny part is that this useless waste of carbon atoms actually thinks that's all that's needed.

and then we could make one superperson out of a hundred capes, and all of the powers would be full strength because you helped and we could use it to stop one of the Endbringers,

Oh fuck off Bonesaw. You wouldn't dare do anything so interesting as use your creations to fight an Endbringer. and even if you were capable of mustering enough vision for that, Jacky McEdgelord would hardly let you do something so creative.

“No,” Amy said. Then, just to make it clear, she added, “No, it’s not going to happen. I won’t join you.” “You will! You have to!” “No.” “I have to do like Jack said. He said I won’t be a true genius until I’ve figured out how to get inside people’s heads.” “Maybe- Maybe you won’t be inside my head until you realize there’s no way I’m going to join the Slaughterhouse Nine.”

You know, I'm not really interested in 'Amy goes off the rails level evil' fics, but you know what? Let's have one of those. Bonesaw breaks Amy and then Amy kills her and the rest of Slaughterhouse Nine because why the fuck would she hang out with them? If Amy really stopped caring and wanted to go evil, there's still no reason for her to be so BORING as to join Uselesshouse Nine

“I’m doing you a favor, really!” Bonesaw raised her voice to be heard over the screams. “You’ll thank me!”

I mean, I hate Bonesaw, I hate her with the heat of a million suns. And I don't hate any of the other members of S9 because again, BORING.

So in that sense, Bonesaw is a compelling villain.

But she's also boring, because she's just...

This.

Nothing interesting about what she's doing. Torture and hybrid monsters and plagues and murder just for the sake of it. She learns all this shit about powers and does nothing with it.

I hate her so much not because she's compelling in her own right, but because I'm so obsessively into Amy as a character, and so desperately want her to be happy.

Everything else in the world seemed to drop away. She pressed her forehead to his. Everything biological was shaped in some way by what it had grown from and what had come before. Rebuilding the damaged parts was a matter of tracing everything backwards. Some of the brain was impossible to restore to what it had once been, in the most damaged areas or places where it was the newest growths that were gone, but she could check everything in the surrounding area, use process of elimination and context to figure out what the damaged areas had tied to. She felt tears in her eyes. She had told herself she would heal him and then leave the Dallon household. Actually doing this, fixing him, taking that plunge, she knew she would probably never have found the courage if she hadn’t been pushed into it. It wasn’t that she was afraid to get something wrong. No. Even as complicated as the mind was, she’d always known she could manage it. No, it was what came after that scared her more than anything. Just like finding out about Marquis, it was the opening of a door she desperately wanted to keep shut.

Again. Platonic ideal of a woobifiable character.

I just

I just don't get so many people.

This this -

Who the fuck reacts to 'I'm saving my dad from a serial killer by healing his brain' with 'I need to run away from home as soon as I'm done?'

Someone who desperately doesn't want to do bad things. Who is terrified of themselves. Who has more baggage than an airport and more issues than a Hudson News.

Someone who is intensely fucked up, and knows it and doesn't know what to do about it.

Certainly not someone who has just been... what, we're supposed to believe she was just waiting for the opportunity to mess with Vicky's brain? The excuse? That what she does to Vicky was the real her the whole time?

If I somehow had enough money to convince Wildbow to sell all the legal rights to all of the Wormverse, nuking Ward from existence across the Internet would be step 0. Also nuking r/parahumans.

The tagline of the Wormverse may as well be 'creating compelling characters the author somehow doesn't understand since 2011. Now with bonus queerphobia and racism!'

Her face burned with shame. She made her way to her room and began packing her things into a gym bag. Clothes, toiletries, and other things, mementos. A small scrapbook, a memory card filled with pictures of her, her cousins and her sister. She found a pad of post-it notes and scribbled out a few words. I’m sorry it took me so long to help Mark. Good bye. I love you all, Amy. She wouldn’t be coming back. Amy opened her bedroom window and climbed out, pulling the bag out behind her.

Amy Please, fucking hell just - no.

Don't.

Please.

Don't FUCKING DO THIS!

“We could get you a therapist. I mean, Mom was setting aside money for Dad’s care, we could use that to give you someone to talk to.” “I… a therapist wouldn’t be able to help.”

Yes, yes it could.

But she's so convinced, so sure there's no coming back from it.

“Fuck that! I’m not about to let you walk away!” Victoria floated closer, reaching out. “Don’t touch me,” Amy warned her sister.

It's hard to say. We don't see them just... existing in normal circumstances. Not in Worm. We don't know what their life was like before it all collapses.

But it's really hard to not look at... everything Victoria says and does, from Interlude 2, and this, and the fact that she does end up touching Amy despite the 'don't touch' and...

I'm pretty sure Vicky has a long history of ignoring or pushing Amy's boundaries. Of touching her when Amy doesn't want to be touched. Dragging her on those double dates she manifestly doesn't want to go on. Pushing her to keep healing all those people she nearly kills to cover up her crimes. Constantly pushing Amy to heal Mark.

And Amy, because she was probably too afraid to have boundaries when she first moved into the Dallon household, and then too used to letting Vicky get away with it, and then Vicky was her only source of stability and affection so of course Amy lets her get away with it.

And then she falls in love with Vicky and the idea of saying no to her becomes a lot harder.

And Vicky, of course, just sees that Amy's boundaries aren't really boundaries. She just needs to push a little and her sister's totally cool with whatever. Amy loves her. She loves Amy. Boundaries are what now?

(I say this with love, I really do, but I'm pretty sure Vicky isn't the most respectful of boundaries in general. Not intentionally, just... you know, by accident, a lot).

Vicky does not deserve what happens to her next, or later. Again, shouldn't need to say it, but this fucking fandom.

But she absolutely should have listened when Amy said 'no!' Time and again.

No is always a complete fucking sentence.

“Idiot,” Victoria grabbed her sister by the shirt collar and pulled her into a painfully tight hug. “Don’t,” Amy moaned into her sister’s shoulder. “All of this? We’ll work it out. As a family. And if your idea of family means it’s just you and me, then we’ll work it out together, just the two of us.”

A perfect storm of the worst possible fucking thing to say when you're already shattering her boundaries.

All it took was one moment of weakness, and she was weak. At the end of her rope, desperately lonely, haunted by her father’s shadow, her shame at being unwilling and unable to help Mark until now, the idea that one of the Slaughterhouse Nine thought she belonged with them? She was losing everything so quickly. Victoria was all she had, and it was the choice between abandoning that for everyone’s good and keeping Victoria close. She felt Victoria’s body more acutely than she felt her own. Every heartbeat, every cell brimming with life. Like a flame at the end of a long fuse, leading to a stick of dynamite, her power traveled from the side of Victoria’s neck to her brain. It was barely a conscious action on Amy’s part.

Again it's so weird that Wildbow can write this, and then... not get it? Powers work on thoughts. Powers work on errant impulses and yes, you can restrain your thoughts, prevent them to become action, but intrusive thoughts are a thing, and it really isn't always easy to hold them back, especially in the state she's in, the state he put her in, with the way powers work, the way he decided powers work...

The man builds this elaborate device made of dozens of checkov's guns and then insists, years later, he never fired a single one of them.

The plain fucking TEXT makes it clear, christ on a fucking bike.

The magnitude of what she’d just done hit her with a suddenness and pain she likened to a bullet to the chest. “Oh god. Please, let me undo it.” She reached out, but Victoria stepped back. “What the hell did you do?” Victoria asked, her eyes wide, “I felt something. I feel something. You’ve used your power on me before, but not like this. I- You changed the way I think. More than that.” Tears welled at the corners of Amy’s eyes. “Please. This is what I was afraid of. Let me undo it. Let me fix it and leave, and you can go back to Mark and Carol and you three can be a family, and-”

If we're supposed to believe this was a deliberate, willing, fully conscious choice by her (which is what Wildbow and his Church insist is what 'barely a conscious action' means here), then this makes no sense.

But of course, Why would Wildbow care about a coherent narrative? Why would his Church? They have Words of God! Those matter more than the fucking TEXT.

“You have to understand, for so long, you were all I had. I was so desperately lonely, and that was at the same time I was starting to worry about my dad. I got fucked up, my feelings got muddled somewhere along the line, and it’s like… maybe because you were safe, because you were always there.” “You have feelings for me,” Victoria answered. She couldn’t keep the disgust out of her voice, she didn’t even try. “That’s what Tattletale was using as leverage, wasn’t it?”

Let's circle back to something I said earlier -

This needed to be revealed sooner, to us, the reader. Or... something.

Revealing all this, all at once, all in one chapter?

There's just too much going on here.

Amy found out Marquis is her dad

we find out about Mark

we find out about Vicky pressuring Amy to heal Mark

Bonesaw and all her shit

Amy runs away

Vicky finds her

Vicky finds out about Marquis

Amy changes Vicky and the full story of Amy's feelings come out and it's just...

Worm suffers from too much happening in quick succession in general, but man this Interlude is the fucking textbook case.

“Please. Let me fix it. Then I’ll leave. You’ll never have to see me again.” “What in the world makes you think I’d let you use your power on me again!?” Victoria shouted, taking to the air, out of reach. “Who knows what you’re going to do to me!?”

Okay, so like...

I do get this, I really do. You just had your entire sense of... everything shattered, with regards to how you see your Sister, and you're under a lot of stress too but -

You've known and trusted your sister for years. You just fucking said it. She's explicitly saying she didn't mean to, that this isn't something she wanted to do...

I mean, I imagine if not for... everything that's about to happen, Vicky might calm down in a few days and give Amy a chance to fix this. I'd like to believe that anyway.

I get it. I do. I don't... I don't blame Vicky for this, but...

Still. Wrong choice, Glory Girl.

Victoria shook her head slowly, then scoffed. “Good job, Amy. You just did an excellent job of taking every instance of me defending you, every instance of my giving you the benefit of a doubt, and proving me fucking wrong. You were worried about being as fucked up as your dad? Congratulations, I’m pretty goddamn sure you just surpassed the man.”

Jesus christ, Vicky.

Again. Heat of the moment. You're furious.

But like...

If she was surpassing him, she'd have changed your brain more. To make you like it. You're supposed to be smart. Be smart.

---

Well.

Interlude 11h. The only Interlude really worth reading for this Arc, and jesus fucking christ I'm emotionally exhausted. My own fault, but fucking fuckfuckfuckfuck.

#Amy Dallon #Victoria Dallon #Worm #Wormblr #Kylia Reads Worm #Interlude 11h #This Is A Carol Dallon Hate Blog #Anti-Wildbow #Die In A Goddamn Fire Bonesaw #Youtube

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macbeth-murder-match · 2 years

Text

Macbeth Murder Match!

Laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.

Welcome to the Macbeth Murder Poll!

For those unversed, in the play Macbeth, Macbeth is given a prophecy by three witches: No one born of a woman can harm him.

In the play (spoilers!) this is resolved by MacDuff, who was born via c-section. However that's boring, so lets do something more fun!

Submit your blorbos who you think could kill Macbeth!

Submissions will be open for quite a while as i am currently also running @white-boy-bracket and need to wait for that to conclude to get to bracket building! I'm opening it now though so we can get lots of contestants!

Questions welcome!

Inspired by: @system-bracket @ocd-character-polls @butler-bracket @beautiful-boy-bracket @artificialkids-2k23-official @aroaceswagtournament @the-nobody-tournament @worlds-worst-dad-competition and more!

RULES FOR SUBMISSION:

Characters do not need to be physically strong enough to kill Macbeth, this is about technicality!

Characters in header are not guaranteed entrants- if you like them, submit them!

NO:

C-Section babies! That counts as 'being born'!

Babies born naturally *from a woman*

Mass Produced Clones

I'd say no real people but honestly if you can find me a real person who was not born, good on you.

Any animal! Animals need to fit another criteria! "Woman" here means any woman identifying member of ANY species!

YES:

Artificially Created (carved, cloned, assembled, baked)

"Born" in an unusual way (sprung fully formed from head, mother disintegrated without baby)

Loophole caused by throwaway line ("Neither of my parents showed up for my birth")

Mpreg

Characters resurrected into a body that meets the above criteria

Other fun technicalities i haven't thought of!

Orion Fowl clause: (below)

Body is of woman born, but the rules of the universe the character is in appear to treat an entity as separate enough to be affected differently from host by magic.

In the above scene, Artemis (with magical DID) has been enthralled by a rune, and is completely controlled. However, when an electric shock causes Orion (an alter) to front, he is not possessed despite the rune branded into the body's skin. For this reason, Orion counts as separate enough from Artemis to count as "not of woman born", and thusly qualifies to kill Macbeth. Additionally as I am using Orion's name to explain this concept, he is the only guaranteed entrant.

#macbeth #william shakespere #shakespeare #polls #tournaments #macbeth murder match

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1000punks · 4 months

Text

bonding. ¹²//tending MASTERLIST.

pairing: spawn!Astarion x named!Tav (non-binary OC)

warnings: 18+. nsft. mdni. this chapter is fluffy angst, little hurt/comfort! no specific cw's!

word count: 3,379

summary: two gays remodel a house domestic fluff and some character background building, set in post-game baldur's gate. two people who are weird and traumatized work on their relationship and reclaim their sexuality through a shared kink. lots of gooey romantic smut while these two slowly figure out their future together.

named!Tav is my non-binary tiefling ranger, Festé. i was seeing far too few fics with tiefling!Tav and i thought it was crucial, nay, critical to include them in the headcanons. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

header credit: i'm no graphic designer, but i made it!!

The smile had melted from his face when Festé launched into their story; and in no time at all, he was hugging them closely, rocking them gently back and forth on the bed. Whenever they paused, or their voice broke, he winced, hugging more tightly. The tiefling trailed off into silence after a time, and he glanced down, noting their blank look and tense posture. Quietly, he asked if they were okay. A small smile crept over their lips and Festé shook their head.

"I murdered him, Star." They looked up, and chuckled. "He can't hurt me anymore." He stroked through their hair, chewing it over for a moment. Astarion tried to picture the scene as they had described it, considering all of the rage that must have built up inside their heart. How the cold, callous treatment of their body and mind had been the catalyst. How anyone in their right mind could have hurt the dearest person that he had ever met. The elf paused, wincing again when he remembered how he had treated them when the two first met; how he had thought they could be so easily taken advantage of. What he could have become, had they not touched his heart.

"Well…" he sighed softly, "Maybe not, but the memories can, darling." He spoke tonelessly. "In your situation, I would likely have done the same." It was only when his imp had laughed wetly into his chest that he sheepishly realized what he had said.

"That's why I stood aside when you…" Festé looked up, giving him a half-smile and falling silent. Astarion huffed a chuckle through his nose and nodded. He relished the memory for a moment, thinking of the weight he had borne for years suddenly being lifted. How relieved and lost he had felt, all at once.

"I… Darling, I'm glad that you trust me enough to share. I realize how hard it is, to…" He stumbled, searching. "It's hard to open up about it." Slowly, he lay his cheek against the top of their head, practiced enough to avoid the jut of their horns; and he whispered, "Thank you for telling me."

Astarion held them closely, rocking slowly back and forth until their breathing evened out and deepened. Then he gingerly leaned back against the headboard and pillows, closing his eyes. Some time later, Festé began to snore softly, and he smiled to himself. He wondered if they knew they snored. He blinked his eyes open and watched them drift off; and he wondered how many people they had kept at arm's reach before now. How many had the privilege to see their deepest parts? A tiny, cynical voice in the back of his mind even wondered: how much of themself were they still hiding? The elf scowled at the thought. He just wanted to know all of them. Astarion began to absentmindedly stroke their back, and thought about what they had said about when they kneeled in front of that half-elf's hearth. Deftly, he reached down, cupping Festé's curled-up hand and examining it in the dim light. Marred, but subtly, with faded scars from burns. Had it only occurred once, or many times?

There had been so much information to take in, he thought, laying their hand gently back against his stomach. And yet, so much left unsaid. Astarion smiled sadly to himself. Knowing what he knew now about their past, he could only imagine what the imp's first impression of him had been. Festé hadn't alluded to it, he suspected, for fear of hurting him. He reclined with a sigh, watching the curtains shiver from the open window. Fitfully, he wrapped his arms more tightly around his imp, as if they would slip away. How was it that they trusted him, back then? He turned his head away from the sunlight peeking in from behind the heavy curtain and closed his eyes once more, drifting away uneasily.

When Astarion lifted his eyelids the next evening, he was surprised to find them crusted with sleep. It didn't happen very often, but it had been happening more now that he and Festé had been in one place for months. Sparsely enough, still, that it made him feel particularly slow and hazy when he got up. The pale elf flexed his hands, blinking and looking down to find the bed empty save for himself; and he lifted his head, listening carefully. Humming, soft splashing, the scratch of cloth on skin, the slide of soap. Astarion was on his feet, faster than he meant to be, and making for the bathroom. He smiled widely when he saw them, facing away and slowly resting back against the edge of the tub with a satisfied sigh. He had already crossed the room in silence, crouching and planting a kiss on his tiefling's forehead. They startled.

"Good evening, darling," he murmured, dodging their horns when their head snapped up, and kneeling at the tub's edge.

"Evening, my love," they turned, chuckling and dripping, to look up at him. "I was lost in my own world." They leaned up, and he bent forward to give them a proper kiss. "I got up early, and planted the garden," they covered a yawn with their hand. Astarion leaned in, nose inches from theirs, and smiled. He rested his elbow against the edge of the tub, and nodded, getting comfortable.

"What did you plant, my dear?" he asked softly.

"Carrots, potatoes, lettuce, and leeks," they mirrored him, resting their opposite elbow on the tub's edge. "And in mid-summer, I'll plant the pumpkins." The tiefling beamed at him, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Pumpkins, darling? Whatever for?" The imp wrinkled their nose at him and chuckled.

"Of course! Haven't you ever carved a face into a pumpkin for Harvestide?" At this, he had to laugh, and shook his head in disbelief. "When I was young, my parents taught me how." They shrugged, and continued, "I'd like to do the same with you, love."

"Well," Astarion lifted his free hand and checked his nails, and caught Festé rolling their eyes. "I suppose I could try it," he teased them with a pompous tone, and the pair laughed together. "Turn around, dear, let me do your hair." He stood, pulling the bathroom stool close before sitting and combing his fingers through Festé's damp hair. They hummed in muted pleasure, and the elf smiled, beginning to braid it. It really was getting long, he noted, even since the last time he had commented on it. If he let them wear it loose, it would be almost to their hips, but he loved braiding it for them. He loved that they let him braid it for them. The elf lost himself in the moment, watching his pale fingers weave through the dark curtain of their hair until suddenly, he was finished.

"It feels so good when you do that," Festé murmured sleepily, looking up at him upside-down. "You have such a gentle touch." He glanced away, embarrassed, before bending forward to kiss their forehead.

"Don't flatter me, darling," he sighed, sitting up. "Not yet, at least. I have a gift for you." The imp raised their eyebrows, turning in the bathtub to face him once more.

"A gift, hmm?" They drawled, grinning widely. The depth of their voice sent a shiver up the elf's back; and he chuckled, more out of nerves than anything else. "I suppose we had better choose a date then, shouldn't we, love?" He watched their tail flick back and forth slowly under the surface of the bathwater, and they turned halfway to pull out the drain. "I'm betting you won't let me see it until the day of, will you?" Festé stood slowly, dripping and reaching for their towel, but his hands found it first.

"I… not a chance, darling," Astarion hissed playfully, wrapping them up. "You'll have to keep your eyes closed." He leaned down to lay a peck on their cheek. "Come with me." They grinned, following without protest.

Astarion glanced back at them, making sure their eyes were closed once they both reached the top of the stairs. As if they sensed his gaze, they whispered, "I won't peek, love. Lead on." He felt a flutter in his stomach, letting out a breath to steady himself before he opened the door to his room. The elf took his imp's hand once more, leading them into the middle of the room and silently giving thanks that they couldn't see the mess of fabric piled high on every flat surface. He paused, looking around before grabbing a dark strip of silk hanging over one of the unused mannequins. Festé scowled a bit and sighed dramatically when they felt him tie the makeshift blindfold on. "Don't you trust me?" they teased, catching his wrist in one hand when he brought it down again. He cursed himself momentarily for all the training he had been putting them through.

"Oh, hush and let me work, imp." He tutted, and Festé let out a full-bodied laugh. "Stay right there." They released his wrist, waving him off, and he turned to one of the other mannequins in the small room, starting to gather the fabric up. "Tell me more about the garden, won't you?" He murmured thoughtfully. If they were going to be travelling this summer, why would they bother? Especially if there was a chance they wouldn't be back, he thought grimly. With ease, he lifted the nearly-finished dress from the mannequin body. "Drop your towel, and hang on to my shoulders, dear."

"I didn't plant much, honestly. Just things that would grow over the course of a few weeks while we're gone." They let the towel fall, hands finding the elf's shoulders when he moved close. "It's going to be a wet summer this year, but I'm worried about the weeding…" Festé hummed.

"Oh, I see." They were so casually optimistic, and it was contagious, as usual. He tried a light tone, wondering in passing if it was convincing. "Well, we'll just have to take care of it when we come back from Candlekeep, won't we? Step," he said, catching their ankle and guiding it into the proper place in the mess of fabric. "Other foot," he breathed, repeating the motion.

"I know what you're thinking, Star," they sighed softly. "But we… we'll make it back." They dragged their fingers lightly up the sides of his neck, and he shivered. "I promise," they breathed; as if sensing the tension in his shoulders; and he straightened up slowly.

"I'll take your word for it, I just…" Astarion paused, gazing down. "Arms down for a moment, like… Yes. Perfect, darling," he smiled, adjusting the sleeves of the garment. "I'm just worried. I can't shake the feeling that we're walking into a firefight. What if something happens to you? What if you get…" he cleared his throat. It was too easy to confess in such a cramped space. The elf busied himself with the buttons, doing each one up deliberately slowly, letting his fingers linger against Festé's chest. What if that heart stopped? "What if you get separated from me? What if one of those spawn bites you? What if, gods forbid, you get turned?" An uncomfortable silence descended on the room as he stepped away to look the tiefling over. Astarion sighed harshly, feeling the itch of shame creep up his back. "Turn for me, my dear. Slowly." Festé obliged, and they lifted their arms halfway from their sides.

"I've been thinking about that possibility, Star," they whispered once they were facing away from him. "Would forever really be so bad? Well, if it were with you, I…" Astarion watched a tremor ripple through them, and he recalled their last discussion on the subject. Silently, he moved close to them once more, ghosting his hands over their hips before he tied the sash up at their waist.

"Have you changed your mind?" He murmured, lips flush against their ear. Their hands found his, and he noticed that they were trembling, if only slightly.

"I don't know, Star. It's complicated, I…" they sighed deeply, their head bowing.

"If I could change you myself, darling, I would. If you wanted it." He bit his lip. Shit. His mind was racing, imagining the fury he would feel if someone else touched them as he had. If someone else bit them, if their blood danced along someone else's tongue. He stiffened, arms locking even more tightly around them. Festé lifted their head.

"Is that what you're worried about?" Their voice was soft. Astarion kept silent, and his imp turned around to hug him properly. Something in him softened, then. "Are you worried that I wouldn't be yours anymore?" The words were a punch to his gut, and he felt something, a sort of liquid heat, flood his chest. Several moments went by as they held each other, and Festé spoke up again. "Star? Talk to me, please…"

"I… I am," his voice sounded hollow, far away. "I'm worried about you becoming someone's mindless spawn," he spat. "But, I'm also worried about being left behind if you die," he finished, harsher than he meant to be.

"It's complicated, right?" Festé whispered into his shoulder, their arms tightening around his waist. "I'm sure the jealousy makes it worse."

"I'm not…" his voice faltered, and they chuckled.

"You don't want anyone to know me like you know me. It's okay, Star. But you have me, and I'm not going anywhere, if I can help it."

They were right on that front, he had to give them that. Even the jealousy he felt when the tiefling had told him about their long foray with that despicable half-elf had been hard to tamp down, and the man was long dead. It felt like a white-hot fire iron in his middle; and he no longer wanted to think about the irony of Festé standing with him in the wedding dress he had made specifically for them, being jealous over an imaginary vampire sinking its fangs into them. He shook his head, exasperated with himself, and moved away from them. "Gods, you should see yourself," he breathed, crossing his arms and taking in the dress.

"How bad is it?" Festé breathed, mock-serious.

"Simply terrible, my love," he chuckled. "Turn again for me?" He focused, eyes darting right to left as they revolved slowly on the spot. It was so very nearly finished. It was just the finer details, like the hem, and a few stitches around the waist, that remained. He congratulated himself silently on getting their measurements almost exact by sight, and hummed. If had had more time, he would have stitched the entire bodice in lace, but the sheer white fabric he had chosen was perfect against Festé's rosy skin. It hugged their chest, moving up into a high neck, but the sleeves fell open and flowing at their shoulders. "Lift your arms again, pet," he murmured, moving closer and kneeling in front of them.

"Like this?" They raised their hands and rested them on top of their head. "The sleeves seem long, I hope that's…"

"That's perfect," he praised, smiling even though the tiefling couldn't see him. He spotted a loose thread in the intricate stitching of their right sleeve, reaching out and pinching it between his fingers. "Hold still," he leaned in, audibly snapping the thread against his fangs.

"You're doomed to put your fangs on me every-" they started, and he shushed them, stifling a laugh. They chuckled above him as he worked, pulling at the skirt's fabric. It was a simple black satin, with dual slits to expose the imp's thighs. He sat back on his heels, humming a bit while he adjusted the waist. Finally, he took the pins out, cinched the fabric slightly tighter before pinning them again. It only took a few moments for him to stitch each side securely, and he set to work removing all of the pins, smiling to himself. Festé seemed to know when he was finished, and pushed their fingers into his hair, enclosing him in the white curtain of their sleeves. Astarion sighed again, pleasured by his accomplishment as well as his lover. He leaned in, pressing a messy kiss to the inside of their thigh in return. When he stood again, he took their hands.

"Aren't you going to pester me with guesses as to what you're wearing?" They grinned, shaking their head silently. He leaned in, drawling softly in their ear. "Really? Not even a peep? Don't you want a hint, darling?" A moment passed, and the imp nodded. "Yours," he said, dropping one of their hands, "Is white and black," he traced his fingers from their shoulder to their waist, over the intricate phoenix he had stitched. "With a black skirt." He reached down, squeezing their hip. "And mine is matching in black and white."

"I knew it!" Festé cried out, laughing wildly. Astarion let out an exasperated scoff, and they found his cheeks with their palms. "No, seriously, my love; I'm much too red for anything else to go nicely with my skin. I knew it had to be-"

"Wrong," he interrupted with a hiss. "You would look stunning in anything. But especially so in this." He pulled them close and pressed a chaste kiss to their lips, making them flinch and chuckle softly. "I can't wait for you to see it."

Festé was silent for a long time, and Astarion studied them closely as they pursed their lips. "Star…" they started, trailing off into silence again. Another long moment passed, and the elf waited. "Star I… I hope you know this, but regardless of what happens…" they came close to him, and he turned his head deftly to dodge their horns when they pressed their cheek to his shoulder. "Regardless of whether I'm mortal or not, I'm yours, If we ever come to be separated, I will find my way back to you." Astarion lifted one hand, smoothing it over their back. "What I worry about, secretly," they continued, swallowing thickly, "With changing, is that I wouldn't be warm to the touch anymore. That I…" Festé sighed harshly, "That I would no longer be alluring to you. This is the first time that I've felt, well… wanted, since my parents died. It's stupid, but I…" Astarion flinched, and his imp fell silent once more. Finally, they whispered, "What if you found someone more appealing than me?" They laughed humorlessly.

"Darling…" he whispered back, "It's not your blood, it's you." Wasn't it? Astarion's mind felt clouded. What if it was only their blood that made the tiefling so alluring to him? Their initial relationship had been characterized by it, after all, he thought. The way it had spilled over his tongue that first time, the unexpected swell in his chest, the absolute elation he had felt over the next few days. No. He pushed away the notion entirely. "Gods below," he shook his head, chuckling a bit. "We're a pair, aren't we?" He squeezed them, and Festé shivered. "We're both being given a good thing, for once; and we're both so worried that it's going to slip through our fingers."

"Star, what do I have to do to convince you that I'm not going anywhere?" The tiefling mumbled into his neck. "I'll do anything," they sighed. Astarion was surprised by the anxiety that seeped into their usually calm and even voice.

"Well, I…" he shifted his weight slowly from one foot to the other. "You're wearing the dress I made for you, aren't you?" Festé nodded, clinging to him. "In the townhouse that we both live in together. You could… Oh, I don't know… marry me?" They chuckled wetly, and sniffled.

"I can do that," they whispered, their arms locking around his waist.

"What can I do, little love, to assure you that I'm not going anywhere?" The pale elf asked, lips brushing their earlobe.

"Tell me you love me?" Festé pulled back, stiffening when Astarion gently gripped their jaw.

"I love you, and I'll tell you as often as you like," he breathed against their lips, before pressing a light peck to the corner of his imp's mouth.